Love Sabre

By Kristine Charles, Melanie Coles, Megan Jane Colville and 4 more

Seven Aussie authors decided the most purple prose phrase they could think of was, “Sheathe your love sabre.” So, naturally, they agreed to each write a story that included the phrase. From those auspicious beginnings, the Love Sabre anthology was born. From spicy hot to sweet, each Love Sabrist has penned a wonderful, yet very different story guaranteed to make you smile, laugh, gasp, or cry. All of them will make you go, “awww.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boroughs Publishing Group
• Release date: Feb 6, 2018
• ISBN: 9781948029087

Book preview

LOVE SABRE

Seven Aussie authors decided the most purple prose phrase they could think of was, Sheathe your love sabre. So, naturally, they agreed to each write a story that included the phrase. From those auspicious beginnings, the Love Sabre anthology was born. From spicy hot to sweet, each Love Sabrist has penned a wonderful, yet very different story guaranteed to make you smile, laugh, gasp, or cry. All of them will make you go, "awww."

LOVE SABRE

AN ANTHOLOGY

www.BOROUGHSPUBLISHINGGROUP.com

PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Boroughs Publishing Group does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites, blogs or critiques or their content.

LOVE SABRE

Copyright © 2018 Kristine Charles, Melanie Coles, Megan Jane Colville, Rachael Howlett, Tanya Kean, Nardia Sheriff, L. Simpson

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. Unless specifically noted, no part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Boroughs Publishing Group. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or by any other means without the permission of Boroughs Publishing Group is illegal and punishable by law. Participation in the piracy of copyrighted materials violates the author’s rights.

ISBN 978-1-948029-08-7

E-book formatting by Maureen Cutajar

www.gopublished.com

CONTENTS

Introduction

Acknowledgements

A Mutual ‘Thing’

Betting on Love

Bittersweet

Bringing Destiny Online

Fortune Favours the Brave

All That Sparkles

Man B&B

About the Authors

Introduction

Two and one-half years ago, in a galaxy far, far away…

Well, okay. So, maybe it wasn’t that far away. It was Melbourne.

Two and one-half years ago, in Melbourne, a few first-timers attended the 2015 Romance Writers of Australia conference, and seven slightly crazy women managed to find each other. While sitting together for the formalities on the last morning of the conference, they started coming up with some of the most awkward, cringe-worthy or embarrassing words and phrases that should never be seen in romance writing again.

Yeah, okay, so maybe attending the AGM was a little dry (it certainly wasn’t moist…) but we digress.

Of all the words and phrases that were thrown in the pot, the winning phrase (i.e. the most awkward, cringe-worthy or embarrassing) was… sheathe your love sabre.

And from that, the Love Sabrists were born.

The following year, at the 2016 conference, and after way too much liquor, the seven agreed to band together and publish a short story anthology. Each of the seven stories had to incorporate the phrase ‘sheathe your love sabre.’ Everything else was up for grabs.

Each Sabrist went back to their respective homes and started plotting and planning, writing and rewriting and consuming more coffee, tea, chocolate and alcohol than should be necessary to turn out a story. But, eventually they were done, and are set out here for your reading pleasure.

The Love Sabrists are (in bookshelf order, natch): Kristine Charles, Melanie Coles, Megan Jane Colville, Rachael Howlett, Tanya Kean, Nardia Sheriff and L. Simpson.

You can find us all procrastinating at www.lovesabre.com.

HEAT RATINGS

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

From each of us to the other…this one is for us. After all, had it not been for the RWAus AGM this book would never have been written. Thanks for the love, laughter, support and encouragement. Without each other, writing would be a lonelier place.

To our friends and family, thanks for your love and support along the journey.

Thanks also to Boroughs Publishing Group for taking a chance on a group of Australian newbies.

A MUTUAL ‘THING’

Kristine Charles

To my high school crush. This isn’t you. You’re an asshole, and you’ve aged really badly.

Gulping the last of her wine, Caroline placed the empty plastic flute down on the tray of a passing waiter and collected a full one. She took a sip of the bubbly liquid and wrinkled her nose. The sparkling chardonnay they were pouring at this event certainly didn’t get any better with the second glass.

She took another look around the pokey old bookshop, breathing in the strange combination of dusty books and warm bodies. She wished they’d get this show on the road. There were too many people pressed together in the small space, all of them manoeuvring between the tall bookshelves and rows of chairs, most wearing a lot of plaid, weird expressions and way too much facial hair.

