Return to Ain't Your Mama's Bedtime Stories

R. A. Punzel Lets Down Her Hair

"Excuse me, but what're you doing in my office?"

I'd just sauntered in through the back entrance to see a lanky boy leaning over my desk using the tip of a pencil to pick up the edges of papers stacked there.

Startled, he turned, blushing with embarrassment. As well he should.

"Uh ... uh, waiting for you, sir."

"That's nice, kid, but usually people wait in the outer office. What are you doing in here?" Casually, I hung my coat on the rack and moved behind the desk. Business was slow and I knew the only thing of any interest on this desk was yesterday's racing form.

"I wanted to talk to you. To find out about being a detective. You are the famous detective, Sam Slade, aren't you?" His face brightened and I hated to quash his enthusiasm.

"Sam's not here, kid. I'm Richard Hammer, his nephew. But I'm a detective, too."

"Oh?" he studied me with a guarded look. His eyes narrowed. "If Mr. Slade is your uncle, why is your last name Hammer?"

Now here was a kid who needed a lesson on family. "Mother's brother."

"Oh." The suspicion didn't leave his face. "I wanted to see your uncle, but if you're a detective, too... What's the main difference between you and your uncle?"

I rubbed a hand across my chin as I thought of the best way to describe how I differed from my uncle. "He's dead."

"Dead? When?"

"About a year ago."

"Oh." With a look of dejection, the kid slumped into the chair that fronted my desk.

"Don't take it so hard, kid. He lived a good life."

His long face brightened again. "Did he get killed on a job?"

"Nah. Just fell asleep one night and didn't wake up." No need disillusioning the boy by explaining that Uncle Sam had suffered a heart attack after he'd boinked a longshoreman's wife, and heard the guy's truck pull in the drive. "Death is usually not very adventurous." I sat forward. "What'd you want to see him about, anyway."

"Oh, nothing." He looked so unhappy I just had to press.

"Come on, kid," I said in my most avuncular tone. "What's the trouble?"

"Well, I wrote Mr. Slade years ago when I was just a kid, you see. I'd read about him in the papers and always wanted to be just like him. I told him that I planned to go to school and learn all kinds of PI techniques and then I wanted to come out and join him. Be his apprentice, like. He said to come on. And, well, here I am."

I hardly knew what to say. He couldn't be over twenty one, fresh-faced and enthusiastic as only someone who hasn't spent hundreds of nights sitting in a car watching for something that never happens. He'd learn. If he stayed in this business, he'd learn. "Kid... Say, what's your name, anyway?"

"Phil. That's what my friends call me back in Ohio."

"Well, Phil, why do you want to be a detective, anyway? It's boring work most of the time. Sure you get to meet hot babes once in a while, but a lot of the time you don't even get paid because the assholes skip out. I do all right now, since the Golden Steps Spa case, but it's not so good when you're just starting out. You should consider that."

He sighed with resignation. "But Mr. Hammer, it's all I've ever wanted to do. Tell me about it, won't you? I mean tell me about this ... what did you call it? The Golden Stairs..."

"Golden Steps Spa. You mean you never heard of it?" I could see my incredulity showed, by his surprised expression. He shook his head. "Let me get us some coffee."

"You'd think they'd have newspapers in Ohio," I muttered as I headed for the outer office.

When I got settled again, I tried to decide how to tell the story. The Golden Steps Spa was unquestionably the biggest case of my career, but I didn't want it to be too romantically framed for his impressionable mind. Most of the work in this business is tedious.

My secretary, Bunny, brought in the coffee. I could see Phil's eyes light up with interest. Bunny was a real looker, with legs that went from the floor all the way up to her ass, and it was a long trip. Plus, she didn't mind showing them off. Today she wore sandals with three inch heels, and a leather mini-skirt that barely reached milky white thighs. The white cotton blouse she wore had short sleeves and dipped in front, showing off deep cleavage.

She leaned over the desk to set my cup down, giving me a view of a pair of great tits and Phil a view of an even greater ass. She winked at me, making me smile. I glanced at the kid and his tongue practically hung out of his mouth. After years of working with Bunny and her flirtatious ways, I was immune to those feminine charms. But it was always interesting to see their effects on clients. And when Bunny went into the field, she got more information out of people than I ever could--as long as they were of the male persuasion.

She gave Phil a casual smile and a wink as she glided back to the desk in the outer office. He squirmed in the chair before he was able to pick up his cup and take a sip. "Oh! She's hot. I ... I mean it's hot, the coffee."

"That's okay, kid. I know what you mean. Well, put up your feet and sip your coffee and I'll tell you about the Golden Steps Spa case." He did just that, holding his coffee cup gingerly as he propped his long legs on the edge of my desk and leaned back.

"You find out something in this business, one thing usually leads to another. You never know where a clue will take you or what will come of a case. That was a fact with one big case I closed a few years ago. A big job. Pigs."

I sat forward, leaning across the desk, drawing his eyes to me. When I was sure I had his attention, I enlightened him.

"I don't mean pigs like you see in the barnyard. I mean pigs like fat, greedy businessmen. These pigs happened to be bankers who were being harassed and threatened. They called me in to find out who was causing the trouble and to help put a stop to it."

Phil nodded and his eyes sparkled, obviously appreciating the importance of the job. I couldn't help it, my chest puffed out a little.

"Before I could do much, the junior guy on the totem pole had his double-wide pulled off the pilings one night. It was a total loss and no one saw a thing of course, although it had to be one big mother of a truck to do the job. Goes to show you, no one likes a banker."

