Sassy Aphrodite: Point of Contact, #2

By Callie Bardot

With no way to contact her naughty seaman, what is her heart to do?

Still reeling from the sexual escapades her Navy Adonis introduced her to, Tara Lynne returns home satiated and totally screwed--literally. Her violent and jealous boyfriend refuses to let go of what he clearly doesn't want--her. Now, it's up to Tara to drop the douche-baggage and move on.

And that's not as easy as it seems...

Harboring a secret from her weekend tryst, Tara embarks upon an adventure with a long-time friend, the sexy and irresistible Matt Mitchell. On a quest to reinvent herself, she finds the love she lost. And that love from the past just might be the final piece to the future she's always wanted.

Make sure you read Blurred Lines (Book 1 in the Point of Contact series). And then, get Sassy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Calinda B
• Release date: Sep 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781516388851

Book preview

Prologue

H ere you go, sir. Tara Lynne handed the man across the counter a steaming hot latte in a white paper cup emblazoned with the green, twin-tailed Starbucks mermaid logo known as Siren.

Thank you, he said, in a smooth deep voice. He took it, letting his fingers linger on hers, while his hazel, green-flecked eyes made an appreciative sweep of her body. North Carolina. Am I right?

Excuse me? She retrieved her hand to ostensibly tug at her roomy, green apron.

Your accent. You’re from North Carolina. I’m somewhat of an expert on dialects. He flashed a knowing grin.

She gave him an exasperated look. Kentucky born and bred.

Your parents must have come from the Carolinas.

Third generation Kentucky. She shook her head at him.

He reddened but tried to appear cool. Those two dialects are some of the most similar.

Uh huh. Not.

He’d been coming in here every night this week when she worked the store by herself, save for Arlo, the guy who did more drugs than dishes in the back. Arlo’s presence was supposed to make her feel safe. She doubted he’d be lucid enough to fend off even a screaming toddler.

The man across the counter looked to be in his early thirties.

The same age as Adonis, Tara thought wistfully.

Dressed in jeans and an expensive black jacket over a gray T-shirt, he looked like all the guys who strolled in here—uninteresting.

Tara’s hair hung in a long brown braid along her back. She blew her breath at a loose strand of escaped hair. It fluttered away from her forehead and settled in the same annoying location along her right eyelid.

Allow me. The male started to reach across the counter, his finger aimed to push the strand out of her eyes, but she shook her head, pulling away slightly.

He stopped, finger poised mid-air and gave her his most winning, "you must want me smile. I was only trying to help. I like you. I want to get to know you."

Don’t even think about it, she thought, rolling her eyes. Not in my condition.

The name’s Peter, by the way. What time do you get off? he asked.

Too late for you. She studied him and smiled without any warmth. He looked like a shark to her, all white teeth, coal black hair, chiseled good looks, and high-end clothing. He reeked with the smell of pretension. She turned and picked up a white cleaning towel. My, uh, boyfriend will be picking me up at midnight. She didn’t really have a boyfriend. Only Matt Mitchell, the guy responsible for getting her up here, away from the So Cal jungle.

Matt wanted a thing with her more than she cared to think about. She told him repeatedly, nothing stood in the cards for him and her. She needed time to heal from Justin. More like time to stop obsessing about Adonis, the guy I met in San Diego.

It had been three months since she met Adonis and her life had changed for the better since then, sparked by her lusty, scandalous encounters. She’d done things with Adonis that would make her grandmother rise from the dead, bearing pitchforks to spear Adonis, and insist on vats of holy water for dunking Tara, pleading for her granddaughter’s soul.

Matt was persistent, she gave him that. He followed her and her ex from Kentucky to Los Angeles, then, when she got into trouble in So Cal, he got her to Washington State. Cute, funny, with a hot body and a flair for fun, she could do worse than hook up with Matt. Actually, she had done worse. Justin, she thought, her stomach bubbling with disgust. So glad that part of my life is over.

