Lush Read online

  Lush

  By

  Chris Adonn

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2014 Chris Adonn

  *****

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  License Notes:

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this e-book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this e-book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Dedicated to

  All the amazing writers and people who have inspired and encouraged me.

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank everyone who has helped me with this novella: my family, my new and old friends.

  Special thanks goes to,

  Lorna, who listened over and over as this story took shape. You have made some amazing suggestions along the way and it is thanks to you that it’s a story I can take pride in.

  Ruth, your support and guidance have been priceless. I don’t want to wax on about just how much you have helped me, but you and I know what you’ve done for me, and it is immeasurable.

  Big thank you Tina, Michelle, Karen, and Renita for being my canaries in the mine. You not only gave me a very clear indication of how Lush might be received by fellow readers, you spotted some seriously dangerous typos and grammatical errors. More than that, your suggestions and advice have been a gift.

  A Note to the Reader,

  My Love Story Collection is a compilation and expansion of my romance writings over the past six years. Some of the books, like this one, are novellas. Some are full-length novels. Some are written in the third person, and some are written in the first person. It all comes down to how I interact with my characters and the voice they take in my mind.

  Please be advised that this is a romance novella that does mention naughtily stuff and, more importantly, it is served up with a healthy dose of profanity. If wicked words and descriptive love scenes make you cringe, stop reading now.

  If you are under eighteen, PLEASE, stop reading now. This book is not intended for your eyes. Do something age appropriate instead and enjoy your childhood. You’ll miss it when it’s gone.

  For the rest of you, happy reading. See you on the other side.

  Chris Adonn

  Ps: I am a South African writer. As such my spelling generally follows the rules of Commonwealth English. All this basically means, is that I write ‘colour’ rather than ‘color’ and use the suffix ‘ise’ rather than ‘ize’.

  Books in the Love Story Collection

  Lush

  Books in the Balancer Chronicles

  The Eyes that See

  Legacy

  The Catalyst

  Table of Contents

  Lush

  Dedicated to

  Acknowledgments

  Note to the Reader

  Books in the Love Story collection

  Books in the Balancer Chronicles

  Blurb for Lush

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Dearest Reader

  Chapter One – Come Away with Me

  Chapter One – After Alex Died

  Blurb for Lush

  When past and present collide at a speed date of all places, Julia Kincaid does what she does best; she heads for the nearest exit. Only Michael Winthrop has other plans for her. He wants to pick-up where they left off. As friends. Only she never saw him as just a friend, he was the guy she dreamed of marrying some day.

  When Julia broke his heart seven years ago Michael tried to move on, and as far as anyone can tell, he did. He built a life for himself that most men would call paradise. But now, after seeing Julia again, he is realising that a future with her is still the only thing he ever wanted out of life.

  Chapter 1

  Club Lush, New York NY, Friday night, July 12th 2013

  Speed dating? What on earth had possessed her to take part in speed dating? There were many things that Julia Kincaid could easily imagine herself doing for Kirsten Winthrop: Help her juggle boyfriends, lie to her parents, lie to the cops, bury a body in the woods with her...

  Funny enough, agreeing to take part in some kind of prescribed dating processional as an independent critic / adjudicator / whatever-the-hell-you-want-to-call-it of sorts was the last thing she had ever imagined she’d do for her best friend.

  She hated the idea of putting herself on display like some desperate, sex-starved female on the prowl. She especially hated the thought of sitting through conversations with desperate, sex-starved men who were hoping to get lucky at the end of the night with some random woman they had just met.

  What, for the love of sanity, was wrong with the world these days? What was wrong with the good old-fashioned way of doing things? Why did everything have to be calculated and about instant gratification? She liked slow courtships. She liked seeing a man from across the room in an unplanned situation — a party or night out at a bar after a ball game — and experiencing mutual sparks of attraction. She liked making that connection, which held tentative promise, then gradually pursuing it. She liked talking over that initial cup of coffee or ice-cold beer and later a dinner date. The first uncertain kiss, the phone calls, the excitement... The chase.

  She absolutely did not like the idea of premeditated expectations before even meeting a potential suitor. She detested the thought of taking part in something designed to pretty much force its participants into vying for attention. What could be worse than suffering through a series of rushed dates with strangers who would no doubt try to make a memorable first impression followed by obligatory conversation?

