Damsel in Distress Read online

  www.beautifultroublepublishing.com

  Copyright © 2011 by Liz Stafford

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including but not limited to: printing, photocopying, faxing, recording, electronic transmission, or by any information storage or retrieval system without prior written permission from the authors or holders of the copyright.

  This book is a work of fiction. References may be made to locations and historical events; however, names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and/or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), businesses, events or locales is either used fictitiously or coincidental. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only.

  Published by

  Beautiful Trouble Publishing, LLC

  PO Box 61

  Colfax, NC 27235

  www.beautifultroublepublishing.com

  Cover Art: Les Byerley http://www.les3photo8.com/

  Editor: Stephanie Parent

  Proofreader: Novellette Whyte

  http://authorgurunovellette.blogspot.com/

  Formatter: Jim & Zetta, http://www.jimandzetta.com/

  E-book Conversion: Jim & Zetta, http://www.jimandzetta.com/

  ISBN: (e-book) 978-1-61788-252-4

  Sometimes you just don’t want responsibility. Sometimes you want let it all go and not worry what the neighbors think. Okay, so 99% of us wouldn’t handle it the way Carmen does, but it’s fun to pretend…

  NOTE ABOUT EBOOKS

  eBooks are NOT transferable. Re-selling, sharing or giving away eBooks is a copyright infringement. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author or Beautiful Trouble Publishing.

  CAVEAT

  This work of erotica contains adult language and sexually explicit scenes, which are smoking hot. This book is intended only for adults, as it is defined by the laws of the country in which the purchase is made. Keep this book out of the hands of under-aged readers.

  Chapter One

  Carmen paced the waiting room at the veterinary clinic, dabbing her eyes with a soggy tissue. How much longer were they going to take? So far, one of her babies had died—he succumbed on the carpet in her living room, a soggy bright blue lump surrounded by rose-colored fibers.

  Who could do such a thing to an innocent creature? Sure, break in, steal the stereo or the television, but why did they have to smash the aquarium? That was…that was just mean.

  Police had been no use. What did they care about her precious fish?

  It was another hour before the technician returned. The look on her face spoke volumes. Carmen sagged onto the bench against the wall and waited for the bomb to drop. She’d brought in eleven damsels—beautiful saltwater fish—and she didn’t want to leave without each and every one of them.

  A thought had her suddenly sitting up straight—if her babies lived, if the clinic sent them home tonight, she had nowhere to put them; the aquarium lay in millions of tiny shards on her living room rug. It had been a twenty-gallon tank. Probably the downstairs neighbors had called about water coming through the ceiling.

  The tech’s nametag identified her as Kaneko. Carmen loved the Asian woman’s name; the syllables rolled off the tongue. “Ms. Adams?”

  Carmen bolstered herself and stood up.

  “We were able to save nine of your fish.”

  A choking sound came from Carmen’s mouth before she could stop it. Nine. That was good. It meant only two more had died.

  “They’ve been terribly stressed though. We don’t even know how long they were out of water.”

  Which meant more might go. Carmen forced down the lump that had jumped into her throat.

  Chapter Two

  Shawn was in love. Pure and simple. The dark-haired woman pacing before the row of aquariums would be his future wife. Something was wrong though. Most people buying aquariums looked happy, expectant, like they couldn’t wait to begin picking out their new finned friends. This woman was clearly sad; there were red circles around her ebony eyes. He straightened his nametag, ran a hand through his too-long hair, and approached.

  “Hi, could I help you pick out an aquarium?”

  She whirled around. The red ribbon holding back her shoulder-length hair whacked him in the cheek. “Oh. Hi. I need an aquarium fast. Saltwater.”

  A pair of big bubbly tears appeared in the corners of her eyes as she detailed a break-in that occurred while she was out of her apartment. Shopping, she said—not for clothes, she was quick to explain—for groceries. When she returned home, the place was a shambles, and her precious fish were flip-flopping on the floor.

  Shawn helped her pick out a new twenty-five-gallon tank, then had what he considered a brilliant idea. It would not only get her new tank set up and running, but hopefully would get him in good with his future wife—the mother of his someday children. He would move the pet shop fish out of one of the tanks, bag up the already-conditioned water and haul it to her house. That way her damsel fish would be saved the stress of newly treated water.

  An hour later, they stood in her living room before the new tank. Nine damsel fish: two goldens, three yellow tails, and four electric blues, swam cautiously in the new surroundings. Three neons had died, Carmen said. She opened a battered cigar box and showed him the tiny carcasses. Tomorrow they would get a burial in the backyard.

  It wasn’t easy, but Shawn managed not to laugh. Nor did he tell her that every fish that died in the pet shop found its way into the sewer pipe.

  Shawn stayed to help clean up the mess. He used a whole roll of paper towels soaking up the salt water from the carpet. Then he ran the vacuum to pick up as much glass as possible. Carmen stood to the side dabbing a tissue to her eyes as she alternated her gaze from the new tank to the cigar box on the end of the kitchen counter.