God bless hipsters. She wondered if any of them had ever held down a real job.

With a sigh, and another sip of the ordinary sparkling wine, Caroline smoothed her fitted red sheath dress over her hip. She didn’t know what she’d been thinking when she’d given into her little sister’s entreaties and agreed to come tonight. Her sister, Elizabeth—known to her friends as Bessie—was one of eight amateur poets performing at this open mic night, and she had begged Caroline for a week to come along as moral support. Although reluctant, Caroline had never been able to refuse her little sister and so, on day seven of Elizabeth’s campaign, Caroline had finally given in.

Moving further into the store and out of the way, she set her drink beside a pile of books on ‘Mindful Hypnobirthing’—whatever that was—and rummaged around in her handbag, pulling her mobile from the side pocket. If she was going to have to listen to a bunch of amateurs read self-authored poetry, she could at least answer some work emails at the same time. With a few quick taps, she opened her email app and started scrolling.

Good evening friends, if you could all take your seats …

Caroline glanced up at the sound of the voice, then looked back to her phone and began tapping out a quick reply to an email. She listened with half an ear as the master of ceremonies explained the evening and welcomed the first poet to the stage. Amateur poet number one was a tall, bearded man, wearing a red flannel shirt, well-worn black jeans and a pair of heavy work boots. He looked like an urban lumberjack. She wondered if he was about to whip out an axe and start looking for a tree to chop.

As the lumberjack took the microphone, the sound system screeched with feedback. Caroline winced and accepted a meeting invitation, then forwarded a couple of other emails to a colleague who was helping her with some research. She could hear the poet begin—he had an oddly soothing voice—but, focused on her emails, she wasn’t really paying attention to his words until…

"You’re hot and moist like morning dew,

my phallus drenched, my dream come true."

Caroline’s head snapped up, finger suspended over the screen of her phone and she blinked a few times. What the hell? What sort of poetry reading was this? She looked around the room, eyes wide as she watched the audience. They were paying rapt attention to the man on the stage who was passionately reading what she could only describe as—she had no idea. She didn’t know how she’d describe the words coming out of his mouth. Dr Seuss meets…the Marquis de Sade?

"My love rod stiff in your cave of wonder,

I stab and thrust and poke and plunder."

As the poet became more animated, Caroline couldn’t help but snort with laughter, and a few of the crowd turned to shush her. Their serious glares were almost as good as the poet’s grimace. Seeing his face contorted in what could only be described as—she shook her head. Nope. No. Not going there. She did not need to spend any time contemplating his orgasm face. None at all.

Emails now forgotten, she picked up her wine and glanced around, watching the audience. The crowd was virtually silent and perfectly still, seemingly enraptured by every hyperbolical utterance falling from the lumberjack’s mouth. It was an effort to stifle the laughter that wanted to bubble out of her chest until…her eyes met his.

Oh.

Tall, with closely cropped dark hair, the man was standing off to the side at the back of the small shop with his feet spaced apart, and his arms folded across his chest. The fabric of his dark shirt pulled tight across his muscular shoulders and his legs were encased in dark denim that she knew, if he’d turned around, would hug his ass just right.

And he was looking straight at her.

Holy shit, Caroline breathed, her hand shaking and sloshing wine over the rim of her plastic cup.

It was him.

***

Standing at the back of the bookshop, Michael folded his arms and tried to avoid rolling his eyes. He’d agreed to keep an eye on things while his sister—who owned the store—was overseas, but seriously, how much could a man be expected to tolerate? She hadn’t told him he’d have to listen to this...this...he shook his head. If he had to listen to much more of this crap his ears were going to start to bleed. What the fuck was a ‘cave of wonder’ anyway?

With a long breath, he tilted his head from side to side, cracking his neck. As he moved his gaze around the room, he caught a flash of fire-engine red, the colour standing out amid the muted plaids and blacks of the inner-city crowd.

He glanced to the left and down, and his gaze held while he checked out a straight, fitted skirt and toned bare legs. Those toned bare legs ended in a pair of glossy black shoes with high, sharp heels. He certainly wouldn’t mind those heels digging into the back of his thighs. Lifting his sightline, he skimmed up over the shoes, the legs, the red fabric of what turned out to be a fitted dress, breasts that would fill his hands nicely, thank you very much, and stopped on a face with emerald-coloured eyes that he’d recognise anywhere.

Well.

Caroline Henry.

