Temptation, The Complete Serial Series 1-4 (The Temptation Serial Series) (12 page)

The following morning was rainy and I was bummed. But when the sky cleared all of a sudden around noon, the pool started calling my name. In Vegas, a rainstorm was havoc on traffic. The roads were continually swept by the street cleaners that roamed the highways, but anything wet made the oils that were built up on the concrete a virtual oil slick. Cars would spin and hydroplane as if they were on a sheet of ice. But in the southeast, rain storms somehow made the air more humid. It made a hot summer day even hotter, my skin sticky with sweat, and the swimming pool my new favorite place.

I’d had my windows open all morning. Of course, it was only seventy degrees then. But as the temperature climbed, I just forgot about them being open…until I heard a very familiar and unwelcome voice. Was the bitch asking for a beating? I mean, really.

Lynn’s shrill voice came from outside. I peeked out my bedroom window where Colt stood across from her, his arms crossed over his chest while she gestured wildly at him, screeching about something he’d done or said. How could he put up with that?

Catching my reflection in the mirror across from my bed, I smiled. She hadn’t seen my new hair, and she definitely hadn’t seen me in a bikini. Last night I was so flustered, I actually went back inside and went through my exercise routine. Crunches, burpees, lunges, and squats—anything I could do in the small space of my living room, anything that would relieve the tension that Colt Stone caused with his easy-going, southern charm.

The bikini was black. Solid triangles over the lady parts, held together by small black bands that formed intricate, interwoven patterns over my hips and back. It looked like some of the sets I had from Agent Provocateur.

Sexy.

Scandalous.

Just what she wouldn’t want to see.

Would Colt want to see it?

Maybe. Maybe not. It might make Willy happy, though.

Grabbing a towel and my Fifty Shades paperback, I put them in a bag with my iPod and egg speaker. I slipped on my matching black flip-flops and aviators, tied the towel around my waist, and headed out back to the pool, acting as if I didn’t know the feuding lovers were outside. Time to fuel that fire.

At the bottom step, Colt saw me and stopped mid-sentence, mouth agape. Following his lead, Lynn looked my way. “Who is
that
?”

Willy popped up from behind some bushes to my right, effectively scaring the shit out of me. “Good afternoon, Miss Brooklyn!”

“Brooklyn!” Lynn screeched to Colt. “The Vegas slut?”

I snorted. “Is
that
what they’re saying?”

“Isn’t it true? You’re some kind of Vegas show girl, right?”

I smiled sweetly. “I’m a performer in a burlesque show, yes. But I’m no stripper, slut, whore, show girl, hooker, or anything else. I dance. I sing. And I love every minute on that stage, so you can shove that fact straight up your—“

“Enough,” Colt stopped me. Then he continued, “Lynn, this conversation is done. Time for you to go back to work.”

She shook her head and flapped an arm toward me accusingly. “And leave you here with
her
? No way.”

I ignored her, pulling up my playlists and finding the perfect song to piss her off. My egg speaker was crazy loud, and when “Don’t cha” by the Pussycat Dolls began flooding from it, Lynn started toward me. Willy stood by, pretending to fluff the mulch around a nearby plant. It was fresh. It didn’t need fluffing or whatever it was called. He muttered something under his breath.

I pulled my shades off and laid them down on a small table beside the chaise. Then I removed the towel and spread it out. Lynn
really
didn’t like that.

But Colt’s eyes raked over me appreciatively for a fraction of a second before he grabbed her arm as she started down the pathway beside the pool. “Don’t.”

It was all he said, but she listened. With a huff and a “Fine, but this isn’t over!” she left, revving the engine of her light blue Camry as she peeled out. Colt followed her on foot as a silent warning, waiting until he couldn’t see her taillights anymore before turning back around.

While he was busy guarding us from his little freak, I decided to take a dip. Willy was still grinning when I slid into the pool water, which was cold as hell! Brrrr! I could definitely understand the physiology of shrinkage now. Vegas pools were hot. The desert was hot. It was hot here, so why was it so cold? My teeth chattered.

Willy noticed. “Fresh water. Plus the rain. The pool ain’t heated, so it’s up to Mother Nature to warm her up.”

I nodded. “She’s frigid.”

He smiled broadly. “That she is.”

Colt looked at us and stalked to one of the condos he was busy renovating. “What’s his problem?” I asked.

“Colt? Colt likes things simple. Lynn started to mess with that, but you? You’re shatterin’ that simplicity, sweetie.”

“Me? I just live here.”

He tilted his head and raised one brow.

“Okay, maybe what I did to Lynn was mean, but she butchered my hair! She totally deserved it.”

He laughed. “That she did.” He stood up stiffly. “But I don’t think it’s this morning’s episode that’s got the boy tied up in knots.”

I put my shades back on and smiled a bit. Served him right for almost arresting me.

“Miss Brooklyn?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you wanna go to the Strawberry Festival with me?” That was the festival on the flyers around town.

“That sounds wonderful.”

“Really?” he asked, twisting the bill of his cap in his hand.

“Really.”

“Alright. Tomorrow night at seven. I’ll meet you here, then.”

I laughed, finally able to breathe easier. “You know where to find me.”

