Authors: Reon Laudat
Chapter 15
As the pair rode along a
strip of road that skimmed the shoreline, Kendra settled back in her seat.
She’d expected to say no to moonlit beach strolls with Dominic, but when he
looked at her that certain way, she found it difficult to refuse him anything.
She took consolation in her plan to make other dates through Cupid4You.com when
she returned to New York. Succumbing to some island magic was to be expected,
after all. She did not think it was possible, but Dominic looked even more
handsome that night. He’d dispensed with his glasses for contacts, maybe?
She had no idea if the specs he usually
wore were for fashion or function. Maybe a bit of both.
But now nothing distracted from those
piercing, dark eyes.
“So, what was your favorite book as a kid?”
Dominic adjusted the rearview mirror and then covered her hand again, softly
stroking the skin with his thumb.
Where was it
written friends couldn’t hold hands?
“In grade school? Any and all things
Nancy Drew. Around sixth grade,
Sweet
Valley High
and anything by Judy Blume. A little later, Sharon Draper. What
about you?”
“Robert Heinlein, Isaac Asimov, and Ray Bradbury.”
“You read them in grade school?”
She cursed the gearshift when he had to
release her hand again.
“Legend has it I was reading my first book at the
age of three.”
“Asimov? Yeah, right. BS detector twitching like
crazy right about now.”
“Okay, okay, so I actually zipped right through
Pat the Bunny
at three. Asimov came a
little later.”
“Just
a little later, huh? I doubt I was reading at three, but I’ve had a love for
books for as long as I can remember. The library was my playground. And nothing
was more intriguing than a massive card catalog. It was a map to endless
treasures. Computers are more efficient, but I miss card catalogs.”
“Me, too,” Dominic said.
“A science fiction geek. Why am I not surprised?”
“I was big bully bait —a sci-fi geek in
glasses, who sometimes wore blue or white streaks in my hair.”
“Tell me more about teen Dominic.”
“Well,
I also wrote morose poetry on the side.”
“Poetry? Get out!”
“I’ll treat you to a sample.” He cleared his
throat as if to give a Shakespearean reading.
“Like a tin
soldier in a losing skirmish,
Feigning
laryngitis,
Hiding fetid
filth, dirt, scum,
Enemies of
man,
Readily,
greedily, and shamelessly accepting man’s refuse.
Playground
for maggots, cockroaches, flies,
Away with
you!
Bastard!”
“That
was
titled
‘
Ode to a Garbage Can
,’”
he said in closing
.
“That was boss!” Kendra added enthusiastic finger
snaps as if at a fifties Beat Poetry reading. “I, mean, a real blast, Daddy-O.”
“Pretty awful, huh?”
“Not nearly as bad as my junior high attempts at
creative expression. My best girlfriend, Jewel, and I used to do sleepovers and
make up tributes to our favorite groups at the time. She choreographed our
dances and did beatbox. I wrote the rap.”
“You wrote hip-hop songs? I’m impressed.”
“Well, one hip-hop song. One pitiful hip-hop
song.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Oh, no.”
“I shared ‘Ode to a Garbage Can.’ How about a
little quid pro quo here.” He reached over and tickled her middle.
“It’s hard without Jewel as my beatbox.” Kendra
laughed, swatting his hands away.
“I’ll be your beatbox. Jump in when you’re ready.
Go on, bust a rhyme or two for a bro or Daddy-O.”
When Dominic bobbed his head and performed verbal
percussion complete with one-hand chest and thigh taps, she went for it,
speak-singing her heart out.
A few verses later, Kendra still had a big grin on
her face. “I’m pretty sure I out-awfuled your awful.”
“I’m calling a tie. Jay Z has nothing to fear from
either of us.”
“I’ve never shared that with anyone but Jewel,
Aunt Jackie, and Uncle Alex,” Kendra said, mystified by the gleeful abandon
Dominic brought out in her.
“Meanwhile, I made the dumb mistake of scribbling
my poems in a composition book when I was bored in class. Kyle Davis swiped one
of those notebooks and read my, um, lyricism to the class. Thought I’d never
live that down.”
“Awww. What happened?”
“One tough guy dared to put his hands on me after
that. He pushed me down not once, not twice, but three times after I’d warned
him to back off. I had to dole out one good ol’ fashioned ass whupping. Word
got around I took taekwondo. They said, ‘Dorky Dom is a bookworm and a crappy
poet, but if you mess with him he will clean your clock, without breaking a
sweat or his glasses.’”