"Then I got information that pointed to a guy who had been turned down for a loan. These damn bankers. They'll only loan you money if you've got enough other money for collateral. I mean, if you've got other money, whaddaya need with theirs? If they hadn't been paying me so well, I probably woulda helped the guy, just on..."

"Mr. Hammer? I think you're off the subject, sir."

"Yeah, sorry." I grinned, shrugging.

"Anyway, the first guy runs to the second guy's house to tell him to watch out, when BAM! the whole back side of the house gets blown up. It was a nice-looking cedar job and there were little toothpick-sized sticks everywhere after that bomb. But the two guys? Not a scratch. But now they're scared shitless and they run to the bank president's house. Nice brick job up in the Heights, know where I mean?"

He nodded.

"Luckily, I got there ahead of the poor slob and the cops arrived on time. Saved those pigs' bacon, I can tell you. They paid me nicely, and gave me a bonus, too. More than that though, was the publicity I got. TV interviews, newspaper stories. Magazines from the south side way up into the valley had articles about me, and a few covers, too."

I could see admiration in his eyes. Uh-oh. I was laying it on a little thick. Time to back off.

I cleared my throat. "And that's how the Punzels came to see me." I sat up. "Want some more coffee, kid?"

He looked down into his cup then back up. "No sir, I'm fine."

"Okay, because I'm about to let you in on the scoop behind the biggest kidnapping story of the century. Settle back, and learn how a pro works." Matching his position, I settled my feet on the desk and began my tale.

Beauty or the Bitch

Jasmine Haynes

CHAPTER ONE

"I'm giving the Eden Alexander exclusive to Neal Pisquet."

Dexter King jammed his fingertips to his temples to make sure his head didn't freaking explode. Fresh out of college, Pisquet had worked for the magazine less than a year. "You're doing what?"

His editor, Baxter Blevins, didn't even look up from the copy page he was reviewing. "Neal needs a chance to hone his interviewing skills."

"What interviewing skills?" Neal "Pipsqueak" Pisquet didn't know a colon--the punctuation part--from a colon--the body part. And Dex would do anything necessary to make sure Pipsqueak didn't get that interview. Eden Alexander was his. Not only was this the first interview she'd granted in ten years, an exclusive Blevins had secured God only knew how, she was also the most revered star in Hollywood, even if she hadn't made a film in that same amount of time. She was a screen legend. And Dex's secret teenage passion when she was at the height of her career. Doing the interview was more than the perfect professional move for him, it was a personal dream. "Baxter, you can't give this to Pipsqueak. You can't afford to let him blow it."

Blevins looked up, raised one brow, then lowered his voice to a deadly note. "I can do anything I want, Dex."

Dex usually knew how to manage Blevins better than this. But this was the most important interview of his career, maybe his life. And he was blowing it. Calm down. Manage the old geezer.

"Of course, you can do whatever you want, Baxter. I was merely suggesting that perhaps Pipsqueak isn't the best choice for this. You need someone more seasoned." Dex had been doing interviews for years. He knew how to relax, how to cajole, how to wheedle out all the dirty little details that no one else could dream of getting. Not that someone like Eden Alexander had any dirty details to reveal.

Blevins tapped his pencil on the blotter. "Tell you what I'll do, Dex. I'll make you a deal. I want to do a follow-up interview in the same issue. A whatever-happened-to kind of thing. You get me that interview, and I'll give you the Eden Alexander exclusive."

Shit, that was it. Blevins had planned this all along. "Who do you want?"

"Shelby Stewart."

"What the hell for?"

"Eden Alexander knew her. It'll make great copy. I want you to find her and get her to tell you the story of her fall from Hollywood grace."

Ten years ago, Shelby Stewart had been flying high at the pinnacle of success. She'd reportedly commanded sixteen million a movie, rare at the time, especially for a female star barely twenty-five. She'd also earned a reputation as a prima donna, though Dex would have used the word "bitch." And then, for no apparent reason, because no one cared if you were a prima donna bitch, or even a drug addict, as long as you made the producers big money, her career took a nosedive. She couldn't pay anyone to give her a part. The one B-movie she managed to get had tanked at the box office, going to video in less than a month.

At the age of twenty-five, Shelby Stewart was cursed, her star falling far faster than it had risen. She'd reportedly fled to her mountain vacation home in the Sierras, far from Hollywood and the fairy tale life she'd once led. She hadn't been seen or heard from since.

And no one really knew why. Because Shelby had been good, extraordinary. One day, she might have been the legend Eden Alexander was now.

Dex resisted chewing the inside of his cheek to bits. "So, I get the Stewart story, you'll let me have Alexander?"

"That's the deal." Blevins smiled. Like a shark. "After this length of time, she'll be a hard nut to crack. You're the only one I can trust to get the story."

His editor was excellent at buttering up, his skill unparalleled. But Dex knew it would decrease his future bargaining power to give in too easily. "Let me think about it."

"You give me Shelby Stewart, and I'll let you have complete editorial control over both interviews."

Complete editorial control? Unheard of. "Why do you want Stewart so bad, Baxter? There's something you're not telling me."

Blevins held out his hands, palms up. "Nothing up these sleeves, Dex. I just want both stories. And I trust you to get them."

Trust? Baxter Blevins? He'd be out of his mind if he trusted his boss. But Dex could taste his by-line on the Eden Alexander exclusive. "You'll put that in writing?"

"In writing, my man."

"When do you want the Stewart story?"

"Yesterday."

Shit. Damn. Something was up. But if Dex wanted Eden Alexander, he didn't have much choice. After that interview, he could write his own ticket. It was even worth killing for. He sure as hell couldn't let Pipsqueak get to her first. "All right. I'll do it."

But he had the sinking feeling he was selling his soul, and Shelby Stewart's, to the devil himself.