“That I do.”

***

Morg was coming back Monday and we would get to work on her project. She’d asked me if I had certain pieces of clothing, and those I didn’t have, namely new stockings, she was going to pick up while she was in the city.

I’d do anything for that girl, but looking like a pin-up got old sometimes. I hoped she would do something real; something creative.

But tonight, I had a date! Having showered and dried my hair, I searched my closet for the perfect festival dress. I found a light pink sundress with tiny flowers embroidered along a vine that flowed near the skirt’s edge. It was sweet and somewhat country. Pay dirt.

With hair and makeup done, I perched by the living room window and waited on Willy, bouncing with excitement. Maybe it was cabin fever, or maybe it was the fact that Willy was fun and he was one of my only friends here. Whatever the reason, I was happy to go to the festival with him.

He showed up at exactly seven o’clock with a handful of hand-picked wildflowers. I opened the door and hugged his neck. “Thank you so much! Let me find something to put them in.” All I had was a glass, so I filled it with water and eased the flower stems into it. I could almost hear them sigh in relief.

“Nobody brings you flowers, Miss Brooklyn?” A chill went up my spine and the smile fell from my face. Only one other person bothered to bring me flowers, and I didn’t want them. At all.

Him
.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” Willy promised.

“No! I love them. They’re beautiful and they mean so much to me. Now – are you ready to show off the Vegas whore?” I joked.

He marched up to me, grabbed my hand in his, and squeezed lightly. “Don’t ever let anybody tear you down, and don’t you tear yourself down, neither.”

Swallowing, I nodded and we walked to his old pickup together.

***

The Festival was held on a four block section of Main Street in front of the small Swift Rapids Town Hall. The road was blocked at each end by a fire truck, lights flashing. The two side streets were blocked by vehicles that read “City Official,” which Willy said was the mayor and his wife, who always came to make sure the festival was fun for everyone.

Plywood signs cut out in the shape of strawberries were everywhere. Some were new, or at least freshly painted, while others were faded from years of use in the hot southern sun. Willy wore a shirt this evening; a gray t-shirt with his denim shorts. He also wore some sort of slip-on leather guy shoes on his feet, the feet I’d gotten used to seeing bare. He’d shaved and showered and smelled good, too. How sweet was that?

With pride, he stopped at every booth, introducing me as his friend who was visiting town for a while, “all the way from Las Vegas, Nevada.” Most people were pleasant, shaking my hand and handing over spoons filled with samples of their baked goods. The strawberry pies were the best, but there was strawberry everything. Deep fried strawberries, chocolate covered strawberries, strawberry kabobs, strawberry crepes, and funnel cakes topped with strawberries. There was strawberry ice cream and tea and even moonshine!

Willy thought it was funny that I had never seen shine before. “You can’t leave here without trying some shine, Miss Brooklyn.” He pulled out his wallet and bought a pint before I could protest.

When he twisted the lid on the Mason jar and handed it to me with an evil grin, I should’ve known better than to partake. Plus, there was my vow never to drink again after the incident the night of the male review.

But it was Willy and Willy was my friend. He bought it with his own money, which he worked hard for. So I took a sip and then gasped for air as the kerosene-tasting liquid slid down my gullet. Willy took a sip and then put the lid back on, biting down the burn himself. “That was the most awful stuff I’ve ever tasted, Willy.”

He smiled and nodded. “That it is.”

From a distance, everything seemed serene. The townsfolk were chatting and the ladies were dressed in dresses, looking downright June Cleaver. And then into the scene walked Satan herself.

Lynn and two of her friends strolled down the street. Normally I wouldn’t have thought twice about meeting up with her, but because I didn’t want to ruin Willy’s evening out, I grabbed his arm and pulled him to the stand of a woman who crocheted scarves out of a fabric so pink-red, it burned my irises just to look at it. The ends were little strawberries, complete with seeds and stems. And, it turned out, those little strawberries were actually mittens fitted on the end of the scarf; a little pocket of sorts to keep your hands warm.

I fawned over them and finally decided to buy one. Not exactly my style, but it would be a sweet memento to take home to Vegas with me—not that it would ever get cold enough to warrant mittens or a scarf there. In winter, maybe. For the most part I was a hot box, always laughing at Sin’s cold natured-ness as she felt the cool nights overtake the sweltering days once summer faded to fall and then to winter.

Risking a glance, I saw that Lynn and her chick squad had passed by and were far enough away that I felt comfortable enough to leave the stand. The elderly woman who made the scarf thanked me about twenty times, folded and tucked the scarf into a small, brown paper bag, and folded the ends over so it wouldn’t escape.

My phone buzzed, so I looked at the screen.

Unknown:
You look sweet as a strawberry
.

Me:
Who is this?

My eyes darted around. Could it be
him
? I felt my heart pounding and a sheen of cold sweat shrouded my skin; making my hair raise on end.

Unknown:
Look to your right, past the Hot-Dog-On-A-Stick.

The cart was bright enough to light the place after dark, and just past the stand stood none other than Colt Stone; phone in one hand and waving with the other. I returned the wave and Willy noticed.

He smiled and offered his elbow. “Let’s go see Boss Man.”