What happens when faaaaabulous Jules Gem—the LitLuv convention mouthpiece (bullhorn, bulldog . . . )—gets a crack at our favorite Carolina Bad Boys? Oh, and she seems to be hiding a few luscious secrets of her own. 
​
Read on for the final Stone, At Your Service bonus scene, and be sure to tune in tomorrow for a special Halloween preview of book #2, Love, In the Fast Lane. There might even be a giveaway on my Facebook page to coincide tomorrow. 

Stone was arrogant, cocky, and somewhat bashful. A deeeelicious combo. He’d intrigued me from the first moment I laid eyes on him at the LitLuv convention. During the Guys with Balls competition, I was at the end of my rope. Amateurs, the lot of those men. Even the professionals. Then there was Stone. He’d generated more than just my interest—not that I was interested in him like that. But for someone who claimed to be gay, there was something going on between him and our illustrious Miss Leelee Songchild.

I’d intended to find out what. I hadn’t had to wait all that long for Stone to be un-outted. No surprise there. But imagine my surprise when I discovered he lived in Mt. Pleasant, South Carolina, just a stone’s throw away from my beach rental on Isle of Palms. I absolutely had to follow up with him once the convention ended.

And I had an ulterior motive.

With my salon-streaked hair fluffed out and my Lancôme lipgloss in place, I pranced into Stone’s Auto Service for the second time that summer. Stone still owed me another favor, and I meant to collect. The men—his mechanics—fell over themselves to help me, then blinked in surprise when I explained Stone was expecting me.

The largest of the bunch—Gerald was his name—came forward with a broad smile. “Yes, ma’am. Right this way.”

“It’s Miss.” I coolly replied. I did so enjoy getting under the skin of these massive, rugged men.

A few masculine chuckles followed my clarification.

“Rightio, Miss Gem.” Gerald had flushed beneath his dark brown skin, but he continued to grin at me.

Mick stepped up beside him. “I’ll take her.”

Hmmm. I laid one hand on his strong chest when he approached me. “I believe Gerald will do just fine. What was your name again? Mike? Michael?”

“Mick.” He growled, his gorgeous spring green eyes flashing.

I knew damn well who he was. He knew I knew it, too. I also knew why he wanted to get me alone. And that just didn’t fit into my crafty plan for him . . . yet. I placed my arm in the crook of Gerald’s proffered elbow, and off I glided, away from a furious-looking Mick.
What fun he was going to be.

I’d dressed with every ounce of care for this precious meeting. On the way to Stone’s office, I perfected my slightly prima donna, slightly power hungry persona. The Jules who usually only came out to play at the romance writers convention I helped organize every spring.
Stone and Nicky Love were waiting for me in the hideous office with the stained blue carpet. The smell of car oil swilled in the air instead perfume or cologne. They looked absolutely petrified, sitting next to each other on the small, equally distasteful sofa.

I dismissed Gerald and closed the door as he retreated to the hallway. “Well.” I sauntered inside and arranged myself behind Stone’s meticulous desk. “This is going to be sooooo much fun.” I gave an excited quiver for my captive crowd.

The pair of them looked like they were going to be sick.

I pulled out a miniature recording device. Clicking it on, I thought about which question to ask first. What handsome men they were. Big men, fidgeting in fear, in front of me. Stone with his huge build and his bedroom eyes, Nicky Love with his fit body and fabulous hair. They had agreed to do this interview under duress, of course. But what Jules Gem wants, Jules Gem gets. And they were far too entertaining to pass up.

Fully centered in my Jules character, I aimed a slightly sharkish grin at them. “So, boys, would you ever consider putting on a little sex show for the ladies? I’m sure Leelee would just love to see that. And if not her, well, I certainly wouldn’t object.” To objectifying you. I laughed to myself.

“What?” Stone’s voice spiked. His eyebrows did, too.

I loved terrorizing him. He was six years older than me, yet I could get him to squirm in his seat like a naughty schoolboy. Hmmm.
“Absolutely not.” Nicky was appalled.

Excellent.

Whereas sexy Stone wore his heart on his sleeve and on his face, Nicky Love was a much harder read. Equally handsome, but much more adept at hiding his true feelings in any given situation. It would be fun to break through his delicious shell.

“I don’t see why you’re sooooo adamantly against it. You did kiss at the convention, in front of everyone. Clearly you have exhibitionist homosexual tendencies.”