“And what did the girls think of you after that?”
“Unfortunately, the lead ax-kick and the double
knife-hand strike developed a lot faster than my way with the ladies. Most
still thought I was a major dork. They didn’t appreciate my sense of humor.”
“Imagine that.”
“And regularly dousing myself with knockoff
Drakkar Noir probably didn’t help, either.”
Dominic had matured into such a gorgeous specimen,
how had those junior high and high school girls overlooked him even during his
gawky teen years? Kendra studied his profile. Those soulful thick-lashed eyes
and kiss-me-crazy lips didn’t arrive in the mail with his voters’ registration
card.
“But I eventually scored with quality females, who
had a taste for my type,” he confessed, winking at Kendra.
“Late bloomer.”
“Yup. Freshman year. College.”
“Me, too,” Kendra said, unsure why she was
surprised they’d shared the same social trajectory when they had so many other
things in common.
He glanced at the GPS and then added, “Which
brings me to Leighton Rothchild, who I crushed on for a whole year. I asked her
to senior prom. She turned me down flat, with a pat on my head and a ‘buck up
little camper.’ She said ‘I admire anyone who shoots for the moon.’ ”
“Oof!” Kendra grimaced. “Nice girl.”
“Leighton was so out of my league actually
accepting my invitation would’ve been a
deus
ex machina
twist.”
“In other words, over-the-top contrived and highly
improbable.
Wow. Look what you did
right there. Worked in that plot device without sounding the least bit like
Pretentious English Lit Guy,” she teased. “That takes skill.”
“Well, you know, what can I say?” he replied with
a grin.
“I was
the chunky chick who went to prom with Jewel and Fredrick McCoy, another close
friend who worked in the school library with us. Strictly platonic.”
“Too bad for Fred.” Dominic scanned her body with
a heated look that made her feel warm and zingy between the thighs.
Kendra had wanted Dominic at the luau; it had
taken great restraint to not fling one leg over his lap and straddle him, right
there on the straw mat. As his hand stroked the Jeep’s gearshift, she imagined
stroking his, obviously locked in drive and rarin’ to go. This could only lead
to complications.
Maybe a walk on a
potentially secluded beach wasn’t such a good idea after all.
“Did you always know you wanted to work in the
publishing business?” she asked to right her wayward thoughts.
“Not as an agent.” He glanced over at her and then
back at the road. “Not right away. What about you?”
“I studied library science in college. I was going
to be a librarian. It was all about my love of books, but
I landed a job as an editorial assistant
and then associate editor at Hearts & Flowers Romances, first working on
their sweet category books before moving on to single title and women’s
fiction. From there, I landed an associate editor position at Winn-Aster, and
then I quickly moved up to senior editor before leaving to open my own agency.
And I still love libraries. They’re among my favorite places to visit.”
“Ditto. And I love a brick-and-mortar bookstore.
Nothing against ebooks, but nothing beats standing among lots of books.”
Dominic paused and added, “If I couldn’t read I’d go insane—”
“Me, too! Brings to mind one episode of that old
sci-fi mystery series
The Alternate
Dimension Theater
—”
“The one with the iconic Norman Butterfield?”
“Yes!”
“The episode titled ‘Deja You!’
”
they said in unison
.
“I’ve watched that one dozens of times over the
years.”
“Me, too!” he said. “Aunt Aubrelia gave me this
cool Norman Butterfield action figure. It’s on my desk at home.”
“And I have the T-shirt! There’s an action figure?”
“I always rewrite that cruel ending in my head.”
“Poor, poor Norman Butterfield,” Kendra said. “In
a type of Sisyphus-ian purgatory, bookaholic Butterfield is granted eternal
life, but is compelled to read the same lousy book—”
“Over and over and over and over and over and over
again,” Kendra and Dominic said at the same time.
“Sounds like some of my early days in the
business, working through slush,” Dominic said.
“When I log on to certain sites anonymously I
feminize it for a user name,” she divulged. “I’m Norma Butterfield.”
“I like that, but you’re not anonymous anymore.”
Kendra looked out the window, enjoying what she
could see of the night landscape. “I’ve lost count of the number of times one
of us has said, ‘me, too!’ tonight. It’s kind of, well, freaky. Like, maybe
we’re twins, fraternal of course, separated at birth or something.”