* * * *

He should have checked the weather report before heading out for the Stewart woman's mountain retreat. Mountains meant snow. Dammit. He didn't have chains, and the windshield wipers had proven only good enough to smear the falling snowflakes across his windscreen. He couldn't see a thing. But at least he was almost there.

His car hit a patch of black ice, and the back end went into a skid. Dex white-knuckled the wheel, over-corrected, sliding all the hell over the road, then slammed into a pile of rocks that had fallen off the side of the mountain. Totally out of control, the car flung itself into the opposite lane, then plunged down a steep embankment.

He was a dead man. With branches flashing by the hurtling vehicle, he wished he'd called his mother before he'd left. And his sister. He regretted the time he'd told his best friend about his sister's secret crush, was sorry they'd laughed at her and scarred her for life. Especially since she was only thirteen, had braces and no chest. What about the time he...

Then the car slammed into a tree.

* * * *

Dex couldn't say how long he'd been out. Only that by some miracle, he was still alive. His head ached where he'd rammed it into the steering wheel. Why the hell hadn't he bought a new car with an airbag? What did money matter when you took your life in your hands?

Christ, he was cold. His fingers had numbed, and the tips of his ears hurt like hell. Reaching for the cell phone in his inside pocket, he could barely feel it. And pushing the damn little on button ... nothing. When had he last charged it? What kind of idiot drove into the mountains in the dead of night with a dead cell phone? Dex groaned.

How far had he fallen before the car hit the tree? He looked out the back window. Layered in snow, he couldn't see a thing through it. Opening the glove box, he grabbed his leather gloves and pulled them on. His fingers felt like fat sausages, weak at the joints and difficult to bend. He managed to pull up on the handle and shove the door open. His foot sank in ankle-deep snow. A deadly wind chopped at his bare face and sent ice shivers up his legs.

Bracing himself on the open door, he stared up into the darkness. With the falling flakes swirling in the wind, he couldn't see the top of the embankment. Which meant no one would be able to see his car from the roadway. He'd bet the snow had completely covered his skid marks, eliminating the chance that someone would notice a car had gone over the side.

The lighted dial of his watch said it was midnight.

Fuck, fuck. No one expected him. He certainly hadn't called ahead to announce his arrival. He'd wanted to show up on Shelby Stewart's doorstep, figuring she wouldn't, or couldn't, send him away.

No cell phone. A howling blizzard. A crumpled car. A mountain to climb. Soaked shoes, a light leather jacket, paper-thin gloves, and no hat to cover his frozen ears. On the bright side, he'd only been about two miles from Shelby Stewart's mountain hideaway.

Two miles, and God knew how long a climb to get back to the road.

He'd survived the crash, but he was a dead man for sure.

Once upon a time in a land far, far away--okay, not so far away; New York City, to be exact--there was a beautiful, single white chick named Snow White. Snow White lived with her very rich father and her wicked stepmother. Snow White's great beauty and kind nature were known throughout the land. She donated her time to working with the homeless and in animal shelters. She was also well known at Saks Fifth Avenue, where she was a frequent shopper.

One dark and gloomy day, Snow's father died, leaving her in the hands of her wicked stepmother. Snow White's wicked stepmother was wicked indeed. As executor of her husband's will, she took away all of Snow's credit cards and froze her bank accounts. She forced Snow to work in the kitchen as a maid, while she went on spending sprees and lived the lifestyle of the rich and famous.

Snow White's evil stepmother had a secret that no one knew about. She had a magic mirror that she consulted daily for hair and makeup tips. But Wicked Stepmother was so vain she fretted constantly over Snow's beauty, worrying that she might not be able to snare another rich man for marriage once a potential new prospect took a look at Snow.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the most booty-licious of them all?"

The large oval mirror shimmered and groaned to life. "Well, honey, it ain't you," it moaned.

"And what exactly does that mean?" Wicked Stepmother screamed.

"It's like this, honey. You're pushing forty, your boobs are going south and your ass is headed for no-man's land. So, booty-licious you ain't. Now that Snow White? Well, sister, she's somethin' else. And if that guy Prince Charming ever gets a good gander at her, it's all over for you."

Wicked Stepmother's eyes narrowed in fury as a diabolical plan began to form in her twisted mind. She summoned her butler. "Gordon! Gordon, come here NOW," she bellowed.

"Yes, mistress?"

"I have a plan, Gordon. One that will make me richer than I ever dreamed. A way to marry Prince Charming and be rid of that pain in the ass, Snow White."

Gordon shuddered. He really dug Snow, she was cool.

"A plan, mistress?"

And so it was. Gordon set about putting his mistress' plan in motion. Hell, he made only minimum wage, and she'd promised a big, fat bonus if he pulled it off. Tahiti didn't seem so far away now. Snow was cool, but she wasn't cool enough to pass up Tahiti.

So, he talked Snow out of watching the latest Discovery Channel's release and into taking a spin with him one night after he got off work. Snow jumped at the chance to get out of the house.

They stopped for a drink or two where Gordon slipped her a Mickey while she was off powdering her nose. When Snow was finally three sheets to the wind, he carried her out to the car, planning to kill her and dump her body. But seeing Snow's sweet face, so peaceful in sleep, tore at his heart. Besides, her wicked stepmother was a bitch on wheels. And Snow was hot.

He couldn't do it, he just couldn't bring himself to kill her. As he drove along the streets of the city, inspiration struck him like lightning. He had to hurry though; snow was coming down in thick sheets of white. Well shit, the radio announcer was predicting a blizzard.

Gordon found a dark parking lot. A neon sign blinked weakly in the frosty night, above an old weathered building. Gordon parked his beat-up Chevy a block or so away. Scooping Snow in his arms, he carried her to the deserted parking lot of a gay bar, The Backdoor Bar and Grill.

