Lacey Delahaye, forager and jelly maker, finds out in this romantic suspense set in the western Caribbean.
I didn't mean to write this story. I meant to write a nice romantic interlude set on Longboat Key, a lovely barrier island on the Gulf Coast of Florida. Even before I'd reached Chapter Two, however, things had taken a geographical turn and veered off into the western Caribbean. Even now I'm not sure how it happened, but everything started to go awry when Lacey Delahaye, my heroine, finds a bedraggled castaway in her mangrove swamp. Fine. Not a problem. He's handsome, injured, and clearly has a secret. Could he be a lost tourist? A real estate agent caught up in a Florida land scam? An environmentalist who's discovered that whales have become man-eaters? No, sir. With his exotic, dark looks (flashing black eyes, shimmering ebony hair, etc.), he hardly seemed the real estate agent type. And he has an accent. Therefore he comes from elsewhere. He eventually confesses to Lacey that…well, I certainly won't divulge his secret. I will say that he and Lacey find themselves in a remote, tiny, tropical paradise, which would be very romantic, except for the vicious serpent lurking there.
Secret Cravings Publishing, released 9/2/2014
89,000 words; M/F; 3 flames; Adventure/Romance
In the aftermath of a hurricane, Lacey Delahaye finds herself marooned on the Gulf coast of Florida with a mysterious man. They are immediately drawn to each other, but before Armand can confess his identity, they are kidnapped and taken far from civilization to a tiny, remarkable island in the western Caribbean. With the help of her son Crispin, a small, but proud young boy named Inigo, and a cadre of extraordinary characters, Lacey and Armand must confront pirates, power-mad ideologues, and palace intrigue if they are to restore the once idyllic tropical paradise to its former serenity and find lasting happiness.
She turned on the taps and poured a few drops of rose water from a small flagon into the tub. Slipping off her shorts and shirt, she sank blissfully into the water. Armand came to the door. “You look happy.”
“At this point it’s the little things.”
“Yes. I have a feeling tomorrow will not bring good news. I wish you weren’t here, Lacey.”
“Well, thanks a lot.” She batted her eyelashes at him.
“You know what I mean. This is a very precarious situation.” He sat on the edge of the bath. “I never should have let you help me.”
“You didn’t have much choice, Armand. Besides, I couldn’t leave you in the mangrove swamp. It’s not done in my family.”
He shook his head. “And then I seduced you in the first five minutes of our acquaintance. I am a wicked man.”
Lacey thought back to that night—to the smells of sulphur, mud, and sex. She’d felt guilty then, believing it was her fault, that she’d thrown herself at him. Not the other way around. She looked up into Armand’s face. Black stubble covered his chin. His unruly hair, a little long now, matched his glistening black eyes. Might as well let him wallow in his ignorance. She reached an arm around his neck and drew him toward her. Just as their lips touched his eyes went wide, and he fell on top of her.
Bathwater spilled out, leaving Lacey half exposed and shivering. “Ack! What are you doing?”
He struggled out of the tub, his clothes dripping. “It’s your fault. You pulled at me and I slipped.”
“Well, I never. You leaned in and lost your balance.” She turned the tap on again. As the bath refilled, an idea crossed her mind. Her eyes danced. “Now you’re wet, you might as well get in. You could use a wash.”
He cast her a look from under the thick eyebrows. “Might as well.”
She moved over and he squeezed in beside her, then rolled her over on top of him. She felt gloriously sensual and rubbed her body over his, massaging the hard parts. He found the soap and lathering up his hand, inserted two fingers into her pussy. The scent of rosewater filled the room. She slowly rotated her hips while his fingers kept up their pressure. When she pulled away, his fingers slipped out. Locking her eyes on his, Lacey lowered her vagina onto his cock. The soap lubricated her opening, and he slid in to the hilt. She began to rock, slowly, then faster, as he kept his hands on the tub’s sides to steady himself. She concentrated on the thick penis scraping the sides of her vagina, nicking the tip of her clitoris, nudging her orgasm into flower.
“Oh God, Lacey, don’t stop.” He closed his eyes, and she redoubled her efforts until she came to the tipping point. Shuddering, she collapsed on top of him. They lay in each other’s arms, water bubbling and sloshing around them.
Someone knocked on the outer door.
Secret Cravings: http://store.secretcravingspublishing.com/index.php?main_page=book_info&cPath=4&products_id=934
About the Author
Although she has lived or traveled in every continent except Antarctica and Australia (bucket list), M. S. Spencer has spent the last thirty years mostly in Washington, D.C. as a librarian, Congressional staff assistant, speechwriter, editor, birdwatcher, kayaker, policy wonk, non-profit director and parent. She has two fabulous grown children, and currently divides her time between the Gulf coast of Florida and a tiny village in Maine.
Ms. Spencer has published nine romance novels. The first two, Lost in His Arms and Lost and Found, were published by Red Rose Publishing. The other six—Losers Keepers, Triptych, Artful Dodging: The Torpedo Factory Murders, Mai Tais and Mayhem: Murder at Mote Marine (a Sarasota Romance, Lapses of Memory, and the Mason's Mark —were published by Secret Cravings. Whirlwind Romance, her ninth, was released September 2014.