Read To Me
Table of Contents
Read To Me
Copyright
Dedication
PRAISE FOR AUTHOR
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
About the Author
Also Available
Also Read
Thank You
Read To Me
by
Nona Raines
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Read To Me
COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Nona Raines
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com
Cover Art by Diana Carlile
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com
Publishing History
First Scarlet Rose Edition, 2014
Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-394-0
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
With thanks once again to my critique partner Denise and to my editor Diana Carlile
for all their support.
Many thanks to Allie, Carmen
and Gloria for their help.
PRAISE FOR AUTHOR
Nona Raines
AND HER BOOKS
“She has found a place on my auto-buy list and I look forward to reading all I can by her in the future.”
~Sarah L., Romancing the Book
HER PERFECT MAN
“Fabulous book! That is the best way to describe this read.”
~Molly, Coffee Beans and Love Scenes
TAKE THIS MAN
“The writing was smooth, the sex hot and the ending satisfying…This book does not disappoint.”
~Dianthus, Long & Short Reviews
ONE GOOD MAN
“It’s sweet, hot, romantic, sexy, fun, and funny. Once I started I could not put it down.”
~Michelle, Romance in Review
Chapter One
Watch Your Step. That was what the little sign read. She’d seen it a million times. But today, Blaise Blankenship wasn’t watching. She was rummaging for her bus pass in her overstuffed purse. Her foot caught on the riser and down she went on her hands and knees. “Oof!”
Her purse spilled, and items flew everywhere on the floor of the bus. Loose change, pens, even an errant tampon rolled out. Her cheeks hot, Blaise snatched it and stuffed it back in her purse. As soon as she got home, her first chore would be reorganizing the jumble.
She scrambled to her feet while the driver and another passenger helped pick up her things. The driver frowned, his concern obvious as he handed her some coins. “You all right, Blaise?”
Except for a sore knee and some wounded pride, sure. She sighed. “I’m fine, Larry. Thanks.”
“Uh, miss.” Someone tapped her shoulder. She turned to find an olive-complexioned man with eyes the rich color of coffee beans looking at her. His strong nose fit the rest of his masculine features, as did the hint of a cleft in his chin. She flushed again, though not from embarrassment. The quick eye contact stirred feelings that had been slumbering—more like hibernating—for quite a while.
Blaise smiled. “Hello.”
The man smiled and held out her wallet. “You dropped this.”
“Oh. Yes. Thank you.” Sure she was bright red now, she swiveled away and pulled the bus pass from her purse. As she showed it to Larry, she caught his knowing look and gave him a mock glare. “Not one word out of you.”
He chuckled softly while she backed into her usual spot, the first seat behind the driver. Because of her preferred seating, Larry often joked that she was the official greeter for Bus 158. She’d taken this route so often going to and from work that she knew all the regulars.
But when Blaise sat, it wasn’t the hard plastic bus seat under her behind. She’d settled on someone’s thighs. She yelped and jumped up as though her ass were on fire. She whirled to see the dark-eyed man, who looked as surprised as she felt.
Well, if she looked like that, she looked pretty freaking funny. Blaise burst into laughter. Just what she needed to end her day. “I’m sorry,” she said, once she’d caught her breath. “We were almost really close friends there for a minute.”
His mouth quirked with amusement. “No apology needed. It’s not every day a pretty lady sits on my lap.”
Silly, but the pretty lady thing gave her butterflies. How long had it been since a man actually noticed her, much less gave her a compliment? She was forty-four years old. Though she was in good shape and no gray hair had yet sprung through her auburn mop, at her age the compliments came few and far between.
Or maybe it was the flicker in his eyes that made her stomach flutter. Had that been a spark of interest?
More likely sexual deprivation making you imagine things that aren’t there.
“Not your day, huh, Blaise?” Larry eyed her in the rearview mirror as she took an open seat up front.
“Guess not.” Her smile felt lopsided, but she didn’t know how to fix it.
It wasn’t like her to second-guess herself. Blaise was very happy with her life in Summit, New York. She had a cozy little apartment, a job she loved, and a beautiful daughter of whom she was very proud. She even had said daughter’s upcoming wedding to look forward to. There was nothing to complain of and much to give her joy.
She even enjoyed taking the bus to and from work every day. As the “official greeter,” Blaise often said hello to folks she’d come to know. She’d ask Mrs. Petrelli about her son in the Air Force, chat with Eddie about his courses at the community college, and listen to Mr. Weedemeyer’s stories about his dog Sam. The regulars on Bus 158 were a bit like family.
Of course, no one was more important than her daughter Ashlynn. Though the courtship was something of a whirlwind romance, Blaise was thrilled that Ashlynn had found her soul mate. The light-hearted hairdresser, Desiree, was a perfect complement to Blaise’s sometimes-too-serious librarian daughter. They made a delightful couple.