Damn. Snow was getting a bit chunky, he thought, as he laid her down on the pavement.

Gordon covered her with his coat. Taking a quick look around, he was about to scurry off. Now he'd go home and tell the jealous old bag he'd done the job, and book the first flight outta there.

Snow stirred and called his name. He leaned down. "Gordon," she whispered weakly.

Shit, could nothing ever be easy? "Run away, Snow, run far away. Your stepmother has it in for you bad, baby."

"Run!" he called to her over his shoulder, as he faded into the darkness.

"C'mon, you guys. If we don't get home soon Bashful will freak. You know how he gets when we're late."

"Ya know, he needs therapy! I mean for crap's sake, a guy can't even go out and..." The man's voice ended abruptly as the speaker hit the snow-covered pavement with a thud.

"Holy dead chick."

"Aw, man, you had too much to drink. It's just some bum sleeping it..." another man said, his voice rising an octave. "Look man, he's right, it is a chick."

A large man knelt beside the still form over which his idiot brother had tripped. "She has a pulse. C'mon guys, help me get her up and out of here."

"Shouldn't we like, take her to the hospital?"

"Yeah, we could if I still had privileges, I guess. But look at her. She's not some homeless woman." he pointed out.

"No," she whispered weakly. "No hospital ... please."

Little Red, The Wolf and The Hunter
Leigh Wyndfield

Sibyl Hood jerked, almost poking her eye out with the knife. Two steps brought her to the window above the sink. She could swear she'd seen something out of the corner of her eye. This was the third time in as many months she'd thought someone moved in her yard. She stood by the window, the knife she used to ice the cake now forgotten in her hand. Nothing stirred. The full moon made the whole yard visible.

Shaking her head, she wondered if she was losing her marbles. Just last night, she was convinced someone watched her as she sat in bed reading. It gave her the willies. Sibyl was glad she'd be spending the next four nights at her grandmother's house.

Washing the knife in the sink, she thought about her Gran. The days the ailing woman would live on her own were rapidly coming to an end. The Hoods were a large family and for a while, they had all taken turns staying with Gran, but the constant rotation had worn everyone down. Sibyl's heart tugged with sadness at the thought of her sprightly, feisty grandmother slowing down. Her mother would take a poll tonight to see which of Gran's five children would take her in to stay with them.

Lowering the top over the Red Silk Chocolate Cake she'd made, Sibyl marveled over owning a Tupperware cake container. She couldn't believe that she, the owner and CEO of Cyber Dynamics, had actually purchased something that could only make Suzy Homemaker proud. When the lid snapped in place, she put on her red velvet beret, then gathered her overnight bag and purse. She gently picked up the cake, concentrating on balancing her hands so the icing stayed perfect.

When she opened the front door, the Tupperware wobbled precariously. "If I drop this damn thing, I won't be responsible for my actions," she said, turning to lock up. This was the first time she'd used her kitchen in the eight months she'd owned her house. She wouldn't spill Gran's favorite cake on her doorstep like an idiot.

"That sounds pretty dire," a voice said from behind her.

Sibyl screamed and the cake flew into the air. As if in slow motion, she watched a stranger dive to the sidewalk. He caught the cake before it hit the ground.

Leaning against the house, her hands clutched to her chest, she tried to catch her breath. "Oh my God," she said between pants. "Your reflexes must be amazing."

"I'm sorry if I scared you," the man said. He stood up, carefully placing the cake in her shaking hands. "I'm afraid I'm lost." The smile accompanying his words seemed harmless, but for some reason, the hair rose on the back of Sibyl's neck.

She eyed the man on her front porch. In his late thirties or early forties, he was well dressed in crisp jeans and a button-down shirt. His blond hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail that showed off ruggedly handsome features and strange, light green eyes. Her instinct screamed to run away from him.

Instead, she asked, "Where are you going?"

"21 Lower Tuckahoe Road South," he said, reading from a slip of paper.

"You're on Lower Tuckahoe North. You'll need to cross River Road to be on the south part of this street."

"Thanks a lot," he said, grinning at her. His teeth gleamed in the porch light. His leer reminded her of a rabid dog she'd once seen.

She didn't understand her reaction. I'm losing it. My imagination has gone into overdrive. Sibyl shivered.

"Sure." She locked her door and edged her way toward her car. Maybe all the stress from work had finally gotten to be too much. Here she was, running away from a great looking guy when she hadn't had a date in over six months.

"Sorry about the cake," he called after her.

"No worries. I'm sure my grandmother will eat it even if it is a little banged up." She opened her car's back door and set the cake inside.

Why wasn't this weirdo leaving? He stood on her walkway, watching her.

She slammed the door shut and hopped into the front. "Hope you find your destination," she yelled as she pulled out of her drive. A look in the review mirror showed him walking to a car parked on the street in front of her house.

"Wack. Job," she said as she turned on the radio and promptly forgot him when she heard one of her favorite songs.

Once Upon A Princess
Rae Morgan

Nadia lived in a small, peaceful kingdom in what was once a former Soviet state. In Russian her name meant "hope," and she was the hope of her people. Some called her beautiful, both in person and in deed. And the evidence all pointed to the fact that her people loved her. As she was the only child of the last of her line, only she could perpetuate the royal bloodline.

Ever since her father, the King, was reinstated to his rightful place, he had searched far and wide for a prince worthy of Nadia's hand and the wealth she would inherit. But fate had not been kind to Nadia, for like her mother, she was rumored to be a woman of strong sexual passions and needs. She had already worn out two royal husbands, who were now buried in the family crypt.