  This time Shawn couldn’t hold in the chuckle. They were just fish, easily replaced if one died. She caught him laughing and had to run for a fresh tissue. He felt bad for laughing. At least she had emotions, cared about living things. He’d once been on a date and had to slam on the brakes because a fox had come into the road. It stood there, blinded by the headlights. His date had shouted, “Hit it, hit it!” He never took her out again.

  As a thankful Carmen was leading him to the door, it happened: he cupped her chin, pulled her close and kissed her directly on the lips. Usually, his early dates got kissed only on the corner of the lips. Carmen’s were as soft as he expected. Part of him expected her to haul off and clobber him for being so forward. When her arms did shoot up, he braced himself for the blows, but they folded around his shoulders. She leaned into him, her momentum thumped his ass and shoulder blades into the wall, her tongue poked between his lips. His cock, which had been at half-mast all afternoon, went to grand slam-proportions.

  Carmen’s right hand dropped from his shoulder, traced a hair-raising path down his left arm and onto his ribcage, then lower. For a second it rested on his hip. Then, with very little fumbling, it found its way under the elastic waistband of the dumb-ass scrubs the store made the clerks wear. Till this moment he’d hated the outfit, thought it made him look like a female nurse’s aide. Right now, he was more than pleased because the elastic waist was sliding down, down. It stopped just below his butt in the back, hung up on his cock in front. But Shawn barely noticed the pressure because Carmen’s hand pushed between him and the wall, clamped on his left butt cheek and squeezed. Any resistance that might have lingered in the back of his brain deserted him.

  This was moving way too
fast. Even though he knew in the deepest recesses of his mind that someday they would be a couple, he didn’t want to chance frightening her off. Besides, her other hand had dropped, and was moving the waistband from his cock, which would have sprung free, if it hadn’t been for the jockey shorts...

  Okay, never mind the jockeys. They were history too, shoved down and holding his thighs hostage. He moved one of his hands around to her front and touched a breast. Just a feathering glance intended to show her he was prepared to be a gentleman. His index finger grazed a nipple—

  Oh man, she wasn’t wearing a bra.

  Double oh man—the damned scrubs didn’t have pockets. No place to store a condom. Oh hell, he wouldn’t have been carrying the things around at work anyway.

  Shawn eased back from her grasp. A quickie in a customer’s living room was pushing the boundaries of good taste, and to do it without protection—even with the someday mother of his children—was out of the question.

  “Carmen, we have to stop. I don’t have any condoms.”

  She sent him a slant-faced expression that he couldn’t read. Then she moved away, and disappeared around a corner. A drawer opened, something got fumbled around, and then the drawer slammed. She returned at a trot, a trio of foil packets in one fist. Shawn’s heart did a happy jig.

  After that, it was as if his hands belonged to someone else. The appendages divested the beautiful lady of her shirt. They fondled both breasts at the same time, flicking the tiny nubs of nipples to hard points. When he sucked on them he was sure he pulled in half of her breast, but she didn’t complain and he loved every blasted moment.

  His hands hung suspended in midair as she backed away long enough to tear open one of the packets with her teeth. Then she expertly rolled the bright pink, strawberry-flavored condom over his throbbing dick.

  She didn’t drag him into a bedroom. Didn’t even urge him to the sectional leather sofa four feet away. She sucked his tongue down the back of her throat, placed both hands on his shoulders and leaped. In a nanosecond she’d hovered her waiting wetness over him. In another second, she plunged downward, wrapping her juicy heat around him and closing him in a womblike embrace. His cock slid easily inside and Shawn’s knees nearly buckled. The only way this could be any f-ing nicer would be if they were marr—

  She began pumping. Up. Down. Up. He hoped she came fast; it would be sexual demolition if he couldn’t hold it till she gleaned every ounce of pleasure from this.

  One more. Two. Three. Please hurry, he almost shouted. She thrust down the fourth time. The walls of her vagina squeezed, pulsated, squeezed some more. They climaxed together, each with the vengeance of an earthquake. Carmen threw back her head and squealed. The sound twisted his eardrums and clamped off the ebbing waves of his orgasm.

  “Your neighbors are going to think I’m butchering you.”

  Carmen unwound her legs from his back and jumped to the floor. She peeled the condom off his penis and bent and kissed his flaccid flesh. He tried to pull away—limp dicks weren’t the most attractive things. But Carmen had hold of it with both hands. She touched it to the bridge of her nose, slid it down, down, and jammed it in her mouth and sucked. He nearly came again.

  The L word shot onto the back of his tongue.

  No, no, screamed the conscious side of his brain. Don’t scare her away.

  Carmen released the suction and let his dick thump against his sack. She pulled up his clothes and raced to the kitchen. He hoped she’d come back with a beer, but she’d only rid herself of the condom. She gripped his chin with both hands, kissed the corner of his mouth and opened the front door.

  He knew he stared at it as if he’d never seen a door before. He’d never been in a wham-bam-thank-you-sir situation and wasn’t sure how to react. Should he say thanks? Ask for an encore? Invite her out?