Pity, Peter said, giving her body another once over with his gaze.

What? Tara said, coming out of her reflections.

Your boyfriend. I’ve seen him. He doesn’t look that interesting. Rather common if you ask me. He slid a business card across the counter. When you grow tired of him, here’s my number.

Aren’t you bold, she said, picking up the card. Barely glancing at it, she dropped it into the trashcan behind the counter.

I wouldn’t do that, if I were you, he said, his gaze turning to steel. I’d hang on to that card. I earn a six-figure income. I drive a Tesla. A girl like you shouldn’t be seen in anything less.

Oooh, aren’t you special. Well, I earn a crazy, low five figure income, I have a promising future in art, something that feeds my soul, but probably won’t earn me much cash, I’m good with horses—Thoroughbreds, in case you wondered—and my boyfriend drives a 1968 Shelby Cobra GT 500KR with a 428 Cobra Jet engine, Ram Air Induction and traction-lock 3.50 rear end. KR stands for King of the Road, in case you didn’t know. That baby goes over 150 mph. Does yours have that much muscle under the hood? She gave him a taunting smirk. Talking slick and dirty about engines usually shuts them up. Growing up in Kentucky with motorcycle and car junkies, she knew a lot about engine performance, not that it impressed her.

Thoroughbreds, huh? Then you’ll do me right. The male gave her a wicked grin. And I assure you my engine not only goes faster, it runs smoother, quieter, hotter and longer. In fact, not only does it purr, it leaves the passenger purring and begging for more.

Tara closed her eyes for the briefest of seconds, remembering the way she’d felt when she’d been with Adonis. It had been a long time since she’d had satisfying sex. It had been a long time since she’d had sex at all, save for self-love.

Right, Peter said, no doubt thinking she responded to him.

Her eyes popped open, and she blinked.

Sounds enticing, doesn’t it? He looked smug, like he’d just scored the winning goal in a tournament.

She glanced at the clock. Actually, Peter, what sounds enticing is a long bath, my flannel pajamas and a book in bed. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do to close up.

He shrugged, sipped his coffee, and cocked his head, regarding her thoughtfully. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. I never give up easily.

Whatever.

After he left, Arlo, the drugged-out dude from the back, popped through the doorway. How’s it going? Almost ready to head out?

She peeked at the clock on the wall again. We don’t close until ten. That’s twelve minutes away. Cool your jets. I still have to do clean up.

All right, all right. I’m almost finished in the kitchen. Let’s hurry ‘cause I’ve got a party to get to.

She rolled her eyes at him, and got busy refilling, cleaning, and stocking supplies. At two minutes until closing she caught sight of a couple heading toward the front door. No, no, no, she thought. Damn, she muttered under her breath.

The glass door opened as she jammed napkins into the holder.

The couple entered, laughing, and talking.

I’ll be right with you, she said, not looking up from her task. We close in one minute, by the way.

Aphrodite? said a deep male voice.

Her head whipped up and her jaw dropped to the floor at the sight of the tall, handsome, blond haired, blue-eyed man before her.

He looked as stunned as she felt. The veins in his neck throbbed with pulsing blood. His lips parted, like he wanted to say something but hadn’t a clue what. His eyes kept blinking in that deer in the headlights look.

Flustered, her hand swept along the stand where the creamer, sugar, stir sticks and napkins stood, knocking the carafe of creamer to the floor. The white liquid spurted from the container, spilling all over the floor. She quickly grabbed napkins and crouched, dabbing up the spill.

Two very warm, very large male hands grasped hers as the man crouched beside her.

She stilled and for a moment, they were the only two people in the universe. Her heart beat at a racing rabbit’s rate. Her brown eyes—he’d called them molasses at midnight—locked with his deep blue ones. Adonis, she breathed.

In the flesh, he said, piercing her with his gaze.

