Winter Wanderlust: A Romantic Anthology Read online

  Winter Wanderlust

  Steamy Romantic Anthology

  Jenne Moua

  Mildred Gable

  Jesse Pearle

  Kate Whitaker

  Miranda Miller

  Gina Drayer

  Shammy Entertainment

  Copyright © 2014 by Shammy Entertainment

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  Shammy Entertainment

  www.ginadrayer.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Layout ©2013 BookDesignTemplates.com

  Cover Design ©2013 Mildred Gable

  Ordering Information:

  Quantity sales. Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the “Special Sales Department” at the address above.

  Winter Wanderlust/ Shammy Entertainment. -- 1st ed.

  Contents

  Coincidental Serendipity

  Lost Love

  Out of the Cold

  Reason's Fault

  Meet Me Half Way

  Better Than Fiction

  CHAPTER ONE

  Coincidental Serendipity

  by Jenne Moua

  From a nearby window in the restaurant, the fall of flaky snow thickens and curtains the view of the frosty mountains outside. The hotel staff says the storm brings with it four feet of snow but I don’t care. Isolation is what I seek after three days at a useless conference. I guzzle the last of my Scotch and let the gold liquid burn my mind.

  Around me, couples sit at tables. From the snippets of conversation I can hear, each are at a different stage of their relationship: from the old couple using Levitra to spice up their marriage to the newlyweds trying to decide when to consummate. It takes all the courage in me to restrain from going over and showing the men what they need to do with their wives, how often, and how hard. But with my tastes, I’m sure I’ll scare them off.

  There must be a single woman here by herself.

  A quick scan around the room reveals more couples taunting me. With only my empty glass to entertain me, I get up and leave. But the slightest movements from the corner of the room makes me stop. The silhouette of a woman’s body lightly veiled by her thin dress sways by, each curve swells in such perfect, eye catching proportions. Her long black hair twists into a loose braid and falls upon her shoulder. Her silky dress drapes around her lean back and merges into a “V” right above the arches of her ass. The small of her back invites me to stare at her high, round ass cheeks. My cock kicks against the zipper of my pants, a radar detecting my playmate for the night.

  She seems to be walking on air, a light hint of eucalyptus and jasmine lingers to complete my enchantment. There’s something familiar about her in the manner she walks and the air she carriers. She stops at the bar and takes a seat on a stool, presenting her back to me. I’d love to sneak up behind her, put a blind fold over her eyes and fuck her until she knocks into an orgasmic coma. Shadows shroud the details of her face. But I catch a glimpse of her succulent lips, arching as she speaks, stretching as she laughs. What I wouldn’t give to have them wrap around my…

  Damn!

  Running my hand through my dirty blond hair, I get up and approach the bar. Usually a woman of this caliber can be tricky but the more they play hard to get, the more fun it is for me. With each step, the distance closes between us and I can hear her playful banter with the bartender, who has that look to his face; the one guys get when we think we’re going to get lucky. But, she’s way out of his adolescent league.

  I have what I want to say ready to go. Never in my life had these next three seconds seem so crucial. Be it the Scotch or the burning desire fuming in my crotch, my confidence boosts ten folds. But just as I step up to the bar, she laughs, tossing her head back. Chestnut brown eyes, a tall nose and pink cheeks complement those soft, red lips. And most of all, like stars in the night that draw my attention, those deep dimples. Combine with the power of her smile, it could make a man rethink his life and force him to consider settling in the domestic life. Certainly that’s what she did to me twelve years ago. How did I not realize it before? And of all places, why here? But there she sits, waiting, and sexy as fuck, making Venus seem like the ugly step sister.

  Lexi! Ex-lover, Ex-wife.

  Hell, I want to relax, not explore unresolved issues. If this was God’s idea of a joke, the man needs to get out more. I stood there attempting to call my mind back from vacation. Inside, the young stupid me she left impulsively want to run over there and kiss her, blurting out the one single question that has riddled me incapable of moving forward. But I know the only thing I’ll get from doing that is a nice, heavy slap across the face.

  What to do?

  I stare at her and see both the past and the present meshing together. The stretching of old scars creates a familiar burn I don’t care to re-experience. It comes down to two choices: return to my table and miss out on this chance; or go over and say hello. As someone who lives without regret, it isn’t a difficult decision. I return to my table to grab my glass.

  At the bar, I take a seat a few stools away from her. She turns to see who joins her and I catch her gaze with an acknowledging smile before purposely turning my attention to the bartender.

  “Can I get a refill?”

  “Sure, man. Scotch neat?”

  I nod and the bartender leaves with the glass. Soon as he is out of an earshot, I turn to Lexi, who swirls her drink and takes sip. The enticing lure of her scent drives me insane. Her eyes measure me, giving me the obvious once over, focusing on my midsection noticeably below the belt. This Lexi is different from the one I know, bolder than I remember. She is no longer the sweet, goodie two shoe whose focus is academia but the walking embodiment of desire. She has power over most men, knows it, and wields it well. But I am not most men. Let’s pray the impulsive idiot inside stays hidden.

