Voices murmur outside the condo's door, the sound piercing
my delightful daydream. I swing the telescope upward, not wanting to be caught
using it. The snippets of conversation drift away.
I don't relax. If the telescope isn't in the same spot as it
was positioned last night, Cyndi will realize I've been using it. She'll tease
me about being a fellow pervert, sharing the story, embellished for more
dramatic effect, with her stern serious dad or, worse, with Angel, that snobby
friend of hers.
I'll die. It'll be worse than being the butt of jokes in
high school because that ridicule had been about my clothes and this will
center around the part of my soul I've always kept hidden. It'll also be the
truth and I won't be able to deny it. I am a pervert.
I have to return the telescope to where it was positioned.
This is the only acceptable solution. I tap the metal tube.
Last night, my man-crazy roommate had been giggling over the
new guy in three eleven north. The previous occupant had been a gray-haired,
bowtie-wearing tax auditor, his luxurious accommodations supplied by Nicolas.
The most exciting thing he ever did was drink his tea on the balcony.
According to Cyndi, the new occupant is a delicious piece of
man candy, tattooed, buff, and head-to-toe lickable. He'd been completing arm
curls outside and she'd enthusiastically counted his reps, oohing and aahing
over his bulging biceps, calling to me to take a look.
I'd resisted that temptation, focusing on making macaroni
and cheese for the two of us, the recipe snagged from the diner my mom works
in. After we scarfed down dinner with Cyndi licking her plate clean, she left
for the club and hasn't returned.
Three eleven north is the mirror condo to ours. I straighten
the telescope. That position looks about right but then, the imitation UGGS I
bought in second year college looked about right also. The first time I wore
the boots in the rain, the sheepskin fell apart, leaving me barefoot in
Unwilling to risk Cyndi's friendship on about right, I gaze
through the eyepiece. The view consists of rippling golden planes, almost like...
Tanned skin pulled over defined abs.
I blink. It can't be. I take another look. A perfect pearl
of perspiration clings to a puckered scar. The drop elongates more and more,
stretching, snapping. It trickles downward, navigating the swells and valleys
of a man's honed torso.
No. I straighten. This is wrong. I shouldn't watch our sexy
neighbor as he stands on his balcony. If anyone catches me...
I glance behind me. There's no one here to catch me. Cyndi
won't know I looked. The hunk in three eleven north won't know I looked. I'm
not harming anyone.
I bend over and take another peek.
Sinful Rewards is a 12 story (at least 100 pages each) serial .
I understand that each story will be priced at 99 cents US (or less).
All 12 stories will be completely written before the first story releases.
They have all been contracted and will be released.
(because I don't know about you but unfinished serials/series drive me bonkers)
I'm trying my best to ensure there are no cliffhangers.
(Bee is behaving because she tries to be a good girl.
Hawke and Nicolas insist on doing whatever the heck they like.)
This is a romance and
I'm striving for that happy for now, lovey dovey feeling at the end of each story.
Story #12 will have a happy ever after ending (between Bee and one of the heroes).
This is NOT a menage.
Hawke and Nicolas don't have sexy times (grins)
They're both very possessive and not open to sharing.