She grew wet and wanting from the contact, as if they’d never parted. She yearned for him with a hunger unlike anything she’d ever felt.

Ahem. The woman who had come in with Adonis cleared her throat.

Tara looked up, sudden jealousy raining from her eyes like a hailstorm. Her eyes dropped back to Adonis’s. Who is she and how many benefits does she come with? she hissed. Does she have the same ones I gave you? Because if she does--

Adonis chuckled, a pleased expression on his face, and interrupted her. If she does, what are you going to do about it?

Chapter 1

Aphrodite

One Month Earlier…

Three weeks late. Tara Lynne set the cellophane encased white stick on the beige, fake granite countertop in the bathroom. Studied the instructions. Eyed the box. She bit her nails, the dark brown polish already chipped, the edges of her nails ragged. Stared at the plastic device, then lifted her head to examine the colorful red, blue, and yellow cartoon fish, and patches of black mold on the plastic shower curtain.

Sitting in the small, stuffy bathroom of her apartment, she lifted her mane of dark hair from her shoulders and fanned the back of her neck. This southern California heat is miserable. It was early August and the temperatures soared into the high nineties almost daily. It wasn’t supposed to be this hot, this consistently. She blew out her breath, trying to cool her face. Kept staring at the white, cellophane wrapped stick, searching her soul for the nerve to use it.

It had been a month and a half since she’d been with Zack Brannon, the über sexy male she called Adonis…the Navy sailor she hadn’t stopped thinking about, ever since they parted. In twenty-four hours, she’d experienced more passion, more hot pleasure than she ever had with Justin.

Adonis showed her unbelievable pleasure in their brief exchange—well over six feet of it, all bronze, tattooed, and muscled. She shivered, recalling their time together. And instead of time causing her memories to fade, she went home with an increasingly burning desire for the sailor in the submarine, in a place she knew not, with no way to contact him.

He pleasured me in naughty ways Justin could never conceive of—on the Boardwalk in a funky phone booth, at the beach, in my hotel room. He called me Aphrodite.

She glanced at her laptop, lying on the bed, the browser open to a bookmarked page about the goddess Aphrodite. The goddess of love, beauty, pleasure… and procreation, she thought, chewing on her lower lip. I guess I ignored the procreation part. I’ve been on birth control since age sixteen. That tiny-dicked jackass Justin never got me pr… She couldn’t even think the word, still unable to open the kit on the counter. His probably doesn’t even reach that far. She stifled a giggle at the thought.

The clump of male feet and voices of men outside the front door shook her from her indecision. She slammed the computer shut, then quickly scooped the box, instructions, and device into the white plastic bag, hustled the length of the short hall into the bedroom, and shoved them underneath her neatly folded shorts in the dresser.

The front door to the apartment opened and thwacked shut.

Her hand brushed against the sketches she’d done of Adonis from memory. She pulled one of them free and studied it, guilt and arousal swirling inside. She glanced nervously toward the bedroom door, then back to the colored pencil drawing. Good likeness…strong jaw…piercing blue eyes…full mouth…scar under his eye. She gently, carefully worked the paper underneath her pile of underwear in the top drawer. As footsteps approached the bedroom, she quietly slid the drawer closed.

The bedchamber door opened and she whirled around, shoving the dresser shut with a noisy clatter at the same moment.

Hey, Justin said, his face a study in gloom caked with dust from racing around a dirt track on his motorcycle.

Hey, she said. You practicing jumps with a half-helmet again? You’re going to get yourself killed. Sometimes he seemed like her child, instead of her boyfriend. She gazed at him with critical eyes.

Whatever. He had a sort of reverse raccoon mask from wearing goggles over his pale, freckled skin, now brown with grime. His ginger-blond hair stuck up in clumps, matted with sweat and dirt.

He bore a T-shirt with a flaming, cartoon motorcycle blazoned along the front, filthy jeans, black biker boots, his dark blue hat turned around, so the brim faced backward. He looked like a mean, badass wannabe. Sure, he had muscles, but muscles only went so far to define a man.

