Sinfully Good

By Laurie Vincent

When sexy and wise-cracking Vanessa Grimes loses her office job, she is forced to move in with her drama major sister, Deb, and work as a barista at a local coffee shop. The constant bickering at home drives her one night to a sports bar, where she hooks up with hot and hunky Frank Baumgarten on the rebound of an ugly divorce. Vanessa discovers the fiery passion she never knew possible in being with an older alpha male. While she is willing to accept their sizzling time spent together as a quick fling, Vanessa finds it difficult to forget the man who revived the dormant vixen within her. Although Frank is a highly successful consultant with an enviable lifestyle, he appears to be hiding secrets, some alluding to a trigger-temper brought on by his deviously designing ex-wife Barbara. To her delight, he reenters her life and makes it clear he wants to be with her. She enthusiastically jumps into a relationship of wild, uninhibited sex. Frank proves to be the fantasy boyfriend she had always dreamed about, but gradually learns there is another, startling side of him.

Coffee shop owner Josh Richter picks up on Vanessa’s sexy vibes and assumes she is putting the moves on him. Although she desperately needs the extra hours to pay her bills, Josh’s peaked interest in her creates gossip with the other baristas. She has always resisted dating men from work in the past, but her boss is relentless and steps up his game. Doing her best to ignore the feelings Josh stirs in her, she become increasingly aware that there is a subconscious attraction. Josh is not without his own mystery. A younger woman frequently meets with him in his office, the purpose of her visits leaving all the baristas – including Vanessa – to wonder.

No matter how crazy things get for Vanessa Grimes, life is . . . sinfully good!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laurie Vincent
• Release date: Aug 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310609473

Laurie Vincent

Laurie Vincent is my pen name. I live in the Midwest and love a juicy story with interesting characters, spiced up with sex, some suspense and of course, humor. I have balanced a career in the financial industry with writing (which has always been a fun side-line). Pieces of the people I write about come from those I've known. I am always jotting ideas down in composition notebooks that I eventually transfer to my laptop. I love all kinds of movies -- from the classics to even the trashy (but enjoyable) ones! I appreciate getting feedback from people who have read my stories - I truly believe it makes me a better writer to take their comments to heart. I hope to hear from you soon!

Book preview

SINFULLY GOOD

By

Laurie Vincent

ISBN: 978-1512242485

© 2014 by Laurie Vincent

All Rights Reserved

Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, events, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead or actual events is purely coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, or by any means electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author.

Table Of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

CHAPTER 1

My sister Deb practically drove me to the bar that night, her nonstop whining more than I could handle. I should have thought twice about moving in with her after I lost my job at Preferred State Insurance but knew I couldn’t afford living on my own. In the past, she had helped me without keeping track of money loaned or favors done. This time around, however, she made sure I was fully aware of her added expenses, whether they were for food, electricity or toiletries (particularly the special moisturizers and fragrant bath oils she got from Bath and Body Works). And, of course, I’d gotten caught red-handed wearing some of her better clothes when I was basically too lazy to do a few loads of my own laundry. Well, she did shop at places like Nordstrom and Macys, so her things looked so much nicer than anything I could buy.

I looked for more office work, hoping to snag a position as an assistant or even a receptionist, but found that market highly competitive. The part-time job I landed at a coffee shop as a barista did not supply enough hours (even with the tips) to compensate her for room and board.

Deb was far from happy with our arrangement. When she wasn’t whining about the few bucks I gave her for my share of things, she made a habit of slamming doors or dropping heavy (yet non-breakable) items capable of making noise when at home.

Okay, I got the message. I was an ungrateful bitch and should be kissing her ass but was in too foul a mood to take her crap. The pay was minimum wage, many of the customers were rude and the manager was more pushy than usual. Finishing the day in a hostile environment was not going to happen if I had a choice.

Shooters was a decent sports bar, far enough away from the apartment so I wouldn’t have to stress about Deb walking through the door and known as a spot for a decent hook-up. Getting laid wasn’t my goal but engaging in a little harmless flirting while tossing back a few drinks would perk me up. With any luck, I wouldn’t have to spend a dime on alcohol and my fragile ego will have gotten a needed boost.