  “Hello, Sexy,” I greet.

  “Jeremy,” she winks, “I was wondering when you’ll say hello to me.”

  “Were you waiting?”

  “Since you checked in, yes.”

  “Why didn’t you just come over and say hello?”

  “I thought it’ll be more fun to draw your attention.” She smiles and makes her way around the stools between us, sitting within inches of me. With my six foot two inch frame, I tower over her petite form. But if she got her knees, her head will align nicely with my cock. For a moment, I forget how to speak. I draw a deep breath to recompose and remember not to play into her hands. Instead, I deal her mine.

  “So, Lexi,” I ask in a smooth, low voice, “how have you been?”

  “Good. Really good.”

  “I can see that.”

  “How are you doing?”

  “I’ve been good,” I manage.

 
Remembering how much she squirms when I rub my fingers against her clit, my left elbow rest on the bar, a hair away from touching her silky skin. My thumb and forefinger rub in a slow, circular fashion. Her eyes zoom onto my thick, round fingers, swallowing hard as I continue. Her pink tongue wets her bottom lip before biting firmly on the widest part.

  “So good,” I continue.

  She straightens her back and her breasts swells into view. No bra, I’m sure as they hang loose, ready for play. Long legs run up her dress to where the lack of panty-line suggests the underwear is a matching set. She crosses her legs, revealing her milky thighs, leaving nothing to my imagination. I fight against the surging urge to reach over and slide my hand over their smooth surface.

  “So, what brings you here?” she asks.

  “A three day work conference. You?”

  “A conference as well.”

  “Business or pleasure?”

  “Pure pleasure.” In the dim light, her eyes twinkle like she is hiding a secret.

  “Do share.” The bartender returns with my Scotch and sets the glass on the wooden counter. Without taking my eyes off her, I take a gulp, wetting my throat with liquid flames; the encouragement I need to keep myself from kissing her.

  “I had tickets to go to a conference up North tomorrow morning. But I highly doubt I’ll get there. Especially with the snow storm.”

  “A snow plow should fix that. But if not, I can entertain you.”

  She raises an eyebrow.

  “Or you can entertain me,” I offer. “Whatever works.”

  “I don’t know,” she teases, “can you be as entertaining as the conference?”

  She leans in and fiddles with my tie, drawing me closer to her. In this proximity, her breath comes in short raptures. The escape of her low, guttural moan takes us to a trance-like state and it becomes my goal to make her moan like that again. I move until my lips are a breath away from touching hers.

  “It’s to die for, love,” I say in a harsh whisper that makes her shiver. Like an automatic reaction, her fingers trace my chest and her legs part lightly. The sweet smell of lust entices me. She is definitely not the same woman. And there is no way I’m leaving without her tonight.

  “Keep talking,” she says.

  “Why talk when I can show you?”

  Red flags pop up everywhere and signal a blaring warning. This is the woman who walked out on me. But I can’t stop as lust is the whistle drawing me to the tracks of an oncoming train. My palm sweeps across her shoulder and I swear I can feel the Earth shift. The brevity of our contact causes me to crave her more and the need to bite her flesh runs high, especially her nipples. She leans in brushing the soft surface of her face against my rough, five o’clock shadow.

  “Tell me, Jeremy. What dreams have you had about me?”

  Geez, she wants to talk dirty when my cock’s already throbbing with half the blood in my body?

  “You tell me, Sexy. In the late of the nights, in your bed, how do I ravish you?”

  She laughs, low and salacious. The flair of her breathes against my skin makes my pants tighter around my crotch. My arm wraps around her and rests on her hips. Unable to maintain in her seat, she stands. Her hair rubs against my nose and saturates me in her invigorating scent. She gives a slight moan as if urging me on, pushing her lush boobs against me. Slipping down the high arch of her ass, I give her a firm pinch.

  “In wildest dreams,” she whispers, “I lay on my bed…”

  “Yeah?”

  “And you come in to blindfold me then bind me…”

  I graze down her neck, letting my hot breath burn her further into her lustful state.

  “We fuck until I scream your name. Then you turn me over…”

  I run my tongue from the base of her neck to her chin and she practically purrs in my hands.

  “And you fuck me in the ass until you scream mine.”

  “Sounds like fun,” I chuckle. I pull her face close to mine. She hesitates for a second, our breath brewing something more intoxicating than Scotch. She gives in, allowing me to graze her lips in public, something she never allowed before.

  “I’ve missed you, Jeremy,” she whispers. Young, stupid me jumps for joy but I stand firm, not making sudden movements at her admission. I’m not even sure she knows what she said. But like a magnet, I can no longer restrain myself and I kiss her, conveying what she knew but I can’t admit out loud. I missed her, too.