Ashlynn was embarking on a new phase of life, and Blaise, though thrilled for her, felt a bit at sea. As a single mother, her whole world had revolved around her daughter. But now Ashlynn had found someone who would come first in her life. As it should be. Still, there was a plaintive little voice inside Blaise that cried, “What happens now? What happens to me?”
As the vehicle stopped to discharge and take on passengers, she turned her head and found the dark-eyed man watching her. More flutters in her middle. She smiled, then looked away, feeling unaccountably shy. He was well dressed in a suit and tie, an expensive-looking briefcase beside him. When she dared another glance from the corner of her eye, he was looking out the window. As if he sensed her, he turned and their gazes locked.
This time she felt more than a flutter. A thrill rippled straight to her sex. Oh God. As though he knew the effect he had on her, the man smiled. She chickened out first and broke the connection. Then she gasped and quickly tugged the bell cord. She’d almost forgotten her errand.
Larry rolled up to the curb. “This isn’t your stop.”
She slipped her purse strap up to her shoulder. “I want to stop in at the Tattered Page before the shop closes. Have a good weekend,
Larry. See you Monday.”
She hurried down the steps and gave a little wave as the bus doors closed. For a fleeting moment, her gaze connected once more with the stranger’s. He wasn’t a regular, so she’d probably never see him again. The bus pulled away, and Blaise felt a little twinge of loss.
****
She loved the used bookstore. Loved how the bell jingled when she opened the door, the slightly musty odor of the old books, the narrow aisles and high shelves crammed with books. Though things were a tight fit, comfy chairs were squeezed into corners so readers could sit and enjoy. The Tattered Page was cozy, not cramped. The atmosphere intimate. Just stepping inside put Blaise at ease.
Today, though, her thoughts were back on the bus with the dark-eyed stranger. He’d been a rarity in her well-ordered, day-to-day life. Something unexpected. Exciting.
A white-haired gentleman stood behind a large mahogany desk. “Hello, Blaise.”
“Hello, Mr. Miłosc. I got your postcard. My book’s come in?”
“Indeed, it has.” Though the proprietor had a telephone, he preferred to send handwritten postcards to customers, informing them the special books they’d ordered had arrived. He turned and perused a cluttered shelf behind him. “Ah, here it is.”
She smiled as she lightly smoothed the cover. Little Women by Louisa May Alcott, with illustrations by Jessie Wilcox Smith. Just touching the book inspired warm memories of the evenings spent reading it with Ashlynn.
“That’s the correct edition, I trust?”
“Yes. Absolutely. And it’s in great shape. Thanks so much. How much do I owe you?”
As Mr. Miłosc took her cash and counted out the change, Blaise pictured her daughter’s reaction to the gift. Though she’d already bought the engaged couple something from their wedding registry, the book was a personal gift for Ashlynn alone. A special token of a mother’s love.
Her purchase completed, she strolled among the stacks, luxuriating in the freedom to browse. Though the shelves looked jumbled, Mr. Miłosc had items arranged by category. It didn’t take her long to drift to her favorite section.
Silly at her age to feel embarrassed about enjoying erotica. After all, she was past—far past—the age of consent. Maybe the embarrassment came not from reading but from knowing these books were as close as she’d get to sexy times in real life.
Nothing kept her from dating again if she wanted to. The question was, did she want to? She was happy with her life. Still, it would be lovely to have someone to go to the movies and dinner with, someone to laugh with, to call late at night when she just wanted to talk. Someone to hold, who’d hold her, too.
Someone like the handsome man on the bus. For a moment, she allowed herself the fantasy of sinking into his arms, leaning against his broad chest, inhaling his clean, soapy aroma.
Good God, Blaise, what’s your problem? Daydreaming about a man you spent ten minutes with on the bus.
She should try dating again, but it had always been such a hassle, she wasn’t sure it was worth the effort. Dressing up to meet someone for coffee or a meal, trying to make conversation, trying to find that special spark. So much work for something that usually fizzled out after the first or second meeting.
Maybe she was too out of practice. Or maybe she’d used up all her chances.
She scanned the shelves. Mr. Miłosc didn’t stock pornography. All the titles on the shelf were quality erotica, with authors she recognized—Bocaccio, John Cleland, D.H. Lawrence, Henry Miller, Anais Nin. And of course, the ever popular Anonymous.
She pulled a book from the shelf. One she hadn’t seen before. Cupid’s Delight. Hmm. She flipped to the first page.
And jumped when a hand tapped her shoulder. The book slipped from her hand and fell to the floor. She turned to find herself staring into the coffee-colored eyes of the man from the bus.
His expression was apologetic. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No, uh, no, I’m just—” To cover her sudden case of tangle-tongue, she bent to retrieve the book. He did the same and their heads collided. “Ow!”
“Shit,” he muttered. “I mean, sorry.” He held her arm to steady her as she righted herself. “Are you all right?”
She rubbed the sore spot over her forehead. Yep, there’d be a bump for sure. “I’m fine.” The silliness of the situation hit, and laughter bubbled out of her. “You’ve got one hard head!”
His face relaxed as he laughed, too. “So I’ve been told. Yours is a pretty tough coconut, too.” A shiver passed through her as their laughter subsided, and his expression turned serious. “Your book.” When he handed her Cupid’s Delight, she blinked. She’d completely forgotten about it.
He fished a keychain from his pocket and jingled it in front of her. “And your keys.”
Blaise’s mouth fell open. “Oh, my gosh.”
They were hers, all right. The key chain with the big red heart, a gift years ago from Ashlynn. “How did you…where…?”
“They fell out of your purse on the bus. I didn’t even see them until you’d gotten off. The bus driver told me that you were heading here.”
“Thank you so much. You saved me a huge hassle.” Nothing more embarrassing than needing to ask her landlord to let her in her own apartment. She took the keys and slipped them into her purse, making sure it was securely zipped.
“You’re welcome.” Silence lengthened between them. Even though there was no further reason for the stranger to stay, he lingered. His gaze roamed the stacks. “Interesting place. I enjoy book shops, but I’ve never been here before.”
“It’s one of my favorite spots. I love to come and browse, just sit and read.”
“I read so much for my job, I’ve gotten out of the habit of reading for enjoyment. I miss it.” He pulled a book from the shelf and showed her the spine. Lady Chatterley’s Lover. “This is one of my favorites.”
Suddenly, it became difficult to breathe. “Yes.” She forced the word through her constricted throat. “That’s an amazing novel.”
Constance Chatterley could only find sexual fulfillment with gamekeeper Oliver Mellors. This man, whoever he was, would make a perfect Mellors.
And she would be Lady Chatterley?
As he stood holding the D.H. Lawrence volume, Blaise imagined his large hands stroking her, caressing her body. She quivered, her panties moistening.
Look away, look away!
Quickly, she redirected her gaze to his face. His lips quirked in a little smile. Oh, God, had he guessed where her thoughts had wandered? “Umm, I take the bus all the time, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.”
He nodded. “I usually drive to work and back, but my car’s in the shop and I couldn’t catch a ride with anyone, so…” He extended his hand. “I’m Guy, by the way.”
“Hi, I’m Blaise.” When they shook hands, she again flashed to the image of him touching her in more intimate ways.
He replaced Lady Chatterley on the shelf. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your reading.” He nodded at her book. “Cupid’s Delight. I’m not familiar with that one. Any good?”
Blood rushed to her cheeks. Oh Blaise, don’t be a baby. She cleared her throat, flustered by the feelings this man brought out in her. “Too early to tell. I haven’t started it.”
“It sounds intriguing, doesn’t it?” His gaze held hers and excitement fizzed through her.
She swallowed hard and nodded. “I think so, too.”
With a tilt of his head, Guy indicated the red velvet loveseat wedged into the corner. “Maybe we could sit, read it together.”
Her breath hitched, and her heart thumped so hard she’d have been surprised if he couldn’t see her blouse flutter. Had this man actually asked to read erotica with her? Yes.
And was she going to agree? Yes!
Chapter Two
His hand warm against her lower back, he guided her to a loveseat. When they sat, only a few inches of space separated them. Blaise shimmied to the right to wide
n the gap, but the armrest stopped her. There was no more room, nowhere to go.
Not that she was afraid of Guy. There was nothing threatening in his gentle smile and soft gaze. Rather, her own strong reactions frightened her. She wondered how old he was. The laugh lines at the corners of his eyes indicated he was in his thirties. He’s younger than me. How much younger?
But what did it matter? They were only sitting. Almost touching.
A light film of perspiration formed at her hairline. Did the room suddenly grow warmer, or was her temperature on the rise?
He nodded to the book on her lap. “Would you like to start?”
Once again, she’d forgotten it. Blaise opened the book. By God, I’m not going to chicken out now.
The book, written sometime in the Victorian era, purported to be an autobiographical account of the author’s own adventures, studying various erotic techniques and practicing them with his many lovers. Blaise couldn’t help but think some fictional license and not a little braggadocio were involved if in fact the book was at all true. If this Anonymous, whoever he was, was half as active as he claimed, he put Casanova to shame.
But it really didn’t matter. As she read about the technique called Heart of the Rose, Blaise’s voice lowered. Somehow, that safe space between her and Guy had disappeared. Without realizing, they’d drawn closer to each other. Her hip pressed against his. As he leaned in, reading the book over her shoulder, his breath stirred her hair and felt warm on her cheek.
Her voice stuttered, then stopped altogether when his hand fell lightly on her knee.
The sound of someone loudly clearing his throat caused them both to pull back—Blaise abruptly, her heart thumping as though she’d been caught doing something shameful. Guy withdrew slowly, as if reluctant to remove his hand.
Mr. Miłosc approached, carrying a tray with three small wine glasses. He handed a glass to Blaise, another to Guy, and kept the third himself. Tucking the tray under his arm, he said. “I thought you might enjoy this.”
The glasses held golden liquor with a slightly spicy aroma. Blaise felt a bit tipsy just inhaling it.