Enticing Interlude (Tempest #2) (38 page)

Book 3

Sign up by email to be the first to know about all things to do with Michelle Mankin and Black Cat Records

http://eepurl.com/Lvgzf

Read on for a preview

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I shouted, yanking the powdery pink confection down from her precarious perch right before she could plunge into the icy current below.

Almost-A-Statistic was a tiny piece of ass, she barely weighed anything at all. But after chugging a fifth of whiskey my balance wasn’t all that great. So instead of setting her down safely as I’d planned, we both ended up in a sprawled heap on the dry side of the bridge railing.

Her on top.

Me on the bottom. My customary spot.

At least she had me and the padding of her ski jacket to cushion her fall.

I wasn’t so lucky. I had nothing. But then again I had a lot of practice being

Smacked down.

Forgotten.

Discarded.

Abandoned.

My whole damn life.

Grew up with nothing and no one really, but made the mistake of letting a select few near that I thought I could trust. Where did that get me?

Cut down at the knees.

Stabbed in the fuckin’ back.

Best friend screwing the woman I’d loved since high school. Secrets kept from me by my so-called bandmates. So I left ‘em. Left everything that meant anything to me. Brought so low. Hurt so much. Thought life couldn’t get any worse. Then that phone call to let me know it surely could.

Now the mother that barely acknowledged my existence had been snatched away from me, too.

Cold air rushed through the new rip in my jeans and my backside began to throb where the hard ass pavement had done a fuckin’ number on me.

Ignoring the hint of soft curves pressing into me, my icy glare hit her with all my pent up shit as if she were somehow responsible for it. The self-hatred, the bitterness, and the feeling of hopelessness that pissed me off and fueled the rage that had brought me here, right now, ready to end it all.

She recoiled and slid off me, landing on her rear.

She grimaced.

I grinned, my lips curling at her obvious discomfort.

Welcome to my world, bitch.

“I was saving your life, you…you…ass…you ingrate.” Eyes a startling peridot green flashed at me as she sputtered. “I saw you put your foot up on the railing. You were about to jump. Besides that you’re obviously drunk…inebriated. Everyone knows you shouldn’t drink when you’re depressed.” She put mittened hands to her hips. “It only makes things worse.”

I laughed, not because she was funny, but ‘cause she was right.

I was ready to punch my ticket off this whole fucking me up the ass world.

Eyes narrowing, I took some time to study my wanna be savior. Wisps of hair an unusual shade of blonde that didn’t seem quite real peeked out from under a slightly askew bubble gum colored cap and framed a pale too-cute-to-be-beautiful face. Pepto-Bismol tip to toe, from her lipstick to her custom Nike sneakers.

I couldn’t get an exact gauge on her age with her figure mostly hidden by that heavy coat, but she looked young. Way
young, maybe enough to get you arrested if you went there kind of young.

I’d just about made up my mind that she wasn’t worth the trouble when my gaze came back up to her face. There was something in her eyes, swirling near the surface of their light green depths. Something that once upon a time I might’ve been interested in figuring out…but not anymore.

I was done with chicks.

Done with the drama.

Just plain fuckin’ done.

“You don’t know jack.” I drew myself up, clumsy and stumbling a bit as I got to my feet.

“I know a lot. More than you think. I knew you’d stop me from doing what you were getting ready to do yourself.” She blinked up at me all doe eyed as I stared down at her.

“Holy fuck!” I exclaimed as that sank in. “What do you think this is, Pink? The bridge scene from
It’s a Wonderful Life?
Well breaking news, Sunshine. This ain’t fuckin’ Christmas. You ain’t no guardian angel. And I sure as fuck ain’t no do-gooding George Bailey.” I gesticulated toward the rail. “Go ahead. Climb back up. I won’t stop you this time.”

“So you admit it.” Her voice held a sharp edge to it and projected loud enough to be heard over the roar of the rain swollen river raging beneath our feet. “You were trying to save me. That’s something good. Something worth preserving,” she muttered the last couple of words. She was wrong, but I heard her.

She rose, a lot more gracefully than I had, dusted off her (I didn’t fail to notice –I might be down but I wasn’t dead- not yet at least) nicely shaped fuchsia outlined ass. She tilted her head back, curiosity or something else brightening her gaze.

I was six one. Most chicks had to crane their necks to look up at me. I had a good foot on her, yet she didn’t seem to be the least bit intimidated nor had she acted that way since the beginning of our bizarre little encounter. She also didn’t seem to have any fuckin’ idea who I was.

Interesting
, I thought, grateful for the lack of recognition on her part. I sure as shit didn’t want to answer a bunch of questions about the crap going on in my life right now. Still, she must have been living a pretty isolated existence, held hostage at the top of a tall tower without Wi-Fi kind or something, not to have seen the pictures of me that had been blasted all over kingdom come since my mother’s murder.

My head canted to the side, questions of my own about this woman buzzing in my brain. For the first time in recent memory my mind was on something else besides myself.