Unfortunately for Nadia, her reputation as a prince-killer had spread.

Not many princes, and to be honest there weren't all that many eligible princes left in the Russian countryside, felt it was worth risking death to attain her hand in marriage. Not even with the potential of succeeding her father as King of the oil-rich kingdom in the Atlas Mountains could she lure suitors to her door.

Her father, however, would not give up. He wanted grandchildren. His royal line would die without grandsons, forcing his kingdom and the people's welfare to come under a Russian provincial government.

So to sweeten the pot, he'd offered to step down as King if a brave prince would come forward, marry her, and successfully get her pregnant.

Yet still, there had been no takers.

Nadia also wanted a husband. She had truly enjoyed the companionship of her two consorts. And if the truth be told, her poor dead husbands had exceeded themselves in bed. Sadly, though, they could not keep up with her enormous sexual appetite, nor fill her womb with fertile seed. They had both died with smiles on their faces and very limp cocks.

She prayed to God every night for a man who could pleasure her endlessly, filling her womb and giving her children. She did not want to live her life alone.

A flash of lightning stirred her from the depressing thoughts. She poked at the cake which had looked so appetizing just minutes before--before her father had taken her to task once more for scaring off potential suitors.

She sighed. Another night spent with her father, discussing the wealth the oil wells brought into their country, the burgeoning welfare of the people, and, oh, why couldn't she curb her sexual appetites long enough to allow a husband to impregnate her.

There had been too many nights of these types of discussions since she'd buried her last husband. It wasn't as if she wanted to kill her spouses. It just had happened--the poor men's hearts had given out. If only she could find a man with stamina, like her father who'd taken all her mother could give and outlived her to boot!

A clap of thunder shook the castle. The unceasing rain pounded the windows of the dining hall. She shuddered. She pitied anyone who had to be out in this horrible weather. The heavens threatened to flood the earth with an infinite amount of rain just as her tears, both shed and unshed, had threatened to flood her soul these past months.

Another more rhythmic thundering pierced her melancholy. Someone was at the door, that, or thunder had taken to occurring in regular, thudding beats.

The butler interrupted the King and Nadia at their evening meal.

"Sire," said Renwick, his eyes cast downwards in obeisance to his king. "There is a poor, bedraggled wanderer at the door. He seeks shelter for the night."

A sudden flash of lightning lit the dining room, followed quickly by another crack of thunder which shook the very foundations of the sturdily built castle. Nadia turned to her father and said, "Father, please give this poor traveler shelter. The night is not fit for man or beast."

"What manner of man is the traveler?" the King asked his servant.

"Oh, father, what does it matter?" she cried. "The poor man will surely drown or be struck by lightning if he is cast out."

"Sire, he looks to be honest enough, though poorly dressed--and very, very wet." Renwick vouchsafed a quick glance at Nadia. "He is also very large, much like yourself, my king. And young--a stranger." The servant winked at her.

She winked back.

The butler knew she needed sex, and had made it his business to find a clean, young, healthy man for her. But her reputation after the second husband's death had scared most of the men in the kingdom away. It had been a long time since she'd had a stiff cock in her vagina. She'd worn out multiple vibrators since the last, deadly, encounter with her dear, departed husband.

The King sighed. "Let him in. Provide him a bed in the servant's wing. See that he gets dry clothes and something to eat ... but tomorrow he is out of here."

"Yes, sire." Renwick backed his way out of the room, his body bent over in a respectful bow.

"Thank you, father. This is a good thing you have done. Surely God will reward you for your kindness." She resumed eating her dessert with a new zest for life as she wondered if the traveler had enough stamina left for a dance, a sensual dance, tonight.

She'd soon find out.

Petra and the Werewolf
Sydney Morgann

CHAPTER ONE

Petra Penchabich loved the freedom she felt when she could shed the thick, heavy clothing she wore in public. On top of the sense of being suffocated by her clothes, she felt restricted by life in the small village of Krackawidz, where she lived with her maternal grandfather. The town seemed prudish and narrow-minded to her as well. And her grandfather made it clear that raising her was not pleasant or welcome to him.

So, she escaped whenever she could. She snuck away into the woods to the one place where she always felt happy and free. In spite of the warnings by her grandfather, Anik, about a large, evil, man-eating wolf in the forest, she went there often and stayed late enough to make her grandfather angry.

Her favorite spot, a secluded cool green pool, deep in the thick trees, held magic for her. Her only companions were a sturdy duck named Sachet and a lovely, large songbird named Scarlet. The two birds lived by the pond and often frolicked around her while Petra swam, nude and free.

One day, Petra ducked out the back door of her grandfather's cottage and went for her swim. She reveled in the feel of the cool water on her naked body. She lay on her back and floated, daydreaming of the time when she would finally find the right man to marry. Her hands caressed her full breasts while her mind conjured up the image of the tall, dark, and handsome stranger who would someday come to claim her. She sighed with pleasure as she imagined his lips on hers and his hands exploring the parts of her body she now caressed and rubbed with abandon.

Sachet quacked at the top of his voice. He swooped down from the pile of rounded, egg shaped rocks he usually sunbathed on and landed in the pond beside her then swam around her protectively. Scarlet warbled a warning as she frantically flew over Petra's head in circles.

"What is it, my little friends?" She tilted her head to listen but all she heard was her feathered friends twittering and squawking. Her long black hair swirled around her tiny waist as she turned. She scanned the thick trees but nothing moved, except Sachet, who lifted from the pond and resumed his perch on his rock pile. Almost immediately he flew back to the pond to resume a guardian attitude around her while Scarlet continued to circle over head. He ruffled his feathers while swiveling his head almost completely around to stare into the shadows of the trees.