  And yet here she was, in the very spacious, very elegant, VIP lounge of Kirsten’s brother’s two-month-old nightclub, getting ready to take part in two forty-minute sessions of torture with a forty-minute shoot-me-now interval between. The only upside was that Michael, who Julia had not seen in about a decade (a decade and a month to be precise. Not that she’d been counting), had assured his sister that he would give her critique partner complimentary drinks for the night. And a three hundred dollar coupon for dinner at Peter Luger. And... wait for it. Two tickets to the Midsummer Classic! A game that would be taking place in just four days time at Citi Field; home of her favourite team after the Yankees, the Mets!

  Oh yeah. The tickets had been the clincher, and the offer had sounded pretty damn irresistible last weekend when she’d been more than a little drunk, thanks entirely to her family’s 4th of July celebration. It had also helped that she’d planned on taking her favourite cousin to the game. Bradley was as into baseball as she was and he was so much fun to hang out with. Sadly he’d needed to catch a flight to Florida this morning because his grandmother had broken her hip.

  At the beach of all places!

  Seriously, what was a seventy-four-year-old woman doing playing extreme volleyball anyway?

  Okay, so Julia could totally see herself doing the same in her seventies, and probably fracturing more th
an a hip, but that was beside the point. What mattered right now was that she would have no one to take to the exhibition match; one of the biggest highlights of the season! Well, that was not entirely true. She had lots of people she could take along, but not a single one whom she would want to spend up to four hours at the stadium with.

  If only she had a boyfriend, one who was as into major league baseball as she was. Or, at the very least, not condescending. Most guys, all of her longstanding male friends included, tended to think that a woman could not possibly be a true fan of ball games of any kind. Perhaps because they thought that having balls was a prerequisite. Then again, they probably weren’t all that far off the mark. Every last one of her girl friends could pretty much care less about baseball. Sure, they liked the excitement, the energy of the crowd and players — not to mention how hot some of those players looked in their gear — but damned if they understood the true significance of the strategies at play. Almost none understood that baseball was a complex mental game even though you could almost always predict the outcome after the fist two innings. None understood that a truly great game was the unpredictable one that kept you guessing right to the end of the last play no matter who you supported.

  “Tell me again why your brother needs us to attend this stupid waste of time tonight?” she asked Kirsten as they collected their Cosmopolitans from the lavish bar.

  Her puckish friend winked at the barman before turning to her, leaving the poor sucker so bowled over that he actually blushed like a devout Puritan who’d just realised that pleasure wasn’t an entirely bad thing.

  After taking an annoyingly slow sip from her glass, she announced with an exaggerated air of mock exasperation, “For the thousandth time, Ms Kincaid, he wants objective assessments of the night. So try to keep an open mind, and if you think of anything helpful be sure to make a note of it.”

  “Yeah about that, what on earth do either of us know about speed dating? It’s not like we’ve ever done it before.”

  “That’s the point, Jules. He wants to hear the opinions of a couple of virgins.”

  “Oh God, Kirst! Neither of us have been virgins for years. I popped my cherry in my first year at NYU and you? Well, you were kinda precocious. What was it, your sixteenth birthday with Rory Mullins in your parents’ pool house?”

  “Actually it was the week after my birthday and it was my parents’ boathouse on the lake. Now stop being a brat. You know what I mean by virgins. Mike wants the opinions of women who have never done this kinda thing before, so we’re perfect. Please just down your drink and stop looking like you want to kill something. It’s time to give our gorgeous faces one last touch-up and get our nametags before the fun starts.”

  Julia pointed to the washrooms and smirked with satisfaction. “Um, I hate to break it to you, chick, but we only have ten minutes till the dating ordeal commences and there’s a mile long line at the restrooms. Turns out you’re not the only vain diva who wants to indulge in her narcissistic rituals before the desperate male hordes come marching in to dish out their cheesiest pickup lines in under five minutes.”

  Kirsten was totally unfazed, as evidenced by her Cheshire cat smirk. “No problem. We can use my brother’s office. He has a fully loaded bathroom in there. If we weren’t rushed for time we could’ve taken a swim in his Olympic size bathtub.”

  Oh. Hell. No! No way was she willing to face Michael just yet. She was far too sober for that. She’d successfully avoided him since his return to New York almost five months ago, and she had no intention of seeing him before she absolutely had to. She wasn’t ready. Would probably never be ready.

  “Girl, you look absolutely magnificent,” she said a little hysterically. Okay, very hysterically, and it was more like whining than saying, but it was true. Kirsten looked positively provocative in her red, camisole style top and tight, black leather pants. Her diamanté studded Louboutin heels offset her diamond earrings and necklace perfectly. As for the rest? She had a face and body that could grace magazine covers. Kirsten, with her flawless skin, sky blue eyes, and curly mass of shoulder touching, dark blond hair, was nothing short of All-American gorgeousness. She was the angel to Julia’s devil.