  More than anything he felt hurt. In his mind, he’d been formulating their future. Planning what colleges the kids would attend. She’d only been…what—thanking him for helping with the aquarium?

  She held the door open, an expectant expression on her swollen lips.

  “Carmen.”

  “Shawn, you were great.”

  “Carmen, I—”

  “Don’t say it, Shawn. I don’t believe in relationships. I’ve seen too many bad ones over the years. People always get hurt.” With that, she nudged him in the stomach with the palm of her hand. He fell backward into the hall. The door shut in his face.

  A door opened down the hall. A curly redhead poked out. He stepped away from the door so they wouldn’t think he was trying to break it down. After all, she’d screeched like a banshee less than five minutes ago. Dejectedly he strode to his car.

  Chapter Three

  Carmen leaned against the door, feeling his warmth oozing through from the other side. She knew he was still standing there, waiting, hoping she’d have a change of heart. But she’d told the truth; relationships only resulted in hard feelings, sometimes going as far as people hating each other. Even Shawn. As nice as he’d been, going above and beyond, and helping with the new tank, he’d laughed at her relationship with the fish. Didn’t he realize how much they needed her, how much they relied on her for every single thing in their lives?

  Briefly she considered the hurt she’d perpetrated on Shawn. She’d seen the flash of emotion in his eyes. He’d wanted more from her.

  No. She couldn’t give more. It was better this way. She waited till his car drove away and then went to sit in front of the newly set up tank. So far, all nine remaining damsels seemed okay. The vet had warned that she might lose more. She watched, eyes burning, alert for anything that might mean one was failing.

  Carmen awoke on the floor, her face jammed against the wrought-iron leg of the aquarium stand. She turned on the light atop the tank, the bright fluorescent illuminated the sparkling white gravel. All the fish still swam straight and true. The vet had said it would take three days for them to recover from the shock. Today she’d replace the decorations and plants that Shawn had rinsed in her kitchen sink to be sure no shards of glass remained. Again, she felt a bit sorry for sending him away.

  She called in sick to work so she could watch the fish’s progress and redecorate the tank. After breakfast and a shower, Carmen taped the background picture of a tropical beach on the back side of the tank. She pushed the colorful brick castle and the pirate treasure trunk deep into the gravel so they wouldn’t tip over on the fish. The trunk had a hole in it so the fish could swim past the fake jewels. Next came the plants. Three went back in nicely but two had died during the night. Carmen was halfway to the pet shop when she realized Shawn might be there.

  Oh well, he was a smart man; she’d made it clear how things had to be. By this morning, the pain would have dulled and he’d be recovered. With any luck, he wouldn’t even be there today.

  But he was. And he saw her the minute she stepped through the sliding doors. The fish room was downstairs. Carmen made sure not to make eye contact with Shawn as she walked on silent Converses to the stairway. She stopped a moment at the saltwater tank built into the wall. Six neon damsels swam happily there. She’d bet they’d never suffered the way her babies had.

  “How are your fish this morning?” asked a soft, too familiar voice.

  She spun around. “They’re fine so far. Two of the plants died though.”

  He took her hand. “Come on, I’ll help you pick out some more.” He led her to the far left wall where several tanks of plants glimmered in the fluorescent lighting.

  Shawn began naming the different varieties and their light and PH requirements. The words were saying the right things, but the tone of his voice was low and seductive. Her inner juices were on high simmer, ready to roll to a boil at a moment’s provocation.

  She considered retreating with him to the bathroom and…

  No, not in his place of business. She couldn’t chance him having troubles because of her. Besides, one of her rules was to never mess with the same guy more th
an once. But gosh, he was handsome. With those bright, intelligent eyes. Yum. Curly cocoa brown hair framed his face and accented the thick-rimmed glasses, making him look like the English teacher she’d had in ninth grade. Intellectual types—double yum.

  Carmen tilted her head, shut her eyes and counted to ten, then twenty. The urge to dive into him didn’t go away. She considered counting to thirty, but it would be a waste of time. No way spouting numbers would banish this man from her head.

  Chapter Four

  Shawn knew he had to go slow with this lady. Very slow. She would balk and never look back as she made tracks out of his life. This was his one final chance to convince her—well, he guessed the first step was to convince her to go out with him. The marriage proposal could wait till tomorrow.

  He dropped the plastic bags of plants into a shopping bag and stepped around the counter. “Carmen.”

  “Shawn. Don’t.”

  “I’m going to keep asking till you say yes.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Give me one good reason why.”

  “Love hurts.”

  Shawn took her hand and led her away from prying ears. He made sure to stand close, so she could feel the heat emanating from him. “It doesn’t hurt everyone.”

  “In my family it does. There isn’t one single successful relationship.”

  “You could set a goal to be the first.” Her head started to shake before he finished the sentence. “Carmen, what is it you’re frightened of—getting hurt?”

  “Yes.”

  “What will happen if our relationship doesn’t work out? It will, though. I guarantee it.”

  “You can’t guarantee something like that.”

  “I can. I did. Now, prove me wrong. Begin by having dinner with me.”

  Carmen wrenched the bag from his hand. “I can’t.”