She scoffed—even in nothing but board shorts, Adonis had shown more class.

What are you hiding?

I’m not hiding anything, jackass. You startled me. What are you doing home so early?

Stopped in to get some cash.

I see. Her eyes flicked toward the closet and just as quickly flicked back to Justin. He can’t know about my secret stash, can he? He never looks in my shoe boxes, right?

He scrutinized her. The boys and I are heading out to get some beer. We’ll be back to watch TV and drink beer.

Hey, Tara, called Timmy from the front room.

Hey, girl, added Matt.

Hi, guys, Tara called back, stepping away from the dresser, like a bird trying to keep the intruder from her nest.

Make us some snacks while we’re out, Justin said, closing the door, trapping them in the room. Do something useful.

I’m not your maid. Make your own damn snacks, Tara snapped.

Not unless you kiss me, first. Justin stepped over to her, roughly grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her to him.

She hated kissing Justin after experiencing Adonis’s mouth. The Navy sailor knew how to please with his lips. In truth, she never really liked kissing Justin, but it had been all she knew—until Adonis. His kisses had blown her mind.

Repulsed by her boyfriend’s lips, his smell, the everything of him, she placed both hands on Justin’s chest and shoved him.

He stumbled backward, laughing, wiping his mouth with the back of his grimy hand. There’s more where that came from, you little bitch.

Save it for someone who gives a crap. Go to hell, she taunted. She brought her sleeve to her mouth and scrubbed his spit from her lips.

"I seem to be in hell—with you. You haven’t been the same since you returned from San Diego."

That’s because I got to see how much you really care for me, she retorted. You don’t or else you would have been with me.

It was an important race. It got me into the semi-finals at Chowchilla.

Which you lost, along with rent money. I had to borrow it from my mom and dad.

Justin shrugged. It’s part of the dance of being a bike jockey. When I make it big--

And when will that be? This year? Next year? Never?

Wanting to draw him out of the bedroom, away from the contraband in the chest of drawers, she stepped toward the door and opened it. Before he could protest, she quickly entered the tiny front room with the picture window overlooking the oil refinery across the street. A depressing scene, smokestacks spewed gray all day, and lead-colored trucks came and went along endless trails of asphalt. She missed the green of her Kentucky origins.

How’s it going? she said to the two men standing in her living room, one of them grinning at her like a horny dog. He may as well have his tongue out, panting.

It’s going great, Timmy said. I won the race today. We’re thinking of celebrating later with a barbeque when this heat calms down. You should come over. Hang out with Melissa and the kids. She’d love to see you.

Tara kind of liked Melissa. Mostly didn’t. Maybe due to her life as a young mom, she lived for pop, reality-show culture, like that ridiculous show about Honey Boo-Boo or 19 Kids and Counting. Maybe she hopes to get her own TV series someday. Ever thought of birth control? Tara sassed, before wincing at her current predicament. Same age as her, twenty-two, Timmy already had two children and a third one on the way. A child on the way… She bit her lip.

Nah, he said, still grinning. We want a bunch of kids.

The word kids had the skin on the back of her neck feeling all prickly and weird.

So…barbeque? Timmy asked.

I don’t know…maybe.

Yeah, come on, said Justin, putting his hand possessively on her shoulder. Let’s party. Let’s have a good time. It’s been a while.

I thought you guys were going to get drunk and watch TV. What a productive way to spend the afternoon. She eased out from under his hand, trying to appear nonchalant.

That’s before the barbeque, said Matt, practically leering at her. A single, dark-haired attractive man, Matt, a guy she’d known forever, always seemed to ogle her with his soulful, searching brown eyes. Big game today. And then we’ll need to eat. And you can drive.

Right. All you guys do is depend on me to keep you out of trouble.

Every posse needs a team-babe, Matt said, sidling closer.