“I’m glad we’re not related.” Dominic stared at
her lips as if he wanted to seal those words with a kiss before turning his
gaze back to the road. “You
get
me,”
he said, as if he couldn’t believe it.
“And you
get
me,” Kendra said.
Dominic went on to confide how his parents had
expected him to attend an Ivy League school, earn a master’s in business
administration, and then work for the family’s finance and commercial real
estate companies like his three older brothers. He checked off the school and
the major, but he detoured from the family business when he joined Ekstein,
Jarrod & Montgomery literary agency as an intern after completing
undergrad.
“My parents were
not
happy that I didn’t want to work with my brothers. They’ve
expressed pride in everything else I’ve accomplished, but when it comes to
Impact there’s a polite inquiry every now and then, but that’s about it.”
“I’m sure they’re proud of what you’ve done. Sometimes
people have trouble putting what they feel into words, especially if they have
to admit they’ve been wrong.”
“I wasn’t going to miss out on the opportunity to
work with the founder of that agency.”
“Samuel Ekstein, wow. One of the greats,” she
replied, more than a bit envious.
“He
taught me everything he knew, and then gave me his blessing when I struck out
on my own.”
“How did that job come about?”
she asked, though she could probably
guess the answer.
“Family connections had nothing to do with it if
that’s what you’re getting at,” Dominic replied with a note suggesting she’d
touched a nerve, but he kept his eyes on the road ahead.
“I didn’t mean…”
Dominic hesitated, and then glanced over
at her. “Do you know anything about my family?”
Kendra
nodded because she’d read about his father in business journals and his
mother’s charity fundraising parties in a couple of society columns.
“For the record, I landed that gig with no country
club connections.” His voice had an edge.
A chill that had nothing to do with the evening
air swooshing inside the vehicle settled between them. She secured the wrap and
hugged herself.
Chapter 16
“I did make some
assumptions,” Kendra said a few minutes later. “I applied for an internship at
E, J &M when I was in college. I didn’t get it. I was told I had to know
someone. I’d heard all the stories about nepotism and the entry level jobs
going to wealthy friends’ children. It made sense to me. You had to come from
money to survive in New York, because those jobs usually paid peanuts, if
anything.”
“You’ve done well for yourself. Porter has a great
reputation.”
“Thanks, but c’mon. I’m not in your league when it
comes to big money deals,” she said, openly giving him his due for the first
time.
“But it’s not just about money if you get pleasure
from what you do. The business of helping authors make their dreams come true.
Connect with the right editor and publishing house to—”
“Put entertaining stories that touch readers out
into the world,” she completed the sentence. “Work that transports them to
another time and place—”
“And keeps them on the edge of their seats and up
until the wee hours of the morning on a work night because they have to finish
a few more chapters—”
“A sigh-inducing protagonist, part-hero, part-bad
boy, who knocks the heroine off her feet.”
“Or vice versa,” he said, giving Kendra a
meaningful look.
She smiled.
“We’re in the business of selling these memorable,
emotional, enjoyable experiences,” Dominic added.
“And we’re getting darn hokey right about now.”
“Of
course we are! But who cares? It’s just you and me!” he said with
king-of-the-world exuberance. “We’re not curing diseases or brokering peace in
war-torn countries, but what we do
is
pretty cool, isn’t it?”
“Yes,
for
now
.”
“No lie, the industry is changing so much, the
writer-agency-publisher model, I mean. Who knew ebooks and self-publishing
would take off the way they have? Paper and big publishing still rule for now,
but I do see that tipping eventually, well, the paper ruling part.”
Kendra
sighed. “It’s kind of sad, though, don’t you think? A friend of mine had to
close his agency.”
“Can be sad for the bottom line. Are your
submissions down?”
“No, not yet,” she replied, not telling him about
her agency’s most recent financial strains.
“There’s
no one size fits all. Some writers will always prefer to work with good agents
and major publishers if the terms are fair and the math adds up. We have to
stay nimble and find creative ways to keep bringing true value to the table.”
“By publishing or helping clients self-publish?”
“Impact is not a publisher.
And I’m uncomfortable with that
arrangement. But, hey, I have friends who do it, and it works for them and
their clients.
If everybody’s happy…”
He shrugged. “But I have encouraged some clients to give indie a shot when
there’s a project they feel strongly about that doesn’t fit what the houses
want. Or if the advances or contracts offered are either drying up or getting
too crappy to even bother trying to change. And I’ve seen some real doozies lately.
