Breathless
Authors: Bonnie Edwards
Thigh High
“Beautifully written stories…The satisfying finale brings back the mysterious bordello that figured prominently in the author’s
Midnight Confessions
.”
—Romantic Times Book Reviews
“This is without doubt the hottest and the sexiest book that I have ever read.”
—Fallen Angel Reviews
“Ms. Edwards puts fire in her characters that can be felt completely. The steam floats off the pages, enticing me…hated to see them end.”
—Coffee Time Romance
Midnight Confessions
“Erotic, seductive…This book is fun, feisty and a frolicking good read. Bonnie Edwards mixes erotic romance with just a hint of mystery…Packed full of colorful, interesting characters, gorgeous men and sizzling sex scenes…”
—A Romance Review
“Fascinating and intriguing…A definite keeper!”
—Just Erotic Romance Reviews
“Edwards establishes interest from the first page with an extremely unique plot…. The novel achieves a sensual tone that is tasteful and sexy…
Midnight Confessions
is definitely entertaining reading.”
—Romantic Times Book Reviews
“Edwards mixes fantasy and reality in this imaginative and romantic ghost story…flows with humor, emotion, sex and love…”
—Romantic Times Book Reviews
“With characters that will entertain and bewitch you,
Midnight Confessions II
is a spicy, delightful read…”
—Romance Reviews Today
KENSINGTON BOOKSFor those who dream
For what may be
And to the hard work that means
And for Ted
Always
B
lue McCann traced the lines of the corset through the glass of the store window. Ivory satin and lace, the exquisite vintage piece looked way out of her league. She admired the delicacy of the hand stitching, as perfectly even and precise today as it had been a hundred years ago. Timeless, the handcrafted corset pulled her toward the window every time she passed by.
Timelessness was alluring to people whose time was up. Today, she’d gone out of her way to stop by just to look. Silly, to dream of having a piece of clothing like this one. Still, the corset pulled at her, made her dream of wearing it. She smiled through her next cough. That’s why she came here, in spite of the rain, the unrelenting coughing and pain, the corset reminded her she was a woman: a sexual being. If she wore something like this corset, she could be desired, wanted, maybe even loved.
Loved? She must be delusional. A cough wracked her chest and she turned away, into the wind. Rain lashed her face, so she turned back, chilled more than ever. She had to get home before the wind pushed the rain through her clothes.
The cough went so deep she bent over, hating the hollow feeling in her chest. She leaned on the glass for a moment to catch the little breath she could. Love, the idea was ridiculous, coming from a woman whose very name came from the color of her skin when she was found in a Dumpster. The cop had told the head nurse the newborn girl he’d found had been so blue he’d thought she was a painted doll at first.
On another gust of biting wind and rain, the shop door opened and a woman stepped out. “May I help you? Need to use the facilities? Or maybe a phone?” She stepped around Blue and put her hand on her shoulder. Warmth radiated where the woman touched, even through her thin jacket and thinner sweater.
She’d heard of hands like this—healing, warming. Blue had always hoped she had them.
The woman’s body shielded Blue from passersby and the nasty wind. “This corner is a raceway for wind gusts,” the woman said. Her warm hands firmly urged Blue toward the entrance to the store, and Blue couldn’t resist the softness of the warm air that drew her inside.
Out of the corner of her eye, the corset seemed to shimmy, but a truck went by and rattled the glass. That was all it was. The weight and rumble of the heavy truck had made the glass shiver. She couldn’t have seen the corset actually move on its own.
“Thanks.” She nodded at the woman. “I was just…” she hesitated, knowing she was silly to ask, “wondering how much that corset is? It’s beautiful.” The heat from the woman’s hands infused her back and made her feel stronger. She straightened and squared her shoulders.
“Come inside out of the rain and I’ll take a look. I can’t remember the price. But with your coloring, it will look fabulous on you.” The husky, amused tone made it seem like a done deal, but Blue was broker than broke and living on nothing but dreams and whimsy. And not for long, either.
As Blue stepped to the door, she tried to see the price tag, but a draft twirled the tag like a leaf in autumn. “Whenever I stop here to check the price, the tag’s facing the wrong way.” She coughed again and the woman helped her to a stool by the cash desk. The woman’s healing hands fell away and Blue sank onto the stool, appalled at how weak she felt.
“I don’t want to cause you any grief with your boss,” she said when she could. She knew how she looked. This kind of store didn’t entertain her kind of customer. The broke kind and now that—
“My name’s Faye Grantham,” the woman’s voice cut off Blue’s thought, “and I
am
the boss. Welcome to TimeStop.”
Blue raised her gaze to see a vision of white and gold loveliness. “Pleased to meet you,” she said.