Put your eyes back in your head, dipshit, Justin said, whacking him on the back of the head. Tara’s not available. Right, girl? He eyed her in that new, suspicious way he had since San Diego.

Let me think about the barbeque, she said, deftly sidestepping his possessiveness. Her heart raced in her own new version of Justin and Tara. I should be long gone, but he scares the crap out of me. Ever since San Diego, he’s been mean as hell. Go get your beer. I’ll let you know if I want to go to the party when you get back.

After they left, she let out a sigh, and her shoulders dropped. She hustled into the bedroom and retrieved the plastic bag, thinking it too risky to check the results here in the house. Grabbing her iPhone, her keys and wallet, she exited the apartment, ready to face her uncertain future and leave her wretched present behind.

As the door closed behind her, her phone blipped. Thinking it Justin, she lifted it to her face, ready to tell him off via text. A smiley icon with its tongue out greeted her. Next to it sat a winking smiley face. The phone number was unknown to her, but the area code was from this part of L.A. She stared at it, wondering who it could be. Matt? Is that horndog flirting with me? He always seemed to circle her like a vulture. She waited for more clues. The next text chimed, and she read it, her heart hammering with excitement, not fear.

Miss me?

Chapter 2

Aphrodite

Who is this? Tara swiftly typed.

No response came. She chewed one of her fingernails to the quick, waiting. Then, the reply came.

Who do you think it is?

It sure sounded like something Adonis would say. In their brief acquaintance, he tended to answer most of her questions with a return query of his own. Her fingers shook as she typed, I dunno. A stalker? She waited, anxious, for a reply.

Should I ask him if he’s Adonis? Or, Zack? But what if it’s Matt? He’ll think I’m coming on to him. What if I said, hey, this must be Adonis, right? You know, kind of jokey or sarcastic? But what if Justin saw it because it’s Matt’s phone? He’s been so suspicious, lately, he’ll go ballistic. She continued walking, rubbing her cheek nervously with her hand. It couldn’t be Adonis, could it? He’s on a tour of duty for three months, right? That’s what he told me, isn’t it? No contact with topside for three months. I’m certain he said that when we parted.

A horn blared, startling her. She blinked, realizing she’d stepped onto the crosswalk, right in front of a car like a dazed dummy. Watch where you’re going, she yelled to the car as it sped away from her. She waited for the crosswalk signal to turn green, then looked both ways before stepping onto the street.

As she walked, her mind continued to whirl. If it’s Adonis and I don’t write him back, he’ll think I’m not interested. If it’s Matt or another of Justin’s loser friends and I do write him back, he’ll think I am interested. And then Justin might find out. She glanced at the screen. No message. Must have been a mistake. Deciding to ignore the text and focus on the task at hand, she hurried to the Shell station across the street.

Locked in the filthy, industrial bathroom, paper towels overflowing onto the cement floor from the can, she pulled the white device from the box and unwrapped the cellophane. She tugged down her shorts and spread the instructions on her lap as she sat on the toilet seat, the test doohickey resting on the toilet paper dispenser.

One, she read aloud. Remove pink over cap. Two. Holding by thumb grip, position absorbent tip downward and place in urine stream for five seconds. With trembling hands, her stomach in knots, she did as she read. When finished, she wiped, pulled up her shorts, flushed, placed the pink plastic over cap back on the device and rested it on the edge of the sink so she could wash her hands.

She clutched her phone while she waited, staring at the two text messages.

Miss me? And, who do you think it is?

If that’s you, Adonis, yes, I miss you daily. If that’s you, Matt, not a bit. Her eyes slid to the display screen on the stick. Nothing yet.

Bang, bang, bang. The metal door boomed with the racket of a pounding fist. Anyone in there? a female voice yelled.

Just a minute, she called back.

Hurry up, the woman outside the stall yelled. Get your business done!