I almost laughed out loud when Stone’s jaw dropped open. He slammed it shut. He gaped again. “But that was . . . that was . . .”

“Soooo hoooooot.” I gave them a shiver of delight, then watched them both shudder in distaste.

“I was going to say fucking weird.” Stone glared at me.

“Amen to that, bro.” Nicky’s very otherworldly violet eyes took on a hard cast.

“Oh, but I beg to differ.” Folding my hands on top of the desk, I leaned forward. “It was surely one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen. And you know how we ladies like our male-male romance. Not even a little repeat?”

Stone peered at Nicky. Nicky stared back. I clapped my hands.

“Not a fucking chance.” Stone winked at me.

“Ditto.” Nicky eased slightly away from his friend.

I pouted. Then batted my eyelashes. They didn’t make a move toward one another. Maybe I should’ve brought my bullhorn with me. Stone could never refuse me when I used that.

The silence thickened until Nicky nervously laughed. “Besides he’s got Leelee and I’ve got my eye on someone.”

Bingo! Finally we were getting somewhere. I needed a little juicy gossip for my newest LitLuv magazine article. I pounced all over that.

“So the only reason you two won’t explore your gay fantasies is because you might otherwise be taken?”

“NO!” they shouted in unison.

Methinks the gents doth protest too much. But maybe there was another angle to play.

“Who is this lucky lady then?” I directed my question to Nicky.

“Not saying.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Bet I know.” His best bud jabbed him in the ribs.

“Wonderful, and . . .?” I asked.

Nicky punched Stone on the shoulder.

Stone frowned, rubbing the rippling muscle. “Can’t say.”

“Well then, Nicky, I have no other option than to think you’re lying. I think you really do wish there was something between you and Stone.” I interrogated the man who avoided my shrewd gaze. “Tell me what you felt when he kissed you. Was there a frisson of excitement? Had you two ever kissed before? Was there tongue action? Because it looked like—”

“Catarina Steele, okay?” he blurted. Horror showed on his face.

“Catarina Steele. Perfect.” I’d be looking her up soon.

“How does she do that?” Muttering to Stone, Nicky glanced at me.

“Voodoo.”

“Witchcraft.”

“Hexes.”

“Hey, at least she’s not one of our exes.” Nicky smirked.

“Word.” They fist bumped each other.

“Will you both be returning next year? Because I have serious plans in store for you, Stone, and you, Mr. Love, put the RAWR in Romance.” I dragged them away from their self-congratulations.

“Um,” Stone mumbled.

“Erm.” Nicky winced. He pulled the leather tie out of his wavy hair and raked his fingers through it. “Yeah. I think so.”

“Oh, is there a problem I should know about that would prevent your attendance?” This private man was just full of surprises.

“Problems? No. None at all.”

“Stalker fan chick on the crazy train,” Stone oh so helpfully supplied.

“Reaaallly? Goes by the name of . . .?” I asked.

“Nothing. Nobody. Forget it. And you”—he pointed at Stone—“shut it.”

Wonderful. I did so love unraveling a good mystery.

“Well, it’s been absolutely divine chatting with you two. I simply can’t wait until we catch up next time.” Clicking off my recording device, I pushed the chair back from the desk.

The men slumped in relief.

Poor boys.

“Oh! I nearly forgot. One last thing.” They jerked to attention. Purrrfect.“That man—Mick—who works here? He should still be out in one of the bays, yes?”

“What? Why do want to see him?” Stone had suspicion written all over his face.

“Oh, no reason. No reason at all.” I assumed an air of innocence. “He took care of my Jeep last time I came in. There’s something I want him to check out.” I smiled at Stone. “Besides, I am sooooo enjoying getting to know your mechanics. So manly, so delightfully gauche.”
“What the fuck does gauche mean?” he asked Nicky.

“I’ll explain it later,” Nicky muttered.

They both rose to their feet as I strode from behind the desk. “I can’t wait to see how this article pans out. Fans are waiting to hear more about you, you know? And we don’t just LitLuv it, we live it.”

“Yeah, right. Uh huh.” Stone shook my hand and opened the door.

And now for Mick. Not only was I the Perez Hilton of the romance conference circuit, I was also a journalist for the local Post and Courier. That’s why I’d recognized Mick the first time I came here. I knew him as Michael. Michael Cain. Yes, really. Of course that could be entirely fake, since he didn’t want his friends and fellow mechanics finding out about his moonlighting gig. My name certainly wasn’t Jules Gem, and I didn’t act like a bossy pit bull in girl’s clothing during my normal daily life. Well, not all the time.