I’m sure you have, too.” He whistled. “I refer them to people who do crack
editing, cover design, and such, but I don’t take any cuts for those referrals.
Pointing people in the right direction doesn’t take much of my time. It’s the
least I can do when their careers aren’t going well on the traditional track.”
“So you make your money off those projects by
handling subsidiary rights?”
“I do if they request that service. Impact has
excellent contacts, and we can always get better terms than they can get on
their own.”
“That’s the way I prefer to do it, too.”
“Enough shop talk. I think we’ve
established we’re very much alike.”
“Doesn’t that scare the bejeezus out of you?” More
passages from Lizzy’s book and Kendra’s plan to deviate from its advice came to
mind. But when Dominic gave her a crooked grin she felt like the heroine in the
latest Aurora Chastain sizzler. Her heart knocked against her chest. The night
air hummed with possibilities. So much had shifted between them in mere hours.
The
GPS led them off the highway to several dark, two-lane dirt roads that curved,
dipped, and climbed. “We’re here,” Dominic said, upon reaching a Shoreline
Access sign.
He parked in a
limited, off-road area flanked by walls of trees, fern, and bougainvillea.
Dominic helped her out of the Jeep and reached for a canvas bag he told her
contained a lamp, a blanket, a first-aid kit, and bug spray. Always prepared.
She liked that about him.
“I wanted to build a campfire, but unfortunately,
that’s not allowed on state beaches,” he explained. “I bought a very nice
merlot and two glasses, but because I’m driving I can’t imbibe—”
“I don’t want to drink alone,” she said. “But
better leave that wine behind so I’m not tempted.”
A narrow public path led to the ocean.
They strolled along the swatch of beach, passing
only a few other couples who obviously had the same idea. Kendra and Dominic
removed their shoes so the soft sand could sift through their toes. The moon’s
reflection scattered like crushed crystal across the dark water. A foamy tide
rolled in, serenading them as it lapped against land.
Before it receded, she pulled Dominic
toward the surf line to get their feet wet. Shivering upon discovering the
water was cooler than expected, she let Dominic draw her close.
Kendra snuggled against his broad chest. As the
shadows of their connected bodies played on the sand an unexpected tenderness
overtook her. They found a private, inviting spot beneath a group of palms and
wordlessly walked over to rest. The moon provided enough illumination so the
lamp wasn’t needed. Dominic spread out the blanket and relaxed against a tree.
She settled between his outstretched legs as he cradled her in his arms. She
lost track of the time, gazing at a night nature scene so beautiful it seemed
surreal.
“Isn’t this great?” Dominic whispered in her ear.
“And you didn’t think you’d find the time for me.”
Kendra marveled at the ocean, the stars, and the
clusters of greenery forming their little alcove. “Oh, look!” she said,
pointing at the small white fan-like blooms with purple streaks sprouting from
the shrubs. She linked her fingers with his again. “I think that’s naupaka. I
read about it in one of my travel guides. It blooms this time of year?”
“Obviously.”
“Legend has it the half blooms symbolize
ancient lovers who couldn’t be together, one banished to the mountains, the
other to the ocean, like where this flower blooms,” she said. “It’s a sad but
romantic story.”
“The
version I read includes the goddess Pele, bolts of hot lava, and wrath of
scorned female,” he said. “Drama and good sex always sell.”
“There’s certainly no shortage of sex in
most of the submissions I see.”
“Cross genres. Teen sex. Space alien sex.
Artificial intelligence sex. Thug sex. Vampire sex. Billionaire BDSM sex.
Sasquatch sex.
Gargoyle sex.
Were-weasel sex—”
“You mean were
wolf
.”
“No were-
weasel
.”
He played with the colored lock of her hair in the ponytail.
“Please tell me were-weasel sex was a bizarre
comedy in the slipstream, experimental fiction mode.”
“I wish I could say the writer was going for
laughs, camp, or satire using the fantastic or absurd, but somehow I don’t
think that was the intent.”
“Oh, hell to the no.” Kendra chortled.
“Right. I read everything, I mean
everything, with an open mind, because you never know when you’ll find a gem.
After I have chapters in hand, I give
everything
a shot. The right writer with skills can make just about anything work,
especially something that defies categorization. But at the risk of coming off
like, what did you call it?
Pretentious
English Lit Guy? I couldn’t bring myself to read enough of that one to figure
out what the hell the author was trying to accomplish.”
“Sometimes I am stunned by what springs out of
people’s imaginations.”