Hold on. I’m busy. She waited, tense. A couple of minutes later, Tara glanced at the display screen. The word YES+ glowed. Her heart flip-flopped in her chest. Her face grew clammy and her breath caught in her chest. If it were Adonis’s kid, she’d be ecstatic—sort of. Having a child at this age wasn’t on her list of to do’s, but it would be a reminder of their time together—for the rest of my life, she cautioned. If it were Justin’s, she’d be inclined to visit a clinic. It couldn’t be Justin’s, could it? They’d only had sex a couple of times, at his insistence, since she’d returned. Before she left for San Diego, they’d been fighting a lot and hadn’t connected for a few weeks, except for mostly hand jobs and him sticking it inside her mouth. Ugh. It was before I had my last period, right?

Who you yapping with? If you don’t get your britches out of there, I’m going to break this door down, the woman yelled.

Hold on, I’m coming, Tara yelled. She shoved the pregnancy kit in the plastic bag, wrapped it tightly, and thrust it underneath the paper towel mountain. After washing her hands again, she exited the bathroom.

About time, the sour-looking woman said, as she brushed past Tara.

Tara felt numb as she stumbled out of the Shell convenience store. Pregnant. What am I going to do? She settled on the curb, underneath the straggly tree next to the station, and opened her calendar. She whispered to herself. Let’s see, Justin and I had sex here, before San Diego. I remember because my mom’s birthday is on May 12 and Justin and I had an awful fight after having more horrid sex. Then I had my period, right? After that, nothing until San Diego…until Adonis.

Thoughts of the sailor wafted through her head like a welcome, balmy breeze. Her eyes closed, savoring the memories. Adonis was big, in all ways. Handsome, larger than life, he’d used her to lessen the pain of his recent breakup…and his girlfriend aborting his baby. She’d used him to staunch the pain of loneliness—as well as show her there was way more to life than Justin.

When he’d finally agreed to enter her—with me assuring him I’d never get pregnant, oh no, not me—she’d had to slowly, ever so slowly ease onto his huge erection. The resulting pleasure had blown her away.

She never orgasmed with Justin. He did his thing and rolled off, leaving her to finish with her fingers while he snored. In fact, until Adonis, she’d never conceived sex could be so satisfying…or, leave me with such lasting effects. How could I get pregnant on birth control pills?

She opened her eyes and studied her calendar. Okay, I should have started my period here. She tapped a small square on the screen. There’s no way I could be pregnant with Justin’s spawn. No way. It’s got to be Adonis’s. A thrill launched up her spine, followed by dreadful terror. I’ve got to get away from Justin, and fast. Please, please, please let one of the jobs I applied for come through. Adonis was right—I need to learn to take care of myself.

She stood and wandered around, not wanting to head home quite yet. An hour later, she decided to go to the barbeque to give herself time to stall and scheme. She dragged herself toward her apartment, the heat enclosing the concrete jungle surrounding her like a suffocating shroud.

Before entering the house, she grabbed the mail from the locked mailbox stand at the center of the complex, tucked it under her arm without looking at it, and made her way toward the front door.

Hey, she said, as she stepped inside. She placed the pile of mail on the dining table, adjacent to the couch.

Hey, Matt said, smiling broadly at her.

Hey, girl, we were about to send out search and rescue, Timmy said, giving her a nod.

Justin refused to greet her, keeping his eyes glued to the screen. He lifted his can of Coors to his lips and tipped his head way back, finishing it. An empty can sat next to him, on the side table.

What’s wrong with him? Tara studied the back of his head, noting the grime from the dirt track still pasted on his neck.

Cheers and shouts came from the TV, and Justin pointed and shouted. Home run, baby. Check it out.

The other boys turned from Tara and whooped, pumping their fists in the air.

So, I’ll go to the barbeque, Tara said to their backs.

Great, said Matt, turning to grin at her again.

She cocked her head, wondering if he was the mysterious text stalker, and gave him