Since the Timberwolves were playing, the men would probably outnumber the women – which increased my odds. The crowd was mostly mid-thirties and older, ordering pitchers of draft beer and assorted munchies while shouting at the big screen TVs. Sure enough, there were about two dozen guys and only four girls. The buzz of testosterone was evident from the shouts and fists pounding on the tables. The ref’s frequent whistle and the frantic squeaking of athletic soles hitting the waxed floor, amplified by the sound system, added to the noise.

I made the most of the situation, letting my hips give their subtle roll with my purse swinging. A few heads turned to see me coming, and of course, I wanted that. I was thirty-one years old, a natural redhead with a smattering of freckles, had brown eyes and a decent set of curves, standing at about five-foot five. I had on a snug blouse and short skirt as well as my best high heels to make the most of my appearance. Even when my tip jar wasn’t rattling with spare change at the coffee shop, the male customers gave me plenty of attention.

I had bad girl – take notice written all over me.

The bartender placed a napkin in front of me after I scooted on one of the empty stools. What will you have, sweetheart?

I flashed him my foxiest smile. I’d love a Rum and Coke.

While waiting for my drink, I heard the electronic beep from my phone. I retrieved my phone from my purse and glanced at the text – naturally from Debbie. What time are you coming home?

She sure hadn’t waited long to blast one out. My whereabouts were frequently questioned. Well, I wasn’t about to throw her any clues. Tonight belonged to me.

I caught two guys on the other side of the bar casually chatting and checking me out. After a couple seconds of direct eye contact, they returned to their conversation. They were hardly falling all over themselves, offering to pick up my tab. I shrugged. I wasn’t going to push it and come off looking like a total slut.

The bartender returned with my drink, setting it on the napkin. Before I could reach into my purse for some money, he said, On the house.

Thanks.

He tossed me a wink. "Do you like basketball?

I can’t say that I’m a fan, but most of the players sure are cute, and really giant.

The bartender laughed, then saw that one of the servers was motioning to him. I’ll be back. Looks like I have another order to fill.

I sipped my drink and tried to summon some interest in the televised game but gave up. Sporting events were complicated for me: too many rules, too much whistleblowing, too many instant replays.

Another text arrived. Do you have your keys or do I have to wait up?

I smirked. Keep guessing, honey. I did not send a reply.

Servers in tight t-shirts and little skirts hustled between the bar and a section of tall tables with high stools. Pitchers of beer and frosted glasses were transported with haste. At the far end of the room, an attractive man sat alone, clearly disconnected from the game, appearing lost in his own thoughts. A full drink rested in front of him, untouched.

My plan of escaping the boredom of the apartment was not going quite as expected. I realized that if I was going to have any fun at all, I might have to take the initiative.

Beep. Where are you?

I briefly wondered if my sister truly cared if I was upset or in trouble – or just getting irked that I wouldn’t answer her texts.

I took my glass and purse and casually strolled over to the display case packed with all sorts of sports memorabilia located next to his table. I gazed at its contents – caps, pennants, jerseys, t-shirts, autographed baseballs and hockey pucks – things I honestly could give a crap about yet feigned some interest.

As I got closer to him, I saw that he was maybe in his early forties, with dark hair streaked with gray, a tanned, handsome face weathered with a few wrinkles. He wore a crisp Oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up, displaying muscular forearms and jeans, and though sitting, seemed to be in great physical shape. He had to be in some job that kept him outdoors and extremely active.

I can’t say I gave older men much thought. Some over forty occasionally gave it a shot, either with a friendly smile or an offer to buy me a drink but were overshadowed by the younger ones with their unoriginal lines and empty promises of a great time. I recalled several in the past that had me wondering what they might be like in bed. Older men gave the impression of having more experience and that they could last longer.

Bearing that in mind, I decided I was definitely going to play with him. Things didn’t have to go too far, but I was in a frisky mood.

Do you have any idea where I could find one of these t-shirts? I asked.

He didn’t answer, obviously too preoccupied.

Sorry, I didn’t mean to impose, I said after failing to lift him from his thoughts. I guess I could just ask the bartender.

My phone squealed with a new text. You’re being inconsiderate.

That pesky sound, he heard. He looked up and peered at me with crystal blue eyes that made him even sexier. Did you ask something?

