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© 2007, L. Bohmer,
Lily Graison Reviews For TORRID TEASERS Volume 20 by Sherrill Quinn & Susan K. Droney No reviews posted yet. Sample Chapter For TORRID TEASERS Volume 20 by L. Bohmer & Lily Graison Amy lit a cigarette, and watched the light drizzle outside the dugout grow heavy with fat raindrops. She glanced at her watch, and huffed blue smoke between her artfully painted, burgundy lips. Where the hell was Robert? He had told her to meet him here at two o’clock. It was now half past two, and Robert was never late. She smoothed her black skirt and rolled her stiff neck, as she remembered his earlier words. He’d said they had things to talk about. Yeah, damn right we do. No more of this running around. It ends today. She blew smoke rings through the rusted wire stretched across the dugout and allowed her mind to wander. Amy wondered what Auntie Barb would think of her year-long affair with a married man? The question brought a sad smile to her face. One year ago today, Amelia Hatten had lost her feisty aunt, best friend and most trusted confidant, to cancer. She brushed stray tears from her eyes. The woman had practically raised her, after Mom and Dad had wasted no time in shipping off their precocious teenage daughter, almost twenty years ago. It was at Barb’s funeral that she’d met Robert. He was the business partner of Phillip Fallon—the man Auntie Barb had been engaged to. Robert had attended the service and reception out of respect for his friend and associate. Barb had never been one to stick to a particular man for any extended length of time. So Phillip—passing the eight month mark before her aunt’s diagnosis, and the first to plant a ring on the roaming woman’s finger—must’ve been a rare, midlife find. He’d stuck with her through the sickness, which had impressed Amy greatly. Before Phil, Auntie Barb’s motto was, ‘I like my men like I like my hair color, changed often.’ Amy chuckled at the memory of her aunt’s blunt quip. She’d idolized the woman, and followed in her footsteps in many ways, especially with the men. That is, until Robert Dibassio walked into her life. The Dibassios were both a feared and respected family in the small, industrial town of Castle Grove. Such a beautiful name for such a dirty city, Amy often mused. Crime, and underground mob rules, ran a thriving nighttime business in this community of just over fifteen thousand. Of course, being located so close to a major metropolis, like Vancouver, didn’t hurt. These days, the Asian gangs were at war with the longstanding Portuguese and Italian organized crime families in the whole of the West Kootenay area. And Robert’s family had their fingers in all of it, deep. But not Robert, so much. He preferred to distance himself from the underbelly as much as possible. He liked to keep his nose clean, and the club he owned legit. Amy had to admit, it was one of the things she admired about him. He’d built up a successful career without leaning on his father and brothers for any under-the-table help. A car door slammed, and her jaw clenched, lips tightening around her cigarette. “Number 7” brand, just like dear Auntie Barb used to smoke. Robert’s looming, six foot four inch frame filled the entrance to the cramped, concrete pen, blotting out the bit of weak sunlight now filtering in. He wore grey dress pants that clung to his well-muscled thighs as he stood, legs braced apart, hands molded to the rotted wooden frame of the dugout’s roof. His dark-plum silk shirt was flecked with streaks of rain, as was his throat and the bit of chest that peeked through his open collar. His charcoal raincoat billowed out, like a dark balloon, as a gust caught in its folds. Amy glanced up at him, crossed her legs, and then turned her attention forward to the deserted park. At that moment, she cursed the day she’d met Robert Dibassio, yet she couldn’t deny the other tugging deep within the pit of her stomach either. His ice blue eyes cut into her as he ducked under the splintered frame, crossing the threshold and sitting beside her. His short, chestnut curls were beaded with drops of rain, and an errant wave fell across his olive forehead. Sighing, she decided to be the one to break the uncomfortable silence. “Well?” He turned toward her, and his rugged features were fierce with an intensity she couldn’t quite read. Robert was antsy, on edge. It thrilled her, but, at the same time, she could smell a fight brewing in the tense air between them. Letting out a long breath, his broad shoulders