Faye was a ’50s movie siren, all blonde curves and a come-hither look that seemed completely natural. “Wow!” Blue breathed. “You’re a knockout.”
“Thanks, I like the look, although sometimes I go for sixties mod rather than blonde bombshell.” She did a twirl and her skirt kicked up, showing a glimpse of crinoline. “TimeStop specializes in vintage Hollywood wardrobe castoffs, but the corset you admired came from the attic in my home, Perdition House.”
“Perdition House,” Blue repeated, trying to place the name. She came up empty.
Faye tilted her head, letting her gaze slide down Blue’s body. “Would you care to try it on?” She waved a hand toward the back where Blue saw a couple of dressing rooms. “I think it will fit. And I’m sure the man in your life would love to see you in it.”
As much as she loved the corset, it could never be hers. “I don’t have the money for something so beautiful.”
“I don’t believe that will be a problem. Your name’s Blue McCann?”
“Yes, that’s right,” she said through a cough. “How did you know?” She’d never been inside the store, she’d have remembered.
Faye took Blue’s hand in hers. She clasped it warmly and her eyes held a deep, caring smile that Blue could fall into. “We must have met before because I recognized you right away. Care for a cup of coffee, Blue?” She walked to an old-fashioned coffeepot on a stand at the end of the counter. She tilted the pot and poured a cup without waiting for a response.
“Thanks, but I need to get home,” Blue said halfheartedly. The wind had kicked up even wilder. She’d be soaked by the time she got to her place. But when Faye offered her the cup, she took it and settled on the stool as if she had all the time in the world.
“No point rushing out into this kind of weather,” Faye said with a shiver.
Blue took a sip of coffee. Perfect. “How did you know to put in half a teaspoon of sugar and two creams?”
“You told me, of course. You’ve got someone waiting for you?” Faye asked, drawing Blue’s attention away from the delicious coffee.
“No, it’s not that. I can’t afford the corset, so I don’t see the sense—”
“We need a part-timer in the store,” Faye interrupted in an offhand way. “Maybe you’d be interested?”
“And maybe you don’t see that I’m, ah—” Another cough cut her off while she stood, ignoring the pain and weakness that rode her every movement these days. “I’m no charity case,” she said. Tomorrow, maybe, but not today.
“This isn’t charity, Blue, it’s more like a blessing,” Faye said, and slipped the corset into Blue’s hands. It felt as silky and sexy as it looked. She pursed her lips, wanting badly to give herself permission to try it on.
She clutched it to her chest. “A blessing,” she repeated.
Faye smiled and her eyes glowed with warmth and caring. “I’ve got a feeling it’ll fit as if it were made for you.” Her voice sounded hypnotic and soft-toned. Mesmerizing.
She hadn’t mentioned how she liked her coffee, she was sure of it. The quiet calm of the store, the warmth of the corset in her arms, and Faye’s deep smile soothed her. She needed soothing. Suddenly tired of being brave, trying to be strong, she soaked up the comfort of the store and Faye’s kindness.
“This corset has been in a trunk in Perdition for nine decades, just waiting for you. For Blue McCann.” Faye’s eyes were alight with promise and secret knowledge that gave Blue an odd comfort.
The more Blue thought about it, the more certain she was that she’d never met Faye Grantham before. She had a great memory—strong, clear, precise. She could remember the color of her kindergarten teacher’s favorite dress, the feeling of noiseless sobs when she was booted out of foster homes she liked. She remembered being locked in that sweltering car when she was three.
So, no matter what Faye said, Blue was certain she’d never set eyes on her, let alone been introduced. As for the corset? “I doubt it’ll fit, but I guess there’s no harm in trying it on.” Her voice had taken on the same soft warmth as Faye’s, and Blue allowed Faye to lead her to a dressing room.
Once in the booth, she kept her eyes trained on the floor while she stripped to her panties. The coziness of the room enveloped her, and she noted the beautiful quality of the heavy velvet drapery that covered the doorway. It blocked light, sound, and drafts of air. Her toes curled into the luxurious rug underfoot.
It had been months since she’d looked in a full-length mirror. She was half the woman she’d been before her lung disease had worsened. Gaunt and rib thin, she had a hard time looking at her wasted body.
Her lungs worked through a wheeze as she avoided her reflection. She held the corset up in front of her and focused on the fine material rather than her body. It felt foolish to try it on, but when would she get a chance like this again? A howl of wind chased along the roof. It was warm in here, and dry, more than enough reason to hang out for a while.
Maybe Faye was bored. That’s why she took this time with Blue. The store was empty of real customers.
That was why Faye was being so kind. Blue shrugged and undid the ribbon on the back of the corset with shaky fingers. The material was incredibly silky. She pulled it over her head, making sure to keep her back to the mirror. Her boobs were all but gone, and no matter how tight she pulled on the ribbon, she’d never fill out the demi cups.
