Available at Amazon.
Night after night, Dr. “Love” urges listeners of his popular radio show, The Sin Club, to ‘sin’ – that is, to break the rules holding them back and go after what they want…what they need…what they truly desire…
Today is the day to sin . . .” Dr. Tommy “Love” Jones’s voice seemed to whisper the words directly into Jessie Anderson’s ear.
Jessie turned from the window and frowned at the stereo speaker from which Dr. Love spoke. “I’m trying to sin,’ she muttered.
“Take charge—” continued Dr. Love.
“Do something you’ve never done before—”
“—something that you’ve always wanted to do, but never thought you could do. Because you were too scared to go after it. Or scared you might actually get it—”
“I’m not scared I’ll get it.”
“—Or scared you might not get it.”
“Yeah, well, I am a bit scared of that one.”
“So be bold. Take charge. Do it. Go sin. It’s all about you . . .Tonya M., you’re on the air.”
Jessie turned her attention back to the window. She parted the gauzy curtain, careful to keep her nakedness hidden. As she peeked outside, she idly listened to the radio show. As Tonya M. described her deep-seated desire to give up psychiatry and become a mortician—and how her career unhappiness was affecting her relationship—Jessie shook her head. Why did the grass always look greener? Here Tonya wanted to flee the living and work with the dead, while all Jessie wanted to do was inject some life, some excitement, some sex into a member of the walking dead: Martin.
And today—tonight—was her last chance to save their relationship.
Jessie reached over and switched the radio off. She turned on her iPod. Sade’s “Ordinary Love” soothed her frazzled nerves as she gazed out the window, ignoring the beauty of the ocean below. Instead, her gaze sought the backyard of the vacant single-story house next door. She stared intently into the blackness, able to make out the dark shadow that was the gazebo, nothing more.
No flicker of red light.
Jessie dropped the curtain and began to pace, her quick strides causing the flames of twenty candles to flutter erratically as she passed.
Where was Martin? He should have arrived more than thirty minutes ago. She was sure her written instructions had been clear: Be at the gazebo of the vacant house next door. Flash the light on your key chain at 9:00 P.M. sharp. Though Martin was a genius with numbers, erotic rendezvous were not his forte. But surely even Martin couldn’t screw that up?
Maybe his penlight had gone out.
Heart racing with anticipation, body thrumming with excitement, Jessie rushed back to the window. Was that the signal? She craned her neck. Yes, a definite red flicker. She took a deep breath.
Summoning the sexy vixen sleeping within, Jessie smiled in the direction of the signal, and flung open the curtains.
Nick Ralston gazed out over the ocean, admiring the moonlight as it bounced off the waves. He loved the sound of the ocean, so peaceful, so different from his life. But that was about to change. Making a fresh start wasn’t going to be easy, but he’d taken the first step by buying this house. His house. Well, technically it wasn’t his yet, but it would be by next Friday. For added insurance, maybe the “For Sale” sign out front would mysteriously disappear when he left. He smiled at the image of the large sign hanging out of the passenger side of his Porsche Boxster.
Leaning against the gazebo, Nick lit a Marlboro Light. He exhaled the smoke before it could enter his lungs and withdrew the cigarette from his lips, staring at the glowing tip. With a wry smile, he flicked his wrist and sent the cigarette spiraling to the damp grass. He ground the toe of his shoe against it, extinguishing it forever. He sighed. No women, and now, no cigarettes. Which one would prove harder to swear off?
With one last glance at the ocean, he turned to walk down the path separating his house from his neighbor’s, heading to his car. He’d only taken two steps when a movement in the second story window of the neighboring house caught his eye. He glanced up and stopped in mid-stride.
A woman in a red see-through number stood in the window, silhouetted against a backdrop of flickering candles. Nick watched her lean forward and open the window. Muted strains of drums, guitar, and piano drifted over to him, accompanied by a sultry feminine voice. It took him a moment to realize that the throaty lyrics were not recorded with the music, but rather, were coming from the woman herself.
As she straightened, the hot curves of her body were once again visible. The bouncing light shone through the thin material, perfectly outlining the small waist and flaring hips that merged into lush thighs. Thighs that parted and hips that began to gyrate suggestively as he watched.
“What the hell . . .?”