"I see nothing and hear nothing, except you two twerps," she reprimanded the two birds, shaking a finger at them. "You try to scare me again, eh?"

She chuckled at the memory of the first time her bird-brained friends scared her. She had run into the woods without her clothes and hidden behind a bush, so afraid that she didn't come out for hours. When she returned to the pond, cold and angry, her legs, arms and breasts were covered with long scratches from the thorns on the bushes. "It will not work this time, babushka," she murmured, as she reached up to caress the duck's smooth white feathers.

Sachet quacked at her and began to nibble at her fingertips. Scarlet settled onto a neighboring branch overhanging the pond and peered down on Petra with one bright eye.

She ignored them and floated on her back again; trying to regain her dream of the man she knew would one day come for her; her savior and lover. Her hands returned to caress the erect nipples that stood upright out of the water. "Ah, one day he will come to claim me, my friends. Then you will have something to sing and hoot about."

A growl grated into her daydream. She flung her body forward and upward, sending her hair flying and her large breasts swinging into the air. She covered her mouth in a gasp, nudity forgotten as she stood.

Standing on the shore, a large, heavily muscled man, covered with thick black hair, watched her. His eyes glowed with amber fire as his gaze raked her body, up and down then again. His red lips parted to show bright white teeth when he grinned at her. "Now, what is a beautiful young thing like you doing all alone in the forest?" he asked, with a guttural accent on the word alone.

Petra gasped at the fire in his eyes. Her thighs tingled with yearning and her heart pounded with anticipation. Fighting the feelings, she dredged up mock anger to meet the man's arrogance. "How dare you intrude on my privacy! This pool is mine. You must leave here at once or I will call the village men to hunt you down and punish you!" She balled her hands into fists and rested them on her round hips.

In response, the man sauntered to the edge of the pool, grinned, then stripped off the leather vest and soft cloth pants he wore. A thin, silvery chain and amulet almost hidden in the thick black hair of his chest sent sparks of light into the shadows. He pulled off knee-high black boots and stood for her to inspect his body as he had hers. Thick muscles and even thicker black hair covered a wide chest and massive arms. His waist appeared slim in contrast to the well-defined development of the rest of his body. The thick, long male member, nestling in a thick bush of hair, twitched and thickened. His thighs and calves flexed. Then, without word or warning, he slid into the water and moved beneath the surface toward her.

Sachet flapped his large white wings and fled the pool. He disappeared into the thick shrubs along the bank. Scarlet squawked in panicked alarm overhead and flew to a higher branch. Both birds watched but did not protest the man's intrusion.

Petra froze. When the feel of two strong hands on her legs sent shivers of pleasure up her body, she bit her lip, closed her eyes and waited. Soon, his head and shoulders rose from the water and the feel of soft lips nuzzling her pubic hair banished the shivers and replaced them with shudders of passion. She spread her legs in anticipation.

The man's warm tongue found its way into her cleft and flickered over the hard nub of her clitoris. Then it moved down, down and deeper still until it plunged into her like a snake's tongue.

Petra reached down to clasp the man's head between her legs. She moaned with pleasure. Her hips moved forward with an ancient rhythm, in tune to his every move. Her knees weakened and shook as the tense muscles in her calves and thighs threatened to collapse. Her breasts shook with each caress of the man's tongue, her erect nipples so hard they thrust out like spear tips, stabbing into the air at an invisible target.

After an eternity of suspended bliss, his mouth withdrew. He rose from the water, languid and sensuous, until he towered over her.

The woman stared up at him with glazed eyes and panting breath.

"What is your name, little one?" He licked his lips then smiled down at her.

"Petra," she whispered with a hoarse voice. She raised her hands to caress the matted, wet black hair that covered his chest. "From the village of Krackawidz on the other side of the forest." Running her fingertips through the thick hair, she quivered at the feel. "What is your name, stranger?"

He reached around her, clasped her by the waist and pulled her toward him until her body was firmly bound to him. Her breasts throbbed against the hard muscles in his chest and her hips pressed into the massive member that soon found a willing home between her legs. He slowly ground his hips against her, rubbing the tender lips and hard clitoris of her vagina as his erection played along her flesh.

"My name is not important. Only the moment matters, for tomorrow may never come, my sweet." He grinned as he slowly pulled away from her until only the engorged tip of his penis rested against her throbbing clitoris. "Do you not agree?" A slight push and the tip again tested the wetness of her opening.

"I don't care who you are or your name. My heart answers for you. I have waited for you. I am yours." The declaration of surrender was enough. She reached up, grasped his neck and pulled his head down before clamping her full lips to his.

He drank deeply of her mouth, exploring it with his tongue until he knew every taste and texture. He caressed her back with long sinuous sweeps until he rested his hands on her full buttocks. He squeezed, then pulled her hips into his. His penis thrust in and up, probing her depths.

She gasped, threw her head back, then moaned with pleasure as he sought to fully enter her. "At last," she sighed. "At last, I shall be a real woman."

Abruptly, he withdrew, gathered her into his massive arms and waded to the shore. He laid her on the grass and knelt beside her then stroked her wet hair from her face with gentle fingers. "You are a virgin, little one?"

Petra blushed but kept her arms locked tightly around his neck, refusing to let him go. "Yes, but everything inside me tells me you are my destiny." She stared into his amber eyes. "I do not fear what others will say. I am yours to take, my love." She lifted into a sitting position and kissed him.