I took a step closer, partly to see if I could rattle her, partly ‘cause I decided what the hell, why not see if that skin of hers was as soft as it looked? I skimmed a ringed thumb across the round of her cheek.

Yeah, it was, smooth as fuckin’ satin.

I licked my lips, but she didn’t move, just continuing to blink and stare at me with those startling light green eyes of hers.

Deciding to push it further, I traced the line of her delicate jaw.

Still no protest.

Not one to pass up on an opportunity no matter what the setting, I framed her face in my hands and tilted her head back. Her glossed lips parted of their own accord. Warm minty breath spilled across my chilled hands.

Ok, that hadn’t work out the way I wanted. I was the one getting fuckin’ rattled. She was close enough now that her jacket brushed against my belt buckle. My dick got harder than the concrete that had so recently roughed me up. All I could think about now was slipping my tongue inside her delectable mouth.

Now I might not be able to handle my liquor quite as well as my former best friend/guitarist, but I was no novice when it came to drinking. I knew that my current equilibrium problems had nothing to do with booze, but I wasn’t about to admit that to this toys in the attic chick.

Cursing under my breath, I immediately dropped my hands and took a step back, a
big
step back. I did
not
need this kind of shit. “Get out of here.” I lifted my chin. “I’m tired of playing your stupid game. This is my bridge.” My tone was terse. “Go find your own.”

“I’m not leaving.” Her voice was a thready whisper, but her pink frosted lips settled into a determined line. She closed the space between us, leaning in, her mittened hands curled into fists. “You think no one cares if you jump off that bridge, but you’re wrong.”

My brow rose in response to her impassioned tone. “Hate to burst your bubble, Sweetness, but you’re the one who’s wrong.” I threw back with a liberal splash of sarcasm, my own arms stiff as drink stirrers at my sides. “Surprise? Maybe. Tears? Doubtful.” I pretended to ignore the plea in her eyes. No way that shimmer in them was for fuckin’ real. But as I did, I finally got a fix on that emotion in her eyes that had eluded me earlier.

Pain.

Something I could recognize. Too fuckin’ raw not to be real. Before I had time to wonder what the hell had ripped a hole inside of her that wide, her phone chirped with an incoming message.

She didn’t even glance down. I don’t even think she heard it. She kept staring at me as if she were trying to persuade me to believe her by eye contact alone. It didn’t work, of course, but it was totally unnerving.

“Your phone just went off,” I prompted, more than a little freaked by the intensity of her gaze. I didn’t mind being up on stage in front of thousands of screaming fans. In fact I craved that. Distant admiration was a fuckin’ rush, but not this. Not this one on one soul searching, emotional connection shit.

“Huh?” she asked looking glazed.

“Your phone, Pink. I think someone’s trying to get a hold of you.”

“Oh.” She blinked a couple of times, then reached into her pocket and pulled out, I shit you not, a pink rhinestone encrusted cell. She glanced briefly at the display. “Damn.” She turned, looking over her shoulder at the forested area behind her as if she expected to see Sasquatch come crashing through the thick underbrush any minute. “I gotta go.”

“Go on then. Don’t let me keep you from anything. Do me a fuckin’ favor and get lost.”

I don’t know why I was surprised when she did the opposite taking a step closer. Nothing this bitch did made any fuckin’ sense. She must be bars in the window, over the rainbow crazy. Out here in the middle of nowhere, alone, at the crack of dawn acting out some old black and white movie. Only druggies, the homeless, and pick pockets hung out in Montliff Park at this hour. She looked too sweet and smelled too nice to be any of those.

So then what the hell was she?

A portion of proceeds from this book go to Covenant House.

http://www.covenanthouse.org/

They have a helping hand for single mother’s program that acknowledges that being a good mom is one of the toughest jobs in the world but also one of the most important. The program offers free on-site day care so moms can complete their education or hold down a job.

“It would be so much easier with someone else to rely on.”—Bridget Dubois

I could never do any of this alone. I am forever grateful to…

My readers, your reviews and your recommendation of my books to friends are the key to this indie author’s success.

My husband of twenty-six years.

My two boys who put up with all my ramblings about fictional characters.

My bff and biggest fan, twins separated at birth, Lisa Kinzel.

The bff of my heart, Michelle Warren

My soul sister and endless source of inspiration, Shaina Shaye-Baby Abbs

My copy editor, Dr. Diane “cool” Klein

My beautiful proof reader, Hazeline Paddock-Ng

My lovely Black Cat Divas: Wendy Neuman Wilkin, Rita Jinkins Post, Tressa Sager, Jamie Sager Hall, Chantelle Stx, and the infamous Harvey Gaudun-Stables

My always and anytime encourager, Kimberly Schaaf

Book bloggers who I am also blessed to call friends: Lisa Kano at Three Chicks and Their Books, Mandy Anderson at MandyIreadIndie, Denise Tung at Flirty Dirty Book Blog, Kim Person at Stick Girl Book Reviews, Peggy Warren at Le’ BookSquirrel, April Merriman at Cuddle Buddy Books, and Brandee Engle Veltri at Brandee’s Book Endings.