His deep voice stirred me. I wanted to hear more of it. Do you happen to know where I could buy that Twins t-shirt?

Any store in town that sells sports apparel.

I made a silly face and giggled. Duh. I suppose I’ve seen them at Target and Penney’s, come to think of it.

He continued to study me, now that I was officially on his radar screen, and possibly preparing for more of my stupid questions. I didn’t want to come across as a complete idiot wasting his time, yet hardly ready to give up.

Not rooting for the Timberwolves? I asked.

Not tonight.

I hadn’t gotten an invitation yet to join him at his table. I didn’t see a wedding ring or even a white line on his finger where one would have been, so I opted to go for it. What the hell, it was time to drop the act. I slipped onto the stool across from him. He didn’t seem surprised, or annoyed. Then you must be here for the atmosphere. A great place to do some major thinking.

Something like that.

I smirked. Or are you one of those people watchers? Lots of colorful characters here. I slid forward, countering his calmness with a sassy look. Unless you’re waiting for someone, in which case I should haul my little ass back to the bar.

He picked up his whiskey and took a gulp from it. Nope. None of the above. His blue eyes returned to me. What gave you the idea I might be meeting someone?

Women sense these things. I snatched his glass and helped myself to a sip. The powerful rush of alcohol almost gagged me. I think I’ll stick with my Rum and Coke. That stuff is nasty.

What’s your name?

Vanessa Grimes. And yours?

Frank Baumgarten. He drained what was left in his glass and then signaled to the server. Since you claim to have this intuition, what kind of woman do you think I am looking for?

I started to reach for my Rum and Coke, but he swiped it and gave it to the server. Bring me another Jack Daniels on the rocks, and one for her, too.

No, I hate the taste.

She’ll have it, he said to the server.

I watched her scurry off before I could stop her. I’m not drinking it.

If you’re going to sit with me, you’ll have what I’m having. Now, back to my question, Vanessa: what kind of woman do I want?

His sexy baritone and the way he examined me softened my irritation. I switched back to tease mode, curious as to how he would respond. Someone younger living on the edge who has a wild streak and could use an older man to tame her.

Is that so?

A woman your age is bound to carry around too much baggage, be judgmental and hassle you with unrealistic expectations. In other words: a complete buzzkill. Not so with a younger chick. Her kind of drama is a lot more manageable. She might be a bit whiny but buy her a little present and you pacify the ‘diva’ – well, at least for that night – giving her a chance to show her appreciation.

I thought that might have drawn a chuckle or earned me a grin, but Frank listened with a poker face. That’s how you see it? Totally physical, no strings attached?

Isn’t it simpler that way? I boldly met his gaze.

He drained his glass and set it down. Nice theory, however, I doubt my ex-wife would agree with you.

Ah, he had an ex-wife. I didn’t dwell on that volunteered morsel. Her opinion doesn’t count.

Why is that?

She wasn’t in her right mind to give up on such a good-looking man in the first place. Her loss, my opportunity.

My phone chimed. Will you please answer me?

He saw me frown as I read my sister’s text. Is someone trying to reach you?

Yes, and I’m doing my best to ignore her.

Our new round of drinks arrived at the table. Frank tossed a few bills onto the server’s tray, mumbled his thanks, and handed me mine.

I pushed it away. No.

Drink it.

Being told what to do usually pissed me off, but strangely, I found myself tipping the glass to my lips and giving that amber-colored liquid a second chance. It was just as strong, the burst of alcohol searing my tongue, but not quite as harsh.

It’s okay, he said. You’ll get used to it. Don’t take too much at once. Savor it.

His coaxing worked. A few sips later, I stopped complaining.

Did you come here with anyone, Vanessa? he asked. A ‘wing-girl,’ perhaps?

Nope.

Don’t girls usually go to sports bars in pairs, to look out for each other, or at least for moral support?

Sorry to blow your preconceived notions out of the water, but not all of us are wired the same. I usually don’t get too close to other women. I guess I was more of a tomboy in my youth. I much preferred playing with the boys and had a competitive side. I used to play hockey with them, I was an outstanding defense and did some wicked checking.

I can’t say I picked up on any masculine tendencies.