A great shuddering breath pulled him from her arms and he sat beside her. "If I had known I would not have tried to..." His fingers raked through the thick, long black hair around his face, pushing it back so it cascaded into wet tendrils down his broad back. Then a smile lit his face. "Yet, my heart tells me this is so as well. But it also tells me that it would not be right to claim you without proper ceremony." He reached up and slid the chain he wore from his neck. The silver amulet that dangled from it gleamed as the setting sun sent out blood red rays across the glen. He reached toward her and slipped it over her head.

With wide eyes, she stared at the intricately crafted amulet that now nestled between her breasts. "What does this mean?"

His hand reached out and stroked the amulet with reverence. "This is the badge of my standing in my tribe. I give it to you as my bride. If you accept me, we are legally married from this time forward." His gaze locked onto hers, questioning and filled with hope.

A smile lit up her face. "Yes! Yes! I accept you as my husband. I have waited for you all my life. I cannot let you go now. May I now hear your name, my love?"

His face became somber and guarded. "Nikolai Romanoff, King of the Woodland Wolves."

"King of the wolves?" She tilted her head in confusion.

"Yes, I am the one the villagers seek to kill." He watched her with an intensity of fear. "A hunter stalks me night and day, but I was not responsible for the deaths of the villagers. It was a great bear that is responsible. My people only kill in self defense. We do not prey on humans for we are also human, in our way." His finger traced the contour of her lips. "I give you my word; I am innocent of these crimes."

All fear and reluctance left her. She reached for him and wrapped her arms about his neck. Burying her face into his neck she murmured, "I believe you, my Nikolai. I am yours. Claim me as your mate."

With a low growl of joy, Nikolai gathered her into his arms and kissed her with unleashed passion. The amulet glowed against her flushed skin. "My mate," he rasped as he eased her down on the grass and moved over her. His mouth claimed hers again while pushing her knees apart with his own. His hands found her breasts and surrounded them one by one, teasing each nipple with a finger while he used his tongue to caress her eyes, mouth, neck and ears.

Her legs spread wide, knees bent and heels digging into the thick grass, Petra explored him with her mouth and tongue as well. Her back arched when he took a nipple into his mouth. He sucked, then flicked it with his tongue, teasing it to even more hardness.

She clasped his head, groaning as a volcano of intensity built within her. "Please," she moaned. "Please make me yours now. I can wait no longer. Take me, my king and lord."

He raised his head and let a smile spread across his lips as he positioned his hips. He found her cleft, probing her depths with his hard member.

Petra's arms rose over her head, thrusting her breasts even higher into the air. Nails scrabbling at the grass, she opened her mouth as her breath quickened. When he finally thrust forward, entering and filling her completely, she jerked to a halt with the momentary pain.

Nikolai's erect member throbbed inside her. Within moments, her hips reached up to meet his every thrust. The musky smell of him, the essence of his lust, wafted into her nostrils. Her body responded by sending her own scent to mingle with his.

He withdrew, grabbed her legs and flipped her onto her hands and knees. Within moments, he found and filled her from behind. Strong hands held her while his hips found a faster pace against her quivering behind.

His breathing became heavier, harsher. Hers matched his. When his leg muscles hardened with tension, he thrust one last time into her as his hands tightened on her hips, then he stopped. She froze with him. A white-hot flood erupted inside her. Her body convulsed when the spasms inside her rippled, coursed, then slowly subsided with his.

The once-silent glade echoed with the sounds of their breathing. The man now lay beside her, spent but smiling.

Petra sprawled across his chest and matched his smile. "Now, I am a real woman," she whispered. She traced his lips with her fingers. "Your woman. Your mate."

"Yes, my mate," he replied before raising his head and nipping at her fingers. He twined his hands through her hair. Then he pulled her head up until their gazes locked. His golden, hers the richness of the earth. "Now you are mine forever. But one last ritual must be completed." He growled, pulled her down, turned her head to the side and sank his teeth into the top of her shoulder.

She screamed and tried to wrench away.

His mouth captured hers and stifled the scream.

She struggled against him, pain arching through her body like molten lava.

He held her tighter and kissed her until she stopped struggling. Soon, she lay limp and acquiescent against him, her mouth as eager as his. Pulling back, he smiled up at her. "The pain was necessary, my love. It will soon leave you but my mark will remain for the rest of your life. Now you are truly mine forever."

The burning in her shoulder quieted, then disappeared, but the burning in her soul and body became an inferno. "Forever," she agreed before she rose, straddled him and sought his mouth again.

His hands cupped her buttocks as she rubbed against his rising member. A wide grin spread his lips, revealing the long, white fangs of his kind. His nostrils flared and amber fire leapt from his eyes as he watched her breasts sway over his face.

"And I will be a most willing mate to you, my King." She giggled as he she slid his hardened penis inside her wet vagina, then moaned. " A most willing mate..."

As the sun sank into the horizon, a gunshot ripped through the peaceful silence.

Nikolai and Petra froze. Scarlet screamed from her tree, and Sachet thrashed in the brush.

With lightning speed, Nikolai threw Petra off, fluidly leapt to his feet, grabbed his clothes and disappeared into the forest. "I will return for you my love. I have no wish to fight this hunter. You will be safe. Wait for me in your village. I will come for you!" His voice became fainter and fainter.

Round-eyed with surprise and fear, Petra quickly donned her clothing. She stopped at the edge of the forest. "Nikolai! Come back. It's only Ivan, the hunter from my village. I will tell him you are not the one. Come back!"

When the forest sank into total darkness, she slowly turned and made her way down the path back to the village. Tears ran down her cheeks and soaked her dress, but a wild hope and determination to wait for his return beat inside her chest.

Peter's Touch
Vanessa Hart

CHAPTER ONE

Sleep eluded Wendy Dowling. Too many problems danced around in her brain, too many to-do lists dragged at her consciousness. Her career depended on tomorrow's presentation, which meant she needed rest. A vicious circle, for sure.