“You mean the scenes that make Caligula look like
a Care Bear.”
Kendra felt the rumble of his laughter. “For the
record, I enjoy books with blazing hot sexy times as much as the next person.
But I like it best when it’s coupled with
some
story, preferably some romance, at least a smidgeon of it
or
some other emotional connection such as mutual respect.
Happily-ever-after is not required, if it doesn’t fit. An attempt at
characterization, beyond those physical acts, can’t hurt, either. But I tend to
prefer the love and longing done well, you know, the adult fairy tale.”
“Love and longing are not just fairy tales.”
“Maybe just the happily-ever-after part. Amiably
in the interim or doggedly till the end is more like it.”
“You make it sound like hard time in Attica. Do
you believe that?”
Instead of elaborating, Kendra plucked
the hibiscus flower from her hair, tore the bloom in half, and passed one piece
to him.
“For me?”
“For you,” she murmured as he tucked his half
flower inside his shirt pocket.
She settled back against his chest as Dominic
languidly stroked her arms and kissed her earlobes, sending a sizzling current
racing through her body. She pressed deeper inside the V of his legs.
Dominic removed the clip holding her ponytail. His
hands lowered and curved around her neck.
He laced his fingers through her hair as his warm breath danced along
the opposite shoulder. “You’re delicious.” He skimmed his soft lips across her
shoulders and neck as she sagged against him, mewling for more. He teased her
collarbones until she turned so their lips could meet.
“I couldn’t wait to be with you again,” he said
between soft pecks before deepening the kiss again. Heavy breathing mingled
with the rush of the tide and the rustle of palm leaves. A soft breeze carried
the scent of tropical flowers and foliage. She stretched out on the sandy
blanket and Dominic covered her body with his. As his hands slipped along the
curve of her slender waist to the dramatic flare of her hips, he crooned a
throaty, “
La Guitarra
.”
Their
deep, silky, open-mouth kisses made her lightheaded and wet with yearning.
“You have no idea how much I want you right now,”
he said, breaking the kiss as if to pace himself.
“I think I have a pretty good idea,” she said as
he pressed against her.
When Dominic’s large hand brushed along her skin
toward her top she didn’t stop him, but mentally willed him to slip it
underneath her top and strapless bra. When he did, she drew in a shuddering
breath of gratitude as he kneaded one breast. He moved to unzip her shorts and
ease his hands inside. She had already devised a code for what was acceptable
with Dominic. Friends held hands. Friends could sometimes flirt. Friends could
even occasionally kiss. Friends could touch. But friends did not give each
other teeth-rattling orgasms on moonlit tropical beaches.
But still,
oh…
What he was doing to her felt so good. The fluttering softness at her
core. The slow melting pleasure of it. She moaned in his mouth and his skilled
movements only grew more determined to take her over the edge. He’d read her
and was determined to coax her to release before she changed her mind. And she
almost let it happen, until…
Too much.
Too soon.
With as much determination as she could muster she released a
strangled plea, “Dominic, wait.” She covered his hand with hers to coax it back
to her waist.
After she broke the kiss, his dark eyes held a
question. “I thought—”
“I know. I’m sorry. We’re just friends, remember?”
“With benefits?” he asked, tracing her lips with
the pad of his finger.
“Only certain benefits.”
She moved his hand away from her shorts. “Not
here. Not now.”
He whispered against her ear, “All for you. We
don’t have to go further than…” His hand moved downward again, but only dallied
at the waistband of her shorts as he awaited consent.
“I’m not ready for that, either. That’s why we
need to stop.”
“Everything?”
“Well, um, no. Not yet. A little more kissing is
fine.”
“You’re killing me, you know that.” He reached
toward his fly to adjust himself. “We sound like a couple of teens fogging up
windows in the backseat of a borrowed car and negotiating first, second, and
third base.”
“I know.” She laughed. “More first base please.”
As she curled her arms around his neck, he slipped his tongue back inside her
mouth.
This was most definitely playing with fire. And
again, she felt things for him beyond lust. Still, she filled her hands with
his hard bottom, and he moved in a slow, tantalizing motion against her hips.
She didn’t stop him. The cold, grayness of New York and dates with her Cupid
“beaus” from that dating site awaited her. In the meantime, she made out with a
hot guy on a breathtaking moonlit beach and looked forward to signing two new
clients who had huge money-making potential. And there was that earlier email
about the additional co-op. Kendra’s trip couldn’t get much better than this.