  Aside from their similar heights and builds they were total opposites. Julia had straight, pitch-black hair that reached midway down her back and green eyes that many said looked jade-hard when she got angry. The hair she owed to her mother’s half Asian heritage. The eyes were from her dad’s mixed bag of bloodlines. Her complexion was more olive than peaches and cream and her facial features were more angular than soft. Together they made a knockout team and neither of them would ever deny it.

  “Oh come on, Jules,” Kirsten cajoled. “I need to check my lipstick. This red is divine but it’s not long-lasting.”

  “Trust me, it’s lasting. Let’s just get to our tables and order something to dull the pain of–”

  No point in arguing or negotiating. Kirsten was already frogmarching her in the direction of the elevator that would carry them to the fourth floor that, if rumour had it right, was occupied solely by Michael’s office. Word was that it was some kind of sex den. Yeah, word got around fast.

  Michael had brought a reputation as a player back with him when he decided to once again make New York his home after conquering London and LA.

  According to Kirsten he wasn’t a player so much as a wounded man trying to get over a serious knock to his self-esteem. It wasn’t completely implausible considering that he’d been badly burned by his ex-wife after less than one year of marriage. The unofficial story was that he had caught the starlet screwing around and as a result had lost all trust and respect for the fairer sex. As far as Julia was concerned Michael had never had all that much faith or regard for women to begin with.

  She could still remember how during the summer after her sophomore year at high school he had convinced her that he was into her. With him being three years her senior it had been a big deal. More so because she’d had a crush on him since the first time she saw him when she was only seven. Suddenly it seemed that he’d finally noticed her after too many years of unrequited love on her part.

  He’d somehow managed to place a gorgeous display of flowers in her bedroom without getting caught — her very first bouquet of red roses. A card instructing her to meet him on the roof of their apartment building at midnight had accompanied it.

  His parents owned the complex and the roof had been converted into their own private garden. It sported a huge pool and an assortment of potted trees and flowers. In short it was a wonderful escape right in the middle of the Upper Eastside.

  Had he chosen that perfect place because he wanted to finally tell her that he loved her, and mean it?

  She was nine the first time he’d told her that he loved her. It was the day she’d said it to him after he uncomplainingly helped her learn the words for her upcoming spelling bee. He’d been so encouraging and patient even though it had taken her hours to memorise the twenty words. After she managed to recite each word perfectly he’d twirled her around her living room and, forgetting that it was her special secret, she gushed that she loved him to the moon and back.

  Hugging her tightly he’d said, “Thanks kiddo, I love you too.”

  After that day she’d often found excuses to tell him that she loved him, but he’d always reply in more or less the same way: Love you too, kiddo. Love you right back, Julie-bean. Yep, me too. Would this be the night he really saw her and said, “I love you, Julia”? Would this be the night he finally said it first?

  Excitement had bubbled up as she prepared to meet him. She knew that there would be no risk of discovery or interruption since Kirsten and her folks were visiting friends in the Hamptons that week. As for her folks: They were going to be out all night on one of their special dates. That meant they had booked into a snazzy hotel to do whatever it was that long-married couples with busy schedules did to keep the spark alive.

  In her naivety she decided to meet Michael wit
hout telling anyone, not even daring to call Kirsten and share the best news of her life, for fear that sharing it might jinx it. She’d tried on twenty outfits and applied proper adult makeup to her face for the first time ever, all the while counting down the hours. Oh how she had counted them down. They had been the longest, most tension filled hours of her life.

  When she finally got to the roof, at the stroke of midnight, Michael was waiting. He was seated on a recliner next to the pool, muted nightlights illuminating the darkened deck and bathing his shirtless, athletic body in the most glorious, golden tones. His dark blond hair, still dripping wet from his swim, added an extra element of sensuality to his perfect features.

  “Oh wow, Julia,” he said breathlessly, half rising to meet her before quickly resuming his place. It had been clear, thanks to his loose-fitting and still damp swimming shorts, that she’d given him an erection. “You look so grown up I barely recognise you.”

  She beamed with female pride even as she blushed with girlish shyness and nerves in equal measure. Her mother’s above the knee, black slip dress had seemed like an audacious choice, but the knowledge that Michael would soon be leaving for God only knew how long had emboldened her. She wanted to be sure that he would remember her. Besides, a lifetime of playing all sorts of sports had given her great legs and she’d inherited her mother’s perky, size C breasts. She was physically mature for her age, and even though she had always been a tomboy, she was well aware of her sexuality. It had rubbed off from hanging out with Kirsten who was almost eight months her senior and the ultimate boy-crazy girl’s girl.