To top off her anxiety, Kaplan had brought up his proposal during lunch today, pressuring her for an answer by claiming otherwise. "Wendy, I'm not pressuring you. I just wondered if you've decided yet." Then he'd winked. "Are you interested in the merger?"

Of course, John, her brother, thought she was nuts for hesitating. "You'll be set for life, Wen! The guy's loaded, moves in all the right circles, and drives a Jag. What's to think about?"

John saw nothing unromantic about a proposal worded as a joint venture. Fun loving John, as lazy as his best friend, Peter, always looked for the shortcut. Heaven forbid either man should work for a living!

What was keeping her from marrying her boss? She'd worked damn hard to be head of the account team. As his wife, she'd be a shoo-in. Or was that it? She wanted to earn the position. Anything less would be unrewarding.

Or was it the lack of fireworks in Kap's bed? Wendy had given romance and passion her best shot, deciding that the whole earth-moving sex thing was a myth, just like simultaneous orgasm.

A nice cup of hot chamomile tea would settle her nerves. She slipped into her mules and padded downstairs to the kitchen, without bothering to grab a robe. Even if Michael or John were still up, both had seen their sister in her long night shirt. Mom and Dad stayed down in Florida these days, so the Dowling offspring had the run of the main house.

Light spilled from the back of the house, illuminating the bottom of the stairs and the hall. She followed the low murmur of her brothers' voices and found the three sitting at the old oaken table drinking sodas and munching popcorn. Three?

"Hey, Wen, I hope we didn't wake you," John said.

"Hello, Wendy." Peter's greeting seemed intimate, almost ... sexy. She supposed his voice had deepened with age, but then he was as old as John, an immature twenty-seven. Wendy had always thought of herself as older than Peter and John, even if she trailed them by two years. Peter pulled out the oak Windsor chair beside him. "Have a seat."

Funny, but Peter hardly seemed little brother-ish tonight. Something about his green-eyed gaze, the way his full lips curved into a roguish smile touched something deep inside her. She tried to ignore the quickening of her pulse and the catch in her breath, to no avail. Warmth flooded her body, heating her flesh.

She averted her gaze. "No, thanks. I'm just making a cup of tea."

She turned toward the range, hiding hardened nipples that threatened to poke two holes through her nightshirt. What was that about, anyway? Discovering that her brother's childhood friend had grown into a virile man? Fatigue. That's all it was.

She grabbed the tea kettle and turned on the faucet with unnecessary force, and quickly overfilled the pot. Slamming it down on the burner, she turned the knob to High. She focused on hunting through her stash of tea bags and ignored the hissing and popping as the element heated up.

"Have you and Kap set a date?" John stuffed his mouth with another handful of popcorn.

Wendy spun toward him. "Don't start."

Peter looked up, but his expression was unreadable. "You're engaged?"

"No. He asked. I told him I'll think about it."

Michael, a year younger than she, spoke up. "Quit trying to marry off Wendy. Her cooking's way better than yours."

Wendy laughed. Although the middle child, she'd become the surrogate parent for her two siblings after their parents took taken early retirement and became perpetual golfers in Sarasota. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Wendy's too young to get married," Peter said.

"You're too young to get married, Pete," John said. "Wendy was born old."

Peter snorted. "I'll never be old enough to marry."

"Born old?" Wendy clenched her hands on her hips and glared at her older brother. "Thanks a lot."

Peter intervened. "All he means is you take life seriously. Always have."

"No, you two don't take life seriously at all. You leave others to clean up your messes."

John shrugged off the insult. "That's just how you see it."

The tea kettle whistled, its shrill summons saving Wendy from a reply. They'd had this argument most of their lives. They wouldn't settle anything tonight.

Michael yawned loudly. "I'm turning in."

She turned just as she lifted the tea kettle to pour. "Good night, little brother."

John chased after him. "Wait a sec. You forgot to give me back my Third Eye Blind CD."

Wendy looked to Peter. "Third Eye Blind?"

"Some rock band," Peter said, just as boiling water splashed from Wendy's overfilled cup and scalded her hand.

"Yeow!" She dropped the cup, spilling herb tea over the counter top. The cup clattered unharmed onto the rubber sink pad.

Peter jumped to her rescue. Grabbing a towel, he wrapped her hand. "Hold this while I get some ice."

Wendy's eyes stung and filled with tears of pain. Why on earth had she been so careless with the tea kettle? Peter took the towel from her and rubbed two ice cubes over her burned flesh, holding the injured hand in his. He stood close, crowding her against the sink, but it couldn't be helped if he were to minister to her burn. Gently, he wrapped the dishtowel around the ice to hold it in place.

"Keep that on there until it melts." He led her to a chair. "I'll make your tea."

"Thanks," she murmured, touched by Peter's tenderness. The little boy did have a responsible side, after all, even if he never grew up. She sat nursing her burned flesh with the ice as Peter rinsed the dropped cup and brewed a new tea bag.

"Here you go." He placed the steaming mug in front of her, then squeezed her shoulder. "I'll be right back."

She sipped at the chamomile tea while Peter disappeared into the half-bath off the mud room. He reappeared holding a small tube, which he tossed onto the table. "Antibiotic cream. We'll rub some on after the ice melts and your skin cools."

He pivoted toward the sink, pulled off several paper towels, and quickly wiped up the spill. This was not the reckless, irresponsible Peter Penn Wendy knew. Could it be he was growing up ... just a little? As she studied the way muscled legs filled out his jeans and his shirt tightened across his shoulders, she couldn't deny that he had indeed grown up, at least physically.

Very physically.