I feasted on his rugged good looks and became all the more frisky. I’ve . . . blossomed and evolved.

Now that you mention that I’m inclined to agree.

My voice grew huskier. Girls reach an age where they wake up and view guys in a whole different light. We like what they have, and we like what they do with it.

He met my leer. Guys undergo a very similar experience.

I’m shocked.

So, tell me, what kind of work do you do?

Nothing you’d find impressive.

He grinned. That bad?

Coffee barista?

It’s a job, and not a horrible one. He tossed back more of his whiskey. Pays the bills, right?

Barely, but I manage. What about you?

I actually own my own consulting business. Financial services, strategic planning.

I tried to picture him in a suit and tie but reverted to the far more appealing version of him in his casual attire. I would have taken you for a lumberjack.

He chuckled. If consulting gets stale for me, I may give that some thought.

I picked up my glass and took another sample, barely trusting that I had gotten over its bite. Why was I letting him dictate what I drank? I never let anyone else get away with that. Something in his stern look set me at ease. The whiskey went down a little easier, but it might have been that smaller sip. It’s not exactly growing on me but will do. So, are you spinning some ideas for a new project? Is that what brought you here?

He shook his head. Far from it.

You sure don’t believe in supplying many clues. I lazily stretched in my seat, assessing him more closely. The length of his arms and his leg jutting from under the table suggested he was a tall man, perhaps six-four. I noted the wide span of his long fingers and thumb. He could almost fit them around my waist. Aren’t consultants supposed to eliminate the guesswork and lend their wisdom?

I’ve been answering your questions. You’re just not asking the right ones.

Smart ass. If we were at the coffee shop, I would have written him off in a flash. I wasted no time with snobs. Frank didn’t exactly fall into that category with the suits that stood in line with their iPhones plastered to their ears or worse, using those annoying Bluetooth devices as they chatted with someone else, barely acknowledging my existence while I hustled behind the counter. He was just a direct kind-of-guy, accustomed to speaking his mind. Now that I sat across from him, he looked directly at me, absorbed – and I found that I liked it a lot. Did it have anything to do with your ex-wife? Was she nagging you for more money?

He took a large gulp. She’s ancient history and not worth discussing.

I wasn’t totally buying that. He looked into his glass when speaking. On the other hand, I didn’t want an earful of what an ungrateful, demanding bitch he’d unloaded. I didn’t need that much background. Any particular reason you decided to stop at Shooters this evening?

Probably the same reason that got you here.

Oh, I seriously doubt that. I giggled, disbelieving he had a nit-picking sister breathing down his back or who kept firing off persistent texts. Hey, you can’t change the subject and put this back on me.

Why not?

I smirked. Did I just ask the right question and now you’re dodging it?

Does it matter? Let’s drop it.

Well, if it involves a woman, you should know by now that we are famous for changing our minds and doing irrational things. We are used to exercising that right.

His blues eyes fell, and his mood turned glum.

I instantly regretted pushing him. Hey, it’s no biggie. I needed a night away from my sister, Deb. It’s like there is this huge cloud of disappointment hanging over me that doesn’t lift. She’s been nagging me to find a different job so I can actually afford my share of the expenses. A coffee barista hardly cuts it. Even the tips suck. People don’t remember to drop a few coins into the jar for the nice things we do; they just grab and run.

This world doesn’t always respect the service industry, unless a person knows someone scraping by on gratuities.

A new text arrived. I’m going to lock the door if I don’t hear from you soon!

Frank nodded at my phone. Maybe you ought to let her know you’re still alive.

She can stew a little longer. I helped myself to more Jack Daniels. The liquid was much smoother, and left a nice, mellow afterglow. I saw that I had consumed far more than I realized. You know, this isn’t half bad.

I told you that you’d get used to it.

Rum and Coke will never be the same.

So, you’re having issues with your sister? he asked. Is that who keeps texting you?

Frank obviously favored sticking to my woes rather than airing his. I didn’t mind. He wanted conversation and the surge of alcohol had loosened my tongue. She’s bent on staying in touch. If I don’t text or call her back within a half hour, she goes into panic-mode. After a half dozen unanswered messages, she is probably imagining that I’ve been chloroformed, had my mouth duct-taped and was thrown into some van with no windows. I pondered that a moment. Some of her freaking out might be over where she would get the money for the ransom.