I found him inside one of the sweltering bays. My gaze narrowed on him. In one word, he was hot. Two words? Smoking hot. Sexy as hell. He had too shaggy, shiny, dark auburn hair that fell in his eyes. His skin was so fair I wondered if he ever went to the beach. I’d like to see that, more than a Stone/Love do-over kiss. Mick’s lips were bright red, juicy-looking. Grease stains ran up his strong forearms and down one side of his slanting cheekbones. He wore the coveralls like a man accustomed to dirty work, draped at his waist, a white tank top underneath. An ornate, colorful tattoo peeked out from the cloth at the top of his chest. Then there were the two heavy bore, black plugs in his ears.

Absolutely utterly totally fuckable. Four words.

In his other job, he spiffed up nicely, usually showing up in clean khakis and button-down shirts. They didn’t do a damn thing to disguise the edgy beautiful man inside. I couldn’t decide which look I liked better. I might have to explore them both.

When he caught sight of me watching him, he loped over. “Juliana!”

Mmm, I loved the way he said my name. Or rather, hissed it.

Grabbing my wrist, he hauled me out back. The sun glinted off his hair, intensifying the deep red. He kept hold of my wrist and dragged me close. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”

I brushed his full lower lip with the pad of my thumb then caressed the rough stubble on his jaw.

“Shit.” Mick expelled in a long breath. “That feels—”

The talking stopped when I pressed against him. His hard planes pushed against my softer curves. That time he groaned. That time, his hand left my wrist to tangle in my hair. The perfect mossy green of his irises darkened.

“I don’t want anyone to know.”

“I gathered.” I blew a gentle stream of air against the warm hollow of his throat.

One uneven exhale riffled the top of the artful blow-out my stylist took such pride in. “You are making me insane.”

I wriggled from his embrace. “I gathered.”

Mick, Michael Cain, etc., whoever, had a nice little secret he didn’t want to get out. We were on the same circuit for the Post and Courier. My burly, dirty, tasty mechanic was also a wedding photographer—and quite sought after, too. His sideline didn’t jive with his macho meathead reputation. My inner personality—the one no one saw—didn’t really go with the Jules Gem most people knew, either.
We had more than one thing in common, and so much chemistry the air blazed between us every time we met. Mick wouldn’t act on it, and I . . . I wasn’t often as ballsy as everyone thought.

“You’re going to owe me for keeping it under wraps, Mick.”

“Yeah?” He prowled to me, backing me against the wall, caging me with his arms. “And one day you’re gonna owe me because I’m gonna fuck you the way you want to be, Juliana. Hard and rough, then slow and hot, all night long. Just as soon as you drop this Jules Gem act and finally admit how much you want me.”

______________________________________________
STONE: Amazon
LOVE:Preorder now! Coming December 11, 2014.
​AmazonGoodreads

OH! What do we have here? Part Three in the outtakes/bonus material from Stone, At Your Service! This time, we’re getting Leelee’s POV of that very hot, very USTY gym scene with Josh. Let’s see sexy Mr. Stone through Leelee’s eyes…

A special Leelee POV of the gym scene from Chapter Four, Stone, At Your Service

 Just my luck, the first man to spark my sexual interest in months, and he was gay. Like Patrick.

I dragged my unruly hair into a tight ponytail as if trying to drag thoughts of Stone, and my ex, out of my head. In the past few months, I’d barely thought about Patrick. Maybe him ending our engagement had been a good thing. He hadn’t been the biggest supporter of my writing, always complaining it took time away from him. Of course it was just fine and dandy for him to stay up half the night playing whatever it was on his PlayStation, but when it came to my writing—the career I’ve been building for two years—well, to hear him tell, it was no more than a hobby. A waste of time that would never pay the bills.

Every time something major happened to me via my book, Patrick was suddenly overwhelmed by his consulting work. His business crises mysteriously coincided with my promotion deadlines, which meant he was unexpectedly at home, taking over more than his fair share of the home office when I needed peace and quiet to concentrate.

If it wasn’t a work crisis, it was me “doing God knows what on the computer” instead of connecting with him. I swear, he had PMS more often than I did. He even once said we needed to dialogue about our feelings.

Dialogue our feelings? Who said that stuff?