slumped. “Can I have one of those?” He pointed to her pack of Number 7’s. The request jolted Amy, and she swallowed over a thick lump lodged in her throat. Damn, there were times she hated being a woman. She never could find a comfortable place with her emotions. That same question was the first thing he’d asked her, one year ago today, when they’d met at the funeral reception. Amy offered him a cigarette with a shaking hand, seeing him as he was back then. Robert hadn’t looked so haggard that dreary, October afternoon. She remembered his smile as he’d approached her at the buffet table. It had held compassion, respect for her grief, yet also possessed a sexual chemistry that still caught her breath. “I went to your aunt’s grave earlier.” He let free a deep puff of smoke, and closed his eyes. “Phil wanted to do something for the anniversary.” Amy let a sad, sideways smile slip across her lips. “Poor bastard.” She took her final drag and tossed the butt into the dirty sand at her feet, squashing it out. “Think he’ll ever get over her?” “I don’t know.” Robert rubbed his hand through his hair. A chilly autumn wind drifted into the dugout. “Barb sure had a hold on old Phil.” He chuckled, tiredly. “Your aunt had a way about her. But then, you’ve got it too.” Her gaze darted his way, and she frowned at him. “Don’t try to soften me up today, Robert.” Amy rubbed her arms through her thick, suede coat. “I think we should end this affair.” Throwing his half-finished cigarette to the ground, he stared at her as he stomped on the glowing cherry. His lips drawn in a tight, grim line, Robert dropped his head. “Before you say anything, Amy, I think you need to know something—” “Robert.” She held up her hand, interrupting him. “No excuses. I’m tired of sneaking around, discreet dinners out of town. This whole…” she sputtered on her words and waved a hand, “thing has gone on too long anyway.” He shook his head, and swiveled on the bench to face her. Holding out his hands, he gave a bitter laugh. “Will you at least let me talk, lady? You don’t even know what I am going to say. And anyway, all that tiptoeing around is just to keep my parents’ nose out of my business. You know Pat couldn’t care less about our affair. There hasn’t been anything between us for years.” Amy nodded, and gave a cynical scoff. “Yes, you stay together for the sake of ol’ mom and pop. So you keep telling me. But I have trouble swallowing that after a year.” “Woman…” He buried his head in his hands, and she could hear the frustration rising in his voice. “You don’t understand the situation…what it’s like…” “Oh, I understand.” She rolled her eyes. “All about the ‘Family’, right? You sound like a bad version of The Godfather, Robert.” She chanced another look at her watch. “And I have to go, anyway. I have fresh roses in the car, and if I don’t get them to Auntie’s grave soon, they’ll wilt.” As she stood and went to move past him, he caught her wrist in an iron grip. Robert looked up at her with pleading eyes that made her stomach lurch. “Please, Amy, I’ll buy you new flowers, okay? Let’s get things between us settled. I have stuff to get off my chest—” She yanked her arm away. “Look, I’ve heard it all before, Robert. You aren’t the first married man I’ve slept with, you realize.” He winced slightly, and a small part of her was glad that her words cut him. Grabbing her about the waist before she could flee, Robert pulled Amy into his lap. They sat in the ramshackle shelter, glaring at each other in heated silence. “What are you hiding from me? Why won’t you give me five minutes, hmmm?” His whisper was hoarse, as he cupped her upturned chin and drew her face close to his. The smell of his spicy cologne, and the scent of his cinnamon gum, tickled her nostrils. A dormant ember sparked to life in her groin. Why does he have this effect on me? Robert’s mouth teased hers, and he gently sucked on her bottom lip. As the hunger of his mouth over hers deepened, his teeth grazed over her cupid’s bow, and his tongue played with her own. Amy sighed and leaned into him, pushing his damp raincoat back from his shoulders. She could feel his growing hardness pressing into her thigh, and she shifted, straddling him so her mound brushed against him through their clothing. Robert made a half grunt, half growl low in his throat, and buried his large, long fingers in her russet hair. He yanked her head back, planting quick, teasing bites down her neck and along her collarbone. Amy’s hands slid up his chest and she worked open the buttons on his shirt. |