Michael hadn’t had much time for anything but footy while he was at high school. He’d had to fit his schoolwork in around his training, and the games, and the trials, and everything else that came with trying to succeed at the top level. Sure, there had been parties, and there had been girls, but—and he knew this made him sound a bit like an asshole—he didn’t really remember many of them. There’d been no one serious and they kind of all blurred into one.

Except Caroline Henry.

She had been different.

Caroline hadn’t been airheaded and vain like the girls that hung around with the team, and he’d never really felt comfortable around her. Truth be told, she’d intimidated the shit out of him. She’d been this super-smart bundle of nervous energy with big bright eyes, a mass of thick dark hair she’d never seemed to be able to tame and the most amazing pair of tits that she seemed to have maintained quite nicely. He remembered being near her had made him itchy, that he’d always been fidgety around her. And that she’d been the star of more than a few of his more adventurous teenage dreams. Which was why he’d gone out of his way to avoid her at school.

School had been fucking torture the day after he’d had one of those dreams.

But now, twenty-something years later, here she was, standing in his sister’s bookstore.

He grinned. He might not have known what to do with his attraction when he was fifteen or sixteen but he certainly knew what to do with it now. Almost automatically he took one step, then two, and started weaving his way through the crowd toward her.

Caroline Henry, he whispered, coming up beside her and pressing his lips gently to her cheek. He took a deep breath and felt his head spin as he inhaled her scent. It’s been years.

***

Caroline’s eyes fluttered closed as Michael leaned in and brushed his soft, warm lips over her cheek. He eased back, a smile stretching across his entire face and she blinked fast as she took him in. His hair was shorter and darker than it had been at school, but his eyes were still a piercing blue and they sparkled with good humour. And, clearly, he still worked out. A lot. That dark button-down shirt was fitted, not tucked in, and he’d left the first few buttons undone, drawing her attention to the muscled column of his neck and the line of his collarbone stretching to the top of his shoulders.

Michael, she muttered louder than she intended. She drew a few more scowls and shushes from the audience nearby. She held up a hand in apology and heard Michael chuckle low and deep. Then she felt her cheeks flush and tried to will it away. She was thirty-seven years old for God’s sake, and she did not blush. How are you? she said more quietly.

Great, he replied, leaning forward to speak directly into her ear. Why are you here?

She struggled to answer for a minute, her mind scattered as his warm breath tickled across the skin of her neck. My sister Elizabeth is…uh... she waved towards the podium at the front of the room. She’s reading.

Michael’s forehead wrinkled as he thought. I didn’t see an Elizabeth on the program.

Oh. Right. She’s probably going by Bessie.

Michael nodded slowly. She’s on soon, yeah? Next?

Caroline nodded. She was pretty sure he was right. Yes. Next.

Okay. He stepped to her side, turning toward the front of the room. She could smell him, a mix of spicy and woodsy that somehow made her want to lick him. Turning her head sideways, she could see the day-old stubble on the side of his face, and itched to reach up to run her fingers over it, to let her fingers slide down his neck and over his chest. Then she’d let them hook into the waistband of his pants let them free that first button, the second and the third. Commando. She was sure he’d go commando, and she’d open buttons until his cock sprang free and…

God. Stop it, she chastised herself. Sure, it had been a while since she’d been on a date but she wasn’t that hard up. She shook her head. Clearly this erotic poetry was making her crazy. She did not need to be standing here thinking about how it would feel to take this man in her mouth.

Even if she knew it would be pretty great.

#understatement.

The audience broke into a round of applause and, startled, Caroline jumped. The master of ceremonies took the stage again, awkwardly fist-bumping the lumberjack on his way past and then thanking him for his ‘stimulating’ work. Caroline almost choked stifling her snort. Then the MC invited Bessie to the stage. Caroline took a deep breath, trying to focus on her sister and not on the man standing beside her.

But, she had to admit it was difficult.

During high school, Michael Duncan had been it. Tall and fit. Dark hair that fell just so over his forehead, brushing dark brows arched over bright blue eyes. All broad shoulders and strong legs and golden, tanned skin. He’d been the captain of the football team, voted most likely to succeed, and pretty much had the world at his feet.

Caroline, on the other hand, had been bookish and shy with pale skin, a spotty chin and uncontrollably frizzy hair. Studious and serious, if anyone had been looking, they would have found her in the library instead of at a footy game. Or in her bedroom studying instead of at one of the parties after a win. She’d