In fact, we hadn’t had all that much in common to begin with. Maybe I’d been complacent because, in retrospect, our relationship was boring. Patrick wasn’t even my type: physically—weedy—mentally—needy. I couldn’t remember getting all that turned on by him sexually, and most of my orgasms during the course of our relationship . . . well, let’s just say I was a do-it-yourself type of gal. I wanted a man who knew he was a man, who didn’t need to dialogue about his feelings, one who knew how to take action.

One who could get me off.

That certainly hadn’t been Patrick.

Stone, on the other hand . . .

The greenish-gray bedroom eyes. The body, his broad shoulders, his smile—just this side of naughty. The fedora hat—to quote Janice, swoon—thetat on his chest. I’d almost fallen over when he’d opened his door.

He’d stood there dripping wet in just a towel, one that certainly wasn’t big enough to cover all the essentials. And boy, oh boy, did he seem to have a lot of essentials. I’d never seen such a perfectly sculpted torso in real life. The sight of Stone almost naked made me breathless.

I couldn’t make him out. First he was gentlemanly, helping me sort out my overturned boxes and suitcases in the lobby. Then he was an asshole when I’d thanked him for seeing me to my room. Sometimes he was protective of me, so I felt safe with him. Other times I could swear there was something sexual in his unguarded stare.

Oh dear Lord, Leelee. Get a grip. One trip around the I’m gay block was plenty. I didn’t need a repeat performance with the enigmatic, very manly Stone. No, he is definitely not my type. Just like Patrick.

I finished changing my clothes. I tried to locate my iPhone. I swore I’d just tossed it . . . somewhere. Looking in dismay at the stacks of books and business cards and postcard flats, I gave up. I called my cell from the hotel room phone. When it rang, I searched through the mountains of clothes piled on the spare bed.

Now how the hell had it gotten there?

With the phone, my armband, and earbuds in hand, I headed to the hotel gym to avoid the dreaded lobby crowds and clear my head. Once I swung through the door, the sight that confronted me almost made me drop my bottle of water.

Stone. In the flesh. In the nearly bare, very sweaty, rippling, flexing flesh. Those hazel eyes took in my decidedly un-convention-like outfit. From the way he stared, I got the distinct impression he didn’t mind me in spandex instead of a dress and heels. And I certainly wasn’t complaining about his clothing, or lack thereof. All he wore was a pair of low-hanging nylon shorts.

“So, what brings you here?” He gave me one of his delicious smirks.

“The gym’s a great place to hide. I only started workin’ out when I began coming to these things. You know, me and crowds.” I rolled out my yoga mat and began stretching. I tried to avoid his gaze. He had me flustered already. I should’ve walked straight back out the door again. The man was walking, talking temptation. Or he would’ve been, if he were straight.

“Yeah, I’m hiding from those vicious writers too.” When he grinned he looked positively rakish, almost dangerous with his teeth flashing in the well-maintained, dark blond stubble.

Definitely a man. A man’s man all the way.

I appreciated him trying to put me at ease, but all he did was unsettle me, excite me, make me want something I could never have with him.

After nodding at me, he continued with his workout. I started to do my yoga warm-up. He moved around the room, doing one-arm pull-ups, sit ups, bench presses. My favorite was the squats.

The muscles in his thighs bulged. Stone’s shorts bulged in the middle. His shoulders bunched and his biceps swelled. His abs clenched and contracted. He looked up, and met my eyes. Instead of glancing away, his gaze openly meandered down my body, over the stretchy material of my sports top. His eyes lingered on my breasts and my breathing sped, not because of my strenuous yoga pose.

Stone replaced the barbell and turned to face me.

Oh my! I thought his shorts were going to fall off. They kept dipping lower on his pelvis as he mopped his face and chest with its soft-looking smattering of hair that thinned into a line and trailed all . . . the . . . way . . . down.

Down, where I figured out exactly what was keeping his shorts in place. That would be a very prominent . . . member. An erection. Good God, Leelee, you’ve got no problem writing cock and pussy and all manner of sexual terms. Call it what it is. His cock. Stone’s cock prevented his shorts from simply slipping off the twin grooves of muscle at his hips.

I gasped. My eyes flew up to be snagged by Stone’s. My cheeks felt like they were on fire and I had the uncontrollable desire to giggle. I pressed my lips together and his sandy eyebrows arched.

My, my, my. Stone certainly was well endowed. Suddenly I felt perverse, openly ogling Nicky’s lover. But then he swiveled to the rear of the room, doing some adjustments to his front, and dear God, his butt. Yes, that was an ass that wouldn’t quit.