  She draws away for air and reattaches her lips to mine. I pull both her arms around her back and lift, pressing her crotch against my cock, so eagerly waiting to slip inside. Like a cog that’s been missing, she fits right into place, making me whole. We are on dangerous territory, one I swore never to tread again. Sex with a hot woman is good. Hot, steamy sex with a stranger is better. But sex where I risk involving strings of the heart? Never. Except, tonight, the risk is worth it.

  We continue until I don’t think I can handle the pressure in my pants.

  “Come,” I demand, releasing her to the floor and lead in the direction of my room. She doesn’t resist too much and follow closely behind. With our quick strides, we stumble our way into the elevator. Her dream snakes into my head and becomes my goal to make it reality. Although I’m praying the excitement doesn’t kill me before I can satisfy her.

  Soon as the elevator door closes and whirls to the fifth floor, Lexi jumps on me, coiling her hand around my tie. She bites my chin running her tongue on the cleft. My legs grow weak beneath us and I lean against the wall. Under her dress, I grab onto the flesh of her ass, squeezing them until a mold of my hand makes an imprint. She gasps and pulls her pelvis over my hips, rubbing against my length. The immense pleasure surges from her to me and we ride like experienced cowboys.

  Fuck, I needed her now.

  Just as I unzip my pant and prepare to unleash myself, the saxophone version of our wedding song comes over the radio. Fuck! Hoping she hadn’t noticed, I continue, ignoring the memories the song summons. But she stops. The thudding in my ears increases as the seconds tick on and the damn tune continues to play, throwing a cock block in my way. She looks up to me, regret overshadowing her faint smile. Her thighs and arms unwrap themselves and she lands on the floor with a thump, taking a step back as the elevator door opens.

  “Jeremy,” her eyes narrow, “should we be doing this?”

  “If you’ve changed your mind, I can walk you to your room.”

  “Please.” She doesn’t look up and keeps her gaze at no particular object. Whatever thoughts race through her head seems to make her self-conscious and she wraps her arms around herself, as if suddenly feeling the chill of winter.

  “What floor?”

  “Third.”

  I press the button and we descend into the realm of awkward silence. It occurs to me that I should keep the conversation going. I can ask her about her step-mom, her only surviving parent who loves her more than her actual mom, or her business. Or I can tell her how my mother, a vegetarian, died because a moose ran in front of her car. But I hate small talk. From the looks of it, she doesn’t give two rats’ asses if I ask either.

  Finally, the elevator opens and she zooms out, leaving me trailing behind. My blood quickens as she slips her keycard into her door. I want to say something, anything to keep her from running away. Again. But hell, how do I say it without making it more awkward?

  “It was nice to see you again, Jeremy,” she calls over just as I am about to catch up to her. “Until next time.” She rushes into her room and closes the door before I can say ‘bye’.

  I lean against her door as disappointment takes a squat and shits all over me. Dripping in the stench of failure, I march to the other side of the hall. A window provides a peek outside to the snow falling from the opaque skies to the white blanket on the ground. The lights flicker off and on, indecisive of what to do. Finally, as if coerced, the lights give out, casting me in complete darkness. Small shrills from different rooms echo into the hallway. But I
continue to stand at the window debating my options. With the snow falling, all I could think about is the day I proposed to her.

  We visited my parents’ cabin for winter break and it snowed much like today. Gradually, it cleared and we took a short walk along a wooden trail behind the cabin. We came upon a frozen pond and the clouds parted slightly, letting the sun cast a luminescent light over her as if the heavens attempted to beckon their angel back home. Her then reddish hair glowed in the white backdrop of the scenery.

  I hadn't intended on it but at that moment, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her, believing that things will work out so long as the woman I love remained by my side. Smitten by beauty and motivated by spontaneity, I bent on one knee and asked. As crazy as it was, she said “yes”. That summer after we finished college, we wed in the same backyard where I proposed. Since I married an angel, I briefly tasted heaven. Like some fool, I thought this was how I would spend the rest of my life. Until, that morning almost a year later, I woke up to a letter which had one damn word on it: “sorry”. After the quick divorce, which her lawyer handed, I never heard from her again.

  Once broken, a man doesn’t remain the same. Some crawl into a hole and sink into madness, others find hobbies that include shooting things. The lucky ones, if I can call them that, find themselves a new wife and start the crazy cycle again. I found solace in the arms of the other women who had no interest in commitment. It was my way of coping with the situation. For a while it worked. But now, by fate or some other sadistic power, she is here within yards of me.

  The hums of generators kick on and the hallway light flickers. The reflection of her room number illuminates in the window. Ominous shadows obscure the hallway. As much as I will like to avoid this, sometimes one must journey back before moving forward. I look behind to her room. I have stayed in the darkness long enough. I walk up to the door and knock firmly.