Meghan and Cole are missing, and Nick thinks he's found them...
Nick had spent the past fifteen minutes scouting the bar and dance lounge, but he hadn’t seen Benson.
Or Meghan.
That bothered him more than he cared to admit.
A soft light came on in an upstairs window of the duplex. One of the bedrooms, Nick recalled from the blueprints. Through the lightweight curtains, he saw shadows moving in the room.
Bingo.
He settled back against a large oak tree to wait, a slow boil starting in his blood. Minutes later, the front door opened and his nemesis appeared. A pair of slim arms wrapped around Benson’s neck. The sound of a woman’s low, seductive voice filled Nick’s ears, and made him grind his teeth. Benson allowed her to draw him partially inside the townhouse for a long moment. Nick’s hands curled into fists as he battled the primal urge to yank the kissing couple apart and beat Benson to a pulp.
Benson ended the kiss and pulled away from the woman, who obviously didn’t want him to leave. He said something to her, was rewarded by soft, musical laughter, then kissed her again and sauntered away from the duplex, looking supremely satisfied with himself.
Anger and a masochistic streak he hadn’t known he possessed compelled Nick to stay where he was, beneath the shadow of the oak tree, waiting. It wasn’t long before the duplex’s front door opened. Every muscle in his body tightened as he braced himself for the sight of her, tousled and flushed by Benson’s roll in the hay.
A full five seconds passed before his fury faded enough for him to realize the woman wasn’t Meghan. The short, busty brunette in her ridiculously tight hot pants outfit who languidly made her way back to The Wharf in no manner, shape or form resembled the woman Nick had assumed was with Coleman Benson.
Nick turned back to the townhouse, amazed at the relief surging through him. It took him several minutes to corral his emotions enough to realize the opportunity he’d been waiting for was staring him in the face. After scouting the area again to make sure there were no witnesses, he entered the duplex through the back window Ralph had left unlocked, as planned.
His visit was short and fruitless. It didn’t help that thoughts of a certain blonde-haired, brown-eyed dancer kept filtering into his mind, distracting him from his mission. Half an hour later, empty-handed, Nick strode onto the pier where he’d left his boat, cast off, and slipped away from the dock. Standing at the helm of his twenty-seven foot ketch, he lifted his frustrated gaze to Ashton and spotted the speck of light across the water that—had he thought to look for it earlier—would have saved him a ton of aggravation.
A moment later, Mrs. Weaver’s bungalow went dark.
Or Meghan.
That bothered him more than he cared to admit.
A soft light came on in an upstairs window of the duplex. One of the bedrooms, Nick recalled from the blueprints. Through the lightweight curtains, he saw shadows moving in the room.
Bingo.
He settled back against a large oak tree to wait, a slow boil starting in his blood. Minutes later, the front door opened and his nemesis appeared. A pair of slim arms wrapped around Benson’s neck. The sound of a woman’s low, seductive voice filled Nick’s ears, and made him grind his teeth. Benson allowed her to draw him partially inside the townhouse for a long moment. Nick’s hands curled into fists as he battled the primal urge to yank the kissing couple apart and beat Benson to a pulp.
Benson ended the kiss and pulled away from the woman, who obviously didn’t want him to leave. He said something to her, was rewarded by soft, musical laughter, then kissed her again and sauntered away from the duplex, looking supremely satisfied with himself.
Anger and a masochistic streak he hadn’t known he possessed compelled Nick to stay where he was, beneath the shadow of the oak tree, waiting. It wasn’t long before the duplex’s front door opened. Every muscle in his body tightened as he braced himself for the sight of her, tousled and flushed by Benson’s roll in the hay.
A full five seconds passed before his fury faded enough for him to realize the woman wasn’t Meghan. The short, busty brunette in her ridiculously tight hot pants outfit who languidly made her way back to The Wharf in no manner, shape or form resembled the woman Nick had assumed was with Coleman Benson.
Nick turned back to the townhouse, amazed at the relief surging through him. It took him several minutes to corral his emotions enough to realize the opportunity he’d been waiting for was staring him in the face. After scouting the area again to make sure there were no witnesses, he entered the duplex through the back window Ralph had left unlocked, as planned.
His visit was short and fruitless. It didn’t help that thoughts of a certain blonde-haired, brown-eyed dancer kept filtering into his mind, distracting him from his mission. Half an hour later, empty-handed, Nick strode onto the pier where he’d left his boat, cast off, and slipped away from the dock. Standing at the helm of his twenty-seven foot ketch, he lifted his frustrated gaze to Ashton and spotted the speck of light across the water that—had he thought to look for it earlier—would have saved him a ton of aggravation.
A moment later, Mrs. Weaver’s bungalow went dark.
Something tells me Nick should have known better. What do you think?
Liana Laverentz
7 comments:
wow the fist one and then i love your book
Oh, I loved this book. I recommend it.
Thanks so much! I'm glad you enjoyed it!
He should have know better. I would love to read this one
lead[at]hotsheet[dot]com
This book sounds really good, enjoyed the excerpt. And yes I think he should have known better.
skpetal at hotmail dot com
I really enjoyed this excerpt and the comments are singing your praises. That's good enough for me. I'll definitely be reading it first chance I get.
Thanks so much, and thanks for stopping by!
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