As he turned back to me, I saw what he’d been doing when he faced away. He’d arranged his tank top from his waistband so it hung over his . . . cock. He returned to those damnable squats and I completed a few more positions.

During this whole time we’d only exchanged our greetings. Apparently Stone did not need to dialogue shit out, which I appreciated, but I needed him to stop the squats before my eyes fell out of my head to join my tongue on the floor.

Or before he burst out of his shorts.

Approaching him, I asked, “Spot me?’

He brought the barbell down then stood to his full height in front of me. Well over six feet worth of stacked muscle and the heady scent of man teased me.

“What?” he asked.

“Could you spot me?” I motioned toward the bench press.

His slow perusal marked my body almost as thoroughly as his large hands could. “Sure.” His deep gruff voice sent shivers through me.
I calibrated the weights on the metal bar. He stood behind me, close enough his heat felt like a caress along my back and buttocks. When I lay down on the bench, I watched his throat bob. He licked his lips.

This might be my worst idea yet because Stone loomed above me, and I had a bird’s eye view up the length of his legs and abs and chest. His chin lowered to his chest as he carefully watched me. One corner of his firm-looking lips lifted. I trained my eyes on the ceiling, willing myself not to peek up the gaping leg of his shorts to find out if he really was hard as stone everywhere.

I didn’t like being this affected by him. I disliked being on uneven footing with him even more. I silently started my presses. The last time I’d seen him, I’d given him a copy of my novel. I decided to tease him about it.

“Did you get a chance to check out Ride?”

“Yeah, a little. Not bad.” He lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck.

Oh really? We’d see about that. After another few reps, I motioned for him to take the weight from me. When he had it safely anchored above me, I sat up.

“Not bad?” I took a little swing at his ribs. His damp skin and unyielding flesh made my knuckles burn, but I didn’t wince.
He looked anywhere but at me. “The guy-girl thing doesn’t cut it for me, ya know?”

I really didn’t know. I wasn’t sure. Around Stone I was confused, amused, intrigued. He pissed me off. He turned me on.
Jesus, Leelee. He’s gay.

I knew it. I was going to die an old spinster cat lady surrounded by steamy romance books with no romance in my life whatsoever.
I was not going to fall for Nicky Love’s lover, dammit.
______________________________________________
STONE: Amazon
​LOVE:Preorder now! Coming December 11, 2014
.AmazonGoodreads

Woo hoo! For our second Stone outtake, we’re going back to the LitLuv convention. Missy, Jackée, and Janice (BDSM, M-M, Steampunk)—aka the Hens—talk a little trash about Stone. A brand new scene!

A new scene featuring The Hens from Stone, At Your Service
 
The overcrowded hotel lobby-cum-bar at the 7th Annual Literary Love convention literally roared with the noise of a thousand-plus attendees. The Hens laid claim over a banquette table, glaring at any interloper who dared approach.

“There are ears everywhere.” Janice plucked at the loose neckline of her embroidered peasant blouse.

Jacqueline shuddered. “And agents.”

“Now, now. Not all agents are the stuff nightmares are made of,” Missy Peachtree of the BDSM persuasion tutted. Then she gave a feral grin. “I am.”

The Hens hooted with laughter so loud a bevy of heads turned in their direction.

“Eavesdroppers,” Jackée hissed. She dug in her purse for a bottle of salon-grade nail polish and her monogrammed fingernail file.

The Hens didn’t think of themselves as such. They preferred the term Queens, if it must be known. It was the opening night of the LitLuv convention in Atlanta. They’d enjoyed a thoroughly enlightening/eye-opening dinner with fellow romance writers Leelee Songchild and Nicky Love with the addition of Love’s longtime lover, Stone. Now they were ready to dish dirt, in the privacy of the packed lobby/bar.
Janice pushed her Lennon glasses to the top of her head. “That lucky Mr.Lurve . . .”

“Lucky little freak in the bed with all that Stone hard man meat next to him, on top of him, inside of him.” Jackée sawed the file across her nails. “I don’t know about you ladies, but I could lick Stone from head to toe and start right back at the bottom again.”

“I’d like to see Stone bottom.” Missy closed her eyes with a sigh. “Scratch that. I’d like to harness them in dual swings facing each other, strapped to a double-ended dildo. All trussed up. I’d really get my flogger on for that.”

