Excerpt for Scented Lust

Excerpt for Scented Lust

 Jordan couldn’t tell how long she’d slept, but she woke feeling rested, physically and mentally satisfied, for the first time in she didn’t know how long. She looked around the cave of a room. A cave not just because of its cavernous size, but because the room’s corners and every spot where wall met ceiling was curved, beveled, like glass. The ceiling was high too—maybe fourteen feet—and it was textured in an old pattern that reminded her of plastered-over flower stems and vines.

The walls and ceiling were painted in an odd shade of grayish-green that she thought would have made a smart pants suit, but which she’d never seen on a wall. It was as much that strange color as anything that made Jordan think of a cave.

She hadn’t said or heard any noise, but she expected sounds to echo. Borderline creepy. Funny, she thought, I didn’t notice any of this last night.

The furniture was sparse for such a big room; the large bed she was in, night stands on either side, an old fashioned double-door wardrobe and an antique desk that she thought was rather feminine looking. Each piece of furniture was dark mahogany. All of it was shining like somebody had used a whole can of lemon Pledge and more than a little effort.

There was the faint scent of lavender in the room. It was like somebody’s grandmother had slipped some lavender sachets all around. She couldn’t pinpoint the exact locations emitting the odor, but she thought its presence seemed entirely appropriate for such an old-fashioned look.

Jordan sat up and rested on her elbow. The beautiful nude stranger next to her stirred. She lifted the sheet and took a long, hard look. Mercy, he could model and most people would think they were looking at airbrushed perfection. She felt like a shameless hussy when she realized she was licking her lips.

He has to be younger than me. Nobody, not even a buffed man, should be allowed to look so good lying flat on his back after the age of thirty.

He was white but tanned to a shade just short of her sienna brown color—at least that’s what she thought. His eyelashes were so thick that, at a glance, it seemed as if he was squinting through partially opened dark eyes. She had the strong desire to lean over and bite, to take just a little nip, of whatever part of his luscious body her mouth found first.

Her eyes traveled down his lean, albeit muscular body. Although his manhood was flaccid, she could see he’d been blessed in more ways than one. She fully expected to be sore when life required her to get up and walk again.

That nagging voice inside her that always had too much to say tried to guilt trip her back to the previous evening, but her joy wouldn’t allow it. She’d already decided to wait until she got home to relive everything, including the inevitable guilt, and her mind was holding her to it. Plus, she knew she would have to tell Leeana, her best friend/confessor, everything when she called to let her know she was back home and all right.

Jordan continued her study of the tanned eye candy. At the club he’d introduced himself as Artest, and he’d corrected Leeana when she’d called him Art. The hair on Artest’s body was as dark as the thick mop of longish loose curls on his head. The curls were arranged so perfectly that at first she’d questioned the randomness of them, until she saw him running his fingers through them as he pondered one of Leeana’s many questions. They fell back into the same perfect order.

He was just a percentage point or two from being too hairy for her taste, but she noticed that most of it was concentrated on his chiseled chest. His legs and arms were well within her acceptable hair range. The color of the hair on his head was the darkest brown with just a hint of deep red. It took her a moment to remember the name of the color, and when it came to her, she almost said it aloud. Umber—he was a deep umber-haired hottie.

He stirred again, and she knew it was time to get out of there. It was the first time in her life, all thirty-two years, that she’d had a one-night stand, and she wasn’t about to get caught in the embarrassing morning-after getaway.

She knew she would regret her actions later. Jordan had received good home training from an old-fashioned older woman—all of which she’d ignored the previous night.

He’d proven to be so much fun and so smart, but she doubted that she could build a relationship around such a casual pick-up. Like the commercial says, you never get a second chance to create a first impression. Just another example of Jordan Greene’s lost opportunities, she said to herself, and she fought the numbing effect the thought usually hatched.

Sighing, she sat all the way up and learned that it wasn’t going to take actually walking to spark that between-the-legs soreness. Her mind flashed to the previous night’s vigor, and she felt a hot wave of shame overtake her body. Her body burned with prickly heat. She wondered how legitimate sluts managed the humiliation.

Please let me get out of here before he wakes up, and I promise I’ll never do anything like this again. Especially now that I have last night to remember. She grinned in spite of herself.

Jordan found her clothes on the floor next to the bed—exactly where she’d tossed them. She stuffed her bra in her purse and pulled her look-at-me sweater over her head. My good old hussy red sweater—it’s never failed to get me attention yet.

He mumbled something as she was putting on her new midnight blue panties. The bra and panties were a set she’d bought after work on Friday. It was the last day of school before Spring break, and the underwear was her congratulations gift to herself. She’d made it through her first term as a college instructor.

Maybe somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she was going to force herself to go out and meet somebody too.

“Don’t move!”

After she got over the initial shock of his voice—and yes, it did echo—she turned around and found him dressed and standing near his wardrobe. It was so confusing she actually looked back at the bed to see if he was still there. Surely he’s a twin.

“Excuse me?” Jordan said. Regardless of his apparent catlike abilities to hyper-move around his bedroom, who was he to tell her she couldn’t leave?

“Don’t talk either.”

“Who the hell. . .”

Before she could finish, he was standing next to her with his hand over her mouth. “There’s somebody in my house,” he whispered in her ear.

She nodded to let him know she understood, and he removed his hand.

He inched closer to his closed bedroom door. With his eyes closed, he patted the door in several spots, high and low, with the flat of his palm. “There’s two of them, both inside. I can’t fight them and protect you too. We’d better leave. Where do you live?”

She was beginning to suspect a scam. She still hadn’t heard a damn thing. “Look, I had a great time last night, but. . .”

He touched her neck with the flat of his palm, much like he had the door. “Thank about the place where you live,” he said in a soulful, gentle voice that sounded far away.

“What?”

Jordan tried to turn and look at him, but she couldn’t move. From the corner of her eye she could see he wasn’t there, but somehow it seemed as if she still felt the pressure of his palm on her neck.

I only had two drinks last night. Something is very. . .

Before she could finish her thought, everything went dark. Before she could scream from her sudden blindness, the light was back.

Except that they were standing in the living room of her little one-bedroom apartment.

“Who, or better yet, what the hell are you?”

“That, little girl, is the kind of thing you should ask before you go home with a stranger.”

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