Her Red Corset

By Vonna Harper

What happens when a modern woman enters what used to be a brothel and the past envelops her? A lot, all of it involving one masculine hunk.

The exotic room on the historic building's second floor used to be a brothel, did it? At first Sheri Brooks is simply intrigued. Then she gives into the impulse to try on the mysterious red corset and the line between past and present blurs—all except for Gage DeStefano who is very much a modern man.

A man determined to see if Sheri is indeed a lady of the night. If she is, well, why not let her show him a few tricks of her trade.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Totally Bound Publishing
• Release date: Jun 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781786861993

Vonna Harper

Born into a hippie commune filled with undercover cops and raised in a tent, Vonna Harper discovered her writing talent while penning excuses (supposedly written by her keepers) for her many school absences. Despite her spotty attendance, she graduated college at fifteen and joined a group of foreign mercenaries. Unfortunately, she was bitten by a brown recluse and shown the door. Upon returning to the U.S., she bought a gold mine and spent the next year perfecting her pick axe technique. Despite the mine's awesome output, the resident rattlers finally drove her to sell it. Being independently wealthy and jetting around the world in her own jet proved boring so she finally gave into the muse and turned to her computer in earnest. Twelve computers and three carpal tunnel surgeries later, she's still writing and LOVING IT, LOVING IT she says. She somehow found time to get married and give birth twice and find various dogs to own her. Like the stereotypical old soldier, she plans on just fading away when she can no longer pound the keyboard, sans shoes and pantyhose of course.

Book preview

Page

Her Red Corset

ISBN # 978-1-78686-199-3

©Copyright Vonna Harper 2017

Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright May 2017

Edited by Sue Meadows

Totally Bound Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2017 by Totally Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, UK

Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

Warning:

This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Melting and a Sexometer of 1.

HER RED CORSET

Vonna Harper

What happens when a modern woman enters what used to be a brothel and the past envelops her? A lot, all of it involving one masculine hunk.

The exotic room on the historic building’s second floor used to be a brothel, did it? At first Sheri Brooks is simply intrigued. Then she gives into the impulse to try on the mysterious red corset and the line between past and present blurs—all except for Gage DeStefano who is very much a modern man.

A man determined to see if Sheri is indeed a lady of the night. If she is, well, why not let her show him a few tricks of her trade.

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmark mentioned in this work of fiction:

Lone Ranger and Tonto: Fran Striker/George W. Trendle

Chapter One

This was what?

A brothel.

Sheri Brooks laughed. The half dozen rooms above the historic restaurant smelled as if the windows hadn’t been opened in decades. No furniture remained, and the wallpaper was so faded she could barely make out the red and black horizontal stripes. A dusty brocade drape partly covered the cracked window in the room she and the building’s soon-to-be former owner were standing in.

I never guessed, she admitted. All the times I’ve been to the restaurant, I had no idea what was up here. Why didn’t you say anything about this having also been a house of ill repute? Talk about a drawing card.

Camellia Archer shrugged, but Sheri caught a glint of amusement in the older woman’s eyes. My siblings and I thought about it, but look around. It would have taken a lot of money to fix up the rooms. Our parents were determined to establish Archers as a fine dining establishment. They were afraid some of the snooty customers wouldn’t have liked knowing they were eating in a whorehouse.

Although, if it had been her, she would have promoted the heck out of the building’s notorious past, Sheri nodded. As the youngest member of the town’s historic review commission, she was here to consult with the new owner about what he could and couldn’t do with the brick structure located in the middle of the historic district.

Despite her considerable curiosity about what must have taken place here, she was a professional charged with responsibility for keeping one Gage Wham-Bam DeStefano in line. Dealing with DeStefano meant being hard-nosed and no-nonsense. After all, the hotshot developer had earned his nickname because he had less than no patience for rules and regulations.

Well, he’d have to learn patience working with her. They didn’t call her a hard-ass, by-the-book historian for nothing. In truth, she itched to go head-to-head with DeStefano. The man was about to meet his match. She had no intention of backing down as much as an inch. Growing up with three older brothers had taught her a lot about male bravado. Bottom line, most men didn’t know what to do with a woman who stood up to them.

Are you ready to leave? Camellia asked.

In a minute. For some reason she was reluctant to leave the caught in the past room. Despite the stale air and poor lighting, it felt alive. Time hung suspended here. Waiting. I’m just surprised your family didn’t utilize this space. It seems so sad the way it is.

Sad? Camellia drew out the word. Her expression became wistful, young. I loved coming in here. Being alone with the…the memories.

Of what? Sex for hire?

Camellia blushed and stroked her neck. There are so many stories, so many lives. Let’s just say that the past exists here, at least it does for me.

Maybe the past does live here, Sheri pondered a few minutes later. When Camellia had been called downstairs by one of her brothers, Sheri had stalled, saying she wanted to check the walls’ structural integrity. But although she should’ve been looking for dry rot, instead she turned in a slow circle. It had to be the dim lighting, but she half-believed she was standing next to a large, canopied bed with the aroma of sex clinging to the sheets.

Camellia reminded her of the stereotypical librarian, a dried-up prune with her best years behind her, but she had glowed while she was in here. There was no other way of putting it. And the way Camellia had stroked her papery neck—as if she was deliberately turning herself on.

Hell, Camellia wasn’t the only one who needed to get laid. One of the drawbacks to having broken up with Mr. Wrong meant there’d been no sex.

Biting down a frustrated groan, Sheri started toward the door. Wham-Bam was already late. Dollars to donuts the man was playing one-upmanship