“Tweeting that.” Janice scrunched her plump face, tapping with fast precision on her phone. “Hashtag stonelove.”

“Girl, that would certainly give me some inspiration for another novel.” Having touched up her nails in vivid purple, Jacqueline proceeded to moisturize her hands until her cocoa-colored skin gleamed.

“Maybe we should do a collaboration, Jacks.” Missy slapped a Vera Bradley notebook on the table and found her I’m a Damn Good Domme pen, the one with the tiny silver handcuffs swinging from it. “You can handle the penetration and I’ll take care of the punishment.”

“Oh yeah? What would we call it?”

“Hard Love!” Janice shouted, drawing another round of attention from the nearby drinkers.

The three of them started plotting a male-male bondage book, which not a single one of them had time in their writing schedule to work on. It was part of their yearly ritual at the convention, the only occasion the three girlfriends and their token gay guy got a chance to catch up face-to-face. By the time an hour had passed, they’d moved onto their second bottle of wine and the sequel to Hard Love: Bound to Love.

“So, what do we think about our NKOTB?” Janice asked.

“Shh. Keep it down,” Missy advised. “That creeper-stalker-starfucker agent has been seen sniffing around our girl.”

“Already? She just got here.” Janice had momma bear instincts for any new writer, but Leelee Songchild was different.

Since she’d joined their exclusive Facebook group, the stunning twenty-something ingénue had created quite a stir. She kept her private business private, and the Hens had decided—minus Nicky’s input—that just wouldn’t do. They liked to know a person’s background, past flings, new conquests, and future hopes. They were impressed by Leelee’s whirlwind authorial debut with her New Adult book and her professional dedication, but they needed to know more. Especially if they had any hopes of protecting her from the money-grubbing, ass-grabbing claws of one creeper-stalker-starfucker agent, Andrew LaForge.

“I don’t know what’s worse.” Janice ran a lacquered nail around the rim of her wineglass. “LaForge’s shady contracts or his skuzzy come-ons. Fucker gives creeper-stalkers a bad name.”

They’d finished plotting their Love trilogy based on the imagined escapades of Stone and Nicky . . . in a BDSM setting, then they put their creative heads together to plot LaForge’s downfall.

After they were satisfied his black moment would be nothing short of epic, Missy continued scheming. “Did anyone else notice Stone tripping over his tongue around Leelee?”

“Maybe he’s shy.” Janice countered.

“Honey chile, a man who’s built like a brick shithouse has absolutely no right being bashful.”

“Word!” Missy crowed at Jacqueline, causing another ripple in the massive ocean of people. “I don’t even think he’s gay.”

Janice’s eyes popped behind the pastel lenses of her glasses. “You think it’s a ruse?”

“Oooh, girl. The plot thickens.” Jackée crossed her arms over her chest. “But I’m calling bullshit this time, Missy. I know my gays, and he might be butch—”

“Sooo butch,” Janice breathed out.

“But that man is h-o-m-o-sex-yew-l.”

“Care to wager on it?” Reopening her paisley notebook, with her dominatrix pen poised, Missy waited for the bets about Stone’s sexuality she knew were forthcoming. Janice and Jacqueline liked to gamble as much as she did.

They were writers, after all.
______________________________________________


STONE: Amazon
LOVE:Preorder now! Coming December 11, 2014
AmazonGoodreads

I’m going to be posting ALL the cut scenes/character interviews/outtakes from Stone this week. I’ll be culminating the bonus material on Friday with a special Halloween sneak peek at Love, In the Fast Lane!

You can get your copies here:
​
STONE: Amazon
LOVE: Preorder now! Coming December 11, 2014.
​AmazonGoodreads

What else happened when Josh returned from Atlanta? He did a little dress shopping for Leelee. Because…well…remember when he ripped her pretty dress straight off her body? Mm hmm. Yeah. 

Carolina Bad Boys #1
From Chapter 16 Not Romancing the Stone

Forgiveness and a future with Leelee, that’s what I was aiming for. I didn’t send her flowers. That’d be lame. Instead, I came up with something much more meaningful.

During a Saturday in the middle of July—six lonely and happy and fucked-up and horny weeks since I’d touched or talked to Leelee—I walked into a highfalutin boutique in the Towne Centre.

I loomed over the dress racks and heard a feminine squeak, “Oh, my!”

I sent a smirk in return.