You are giving her reason to be paranoid.

I rolled my eyes. She’s three years older and channeling her maternal instincts. She had the same boyfriend, Fred, for almost eight years. I actually thought they’d be married by now, but he baled on her about five months ago. That baffled me. I mean, they had the same nerdy tastes and interests. It seemed a sure bet. Anyway, after I lost my job, which was a few weeks following their breakup, she insisted I move in with her. She’s a legal assistant at Cromwell, Dillard and Smith, and makes a decent salary. I figured she might be lonely; she did have a guest room and wanted the company. Growing up, we weren’t that close, but I figured it might happen. We had each hit a rough patch. I paused to have a little more whiskey. That was short-lived once I started having problems meeting my own bills. Not only was I short on the rent, but I had to beg for an occasional loan. That was stepping over the line.

His brow went up. What kind of job did you have before the coffee shop?

I worked at Preferred State Insurance for a salesman, but the pace was much slower. Sometimes the most excitement I got was clearing a paper jam in the copier machine. The money, of course, was better. I can’t say that I’m an expert at that line of business. To me, it was claims, benefits, and premiums. I scheduled appointments, received checks and deposited them at our local bank. Anyway, he lost so many customers he was forced to let me go.

He couldn’t justify needing the help, eh?

I nodded. I heard that they recently laid him off, too. Lousy economy, right?

Did you mind being an assistant?

Well, I wore nicer clothes – which I had to – and I liked being in an office. I almost mentioned that I missed the random flirting and the naughty double-talk with the other salesmen or a few of the male customers. I picked lower-cut blouses and shorter skirts to keep them interested. It went no farther than that. I hadn’t been in a relationship over the past two years, but knew that it was a bad idea to start something with a guy connected to work. It’s a more relaxed environment, don’t you think?

He shrugged. I’ve taken all kinds of consulting gigs. Sometimes I’m given a cubicle in a quiet, air-conditioned space, and others, a folding table in the middle of absolute chaos. The quality varies with each assignment, but I’m usually able to concentrate. Billing at an hourly rate forces me to be practical.

Beep. Fine, be that way.

I scowled at my phone and dropped it in my purse. Bitch. Enough with the texts!

She probably won’t let you off the hook until you write back.

No thanks.

The background noises of the others in the bar became less apparent. I had no idea how the Timberwolves fared. I could not even hear my phone after a while. Frank had my attention.

I noticed how he occasionally glanced at my cleavage when I leaned forward or caught my suggestive caress on the glass when I set it down. I flipped back my red hair, feeling reckless.

Frank ordered us another round. I giggled, disbelieving I had actually finished the first. Where did it go? Last I checked I still had half left.

It’s comforting, isn’t it?

More than his choice of libation had that effect on me. He wasn’t the hottest guy at the bar, but I sure wasn’t about to leave the table. Just as he took in parts of me, I ran my own inspection of him. His mature, weathered features held a certain appeal. His nose was slightly large yet made him look sexier. Dark tufts of chest hair mixed with some white strands rose from his unbuttoned collar. The outline of his broad pecs through his shirt made it evident that he lifted weights. It was his blue eyes, however, that got me. I couldn’t get enough of them; they had that wise, world-weary quality that suggested he had some hidden talents.

Frank, in his tone and posture, reinforced that he was an alpha male. Giving orders seemed a natural extension of his personality and that direct look he gave sent pleasurable shivers through my body. I wondered how he was sexually. Did he bring that take-charge attitude into the bedroom?

Our fresh set of drinks arrived. I tipped my glass and welcomed the reviving blast. I love it.

He seemed entertained. You like trying new things?

I gave him a provocative smile. Only if they appeal to me.

Is that right? He grinned before downing some of his own drink. How different from your sister are you?

I inwardly sighed. God, why did he have to spoil the mood by bringing her up yet again? He really didn’t want to spill things about himself, did he? A couple of scraps about his ex-wife would have been sweet – although pressing for them might turn him off. You wouldn’t believe we share the same parents.

How so?

"She’s more conservative, more restrained. Not an impulsive