The satin felt warm and cocooned her ribs and chest, reminding her of the way Faye’s hands had felt. Her cough disappeared. Her wheeze went away. She could breathe! Her pain diminished to a dull ache.
She faced the mirror but covered her eyes with her work-worn hands.
Wimp.
She’d dreamed about this corset time and again. She’d wondered at the beauty of the seamstress’s hand until the piece of lace and satin had seemed to call out to her.
“Need help with anything, Blue?” Faye asked in a soft, coaxing tone.
Blue blinked and tried to think, but she couldn’t tell a stranger how odd everything seemed, or how disjointed and out of place she felt in her own skin.
“No, I’m fine, thanks. I got the back done up on my own.” Although she couldn’t recall actually doing it. She widened two fingers and peeped out at herself in the mirror.
Her cheeks glowed pink, her thighs were filled out, and shapely curves filled out the corset. And her boobs! They were full and round and perky. She palmed them where the satin gave way to the rounded tips.
She looked healthy again!
Her blood rushed warm all over, and her eyes sparkled in the glare of the overhead pot light. She giggled and preened and spun in a circle as she drank in the sight of the perfection in the mirror. She’d been right about the ivory. It brought out all her golden hues. Her hair looked thick and shiny again, the cut sassy and fun the way it used to be.
The heat from the corset increased; her blood rushed loud in her head as the dressing room mirror went dark. The light overhead faded. She couldn’t be sure, but it looked as if her hair was longer than before. She touched it, felt the ends. It wasn’t longer; it couldn’t be longer. But she finger-combed through long plaits that made no sense. Plaits she couldn’t see but felt as clearly as she felt her own skin.
The darkened mirror showed her hair swept up into a Gibson Girl style. She’d seen the style before. Early 1900s. Pretty, feminine, but definitely not her! The image in the mirror flickered as her chest got tight.
Flushed with heat, she tried to find the knot at her back to undo the corset. She had to catch her breath, needed to cool her body.
When she reached back, she felt something more than the ribbons. Something warm, firm. Hands!
She gasped and the warmth she felt changed to something hotter, more sexual. A mouth descended to her shoulder, warm, seeking, giving soft nibbles that stole her breath. But there was no one behind her; no one else stood in the compact fitting room.
Fantasy! That’s all it was, she realized as the sensation drifted away. She hadn’t felt sexual in months, another sign of her compromised health. She peeked outside.
Faye had left for the front of the store. Blue was alone.
The fitting room glowed softly intimate. Blue let her eyes drift shut as she opened her legs and leaned her back against the wall. Moisture slicked across her slit as her labia plumped; her channel softened in readiness. She palmed her belly where it felt warm and needy, then slid her fingers into her moist recess.
She gasped at the sensation she’d missed for months.
Her fingers coaxed, slid, promised release, filled her while she leaned against the wall, legs splayed. No longer afraid to see herself, she opened her eyes and watched as she played her pussy, rubbing and sliding first one then another finger into her body. She widened her stance, gave her hand more room to slide and slick, while her other hand plucked a nipple. A nipple at the tip of a round, heavy breast—the breasts she used to have.
The sensations changed. The hands that played her were no longer thin and feminine, but manly and strong. Demanding. Heavy and needful, her pussy wept for him—the man, the stranger whose hands and lips performed their magic. She felt him at the nape of her neck, his lips nibbling, his teeth scoring across her skin, dragging her gold chain across her flesh. She reached a hand up and behind her to his head, felt his hair, wavy and masculine, beside her neck.
She cried out and gave in to her urgent need as the light overhead flickered. Hips pumping, she allowed the fantasy to run its course. The light overhead gave off a golden, flickering glow.
She thought she’d seen a pot light with a bright white bulb, but she must have been mistaken.
Her reflection changed to watery and unclear as she rose to the peak of ecstasy, taken there by fantasy and the lure of completion. In the mirror, she saw full breasts, round hips, bright eyes, and a healthy glow. The man of her fantasies dragged her backward into his hips, his erection hard against her buttocks, his hands demanding, seeking, heating her to explosion.
And then he looked at her.
Watched as she undulated against him, his eyes dark chocolate and hot with sexual intensity. He had strong features, dark hair, and a crooked, sexy mouth that teased the flesh of her earlobe while he coaxed her to orgasm.
“Let go,” she heard. “Let go for me.” His voice was an echo, a specter’s throaty murmur.
Called to arousal, she responded with a moan and tried to turn to meet him, feel him, hold him, but her orgasm overtook her and she closed her eyes, swept into sensations so real she lost herself.