Back in Atlanta, I’d destroyed Leelee’s dress, ripping it in half to get her naked for me. I was going to redress that, in a manner of speaking. This place was as good as any to start. I didn’t have a clue what the hell I was looking for, but I knew Leelee’s body, I knew her style, and I knew what she looked good in.

A highly polished young woman joined me. “May I help you, sir?”

“Yeah.” I scraped a palm across the stubble on my jaw. “I need to buy a dress for a really sexy woman. But it can’t be cheap or tacky.” I pointed at something with peacock blue sequins. “My woman’s pure class.”

The salesclerk cleared her throat, her pulse butterflying under the skin. “Any idea what color she might prefer?”

“She’s a redhead. Fucking handfuls of the gorgeous, strawberry blond stuff. Creamy skin, like icing on a cake that’s never been touched.”
Lifting a finger to her mouth, she said, “Perfect. Let’s look for gem tones and a few pastels. Evening or day?”

“Day.” Definitely. I wanted Leelee to be able to wear it a lot—and think of me every time she did.

“Size?” She showed me some kind of dress chart that made no sense whatsoever to me.

I knew her size all right, though. I formed nice, big curves with my hands. “Her breasts are like this, they fit my palms just right. And her bottom, it’s heart-shaped, more than a handful. She’s got full hips and her waist . . .” I made a slim cylinder between my palms. “Hourglass, right? And her legs, oh man. Leelee’s got legs up to there, ya know?”

“How tall does she measure against you in heels?”

“She’s got some wicked stilettos, about four inches, I’d say. When she wears those, she comes up to my chin.” I smiled. “Her head tucks right against my throat.”

“Curvaceous, probably a size 8/10, depending on the designer.” The salesgirl whipped out a measuring tape and draped it around her neck. Flicking her eyes from my Adam’s apple to the top of my head, she visually translated the measurements.

That sounded about right, the lady seemed to know her stuff. “Yeah, she’s got a banging body,” I agreed.

Sitting me down in a cushy area surrounded by shoe racks, mirrors, and purses, the young lady shut her eyes. She hummed for a few seconds then smiled with one finger pointed in the air. “You sit tight now, I’ll be right back.”

Several minutes later, she returned with an armload of dresses she carefully hung on a rack beside me. Over the next half-hour, we went through every single one of them. She named off styles and fabrics while I picked out my favorites and discarded many more, narrowing it down to five.

“What’s her personality like?”

I leaned back with a laugh. “She’s feisty as hell. Soft, sweet, and sassy, too. Leelee’s so sexy she makes my mouth dry up until I just need to taste her—sometimes she does it on purpose, other times she has no idea. And she can be shy, shy around other people, but not me.”
Pursing her lips, she walked back and forth along the garments. She stopped, plucked out the dress I’d been eyeing, and held it out. “The Gloriana.”

Yeah. A slow grin spread across my face. On Leelee, the dress would be formfitting from the low-cut bodice to the tiny sleeves that would sit just off her shoulders. The skirt was pencil-slim with a slit up the back. Fuck yeah. I fingered the soft material.

The woman smoothed her hand over the garment. “Silk jersey. Large lilac flowers on a soft yellow background will go wonderfully with her hair—”

“She’s gonna look drop-dead in it.” My voice lowered into a husky tone.

She returned shortly after leaving me with the dress and my daydreams. “Shoes, of course.”

I looked at the high heeled things she carried—shiny, taupe leather—good Lord, yes. “I’ll take it all.”

The sales assistant rang me up while I thanked her. “You nailed it.”

“No, sir, not at all. You did.” Her smile was bright, even though we’d pretty much wrecked the joint and she had a lot of cleanup to do after I left. “She’s a lucky woman, your woman.”

“I don’t know about that. I kind of fucked up with her. Sorry ’bout the language, miss.” I rubbed the back of my neck.

“Perhaps she’ll accept your apology. Should I gift wrap it for you?”

Hell yes. With ribbons, bows, and all that kind of crap.

Leaving the boutique with my packages, the dress, the shoes, the whole nine yards, I’d made a huge dent in my bank account and I didn’t regret it one bit. I’d never bought clothing for a woman before. I liked it doing it for Leelee.

I Fed-Exed that motherfucker right away with no ulterior motive other than to replace something I’d ruined, fix something I’d damaged. It was so much more than a dress between Leelee and me.
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Way to go, Josh! I hope you enjoyed that little extra scene from Stone, At Your Service. Don’t forget to get your copies, and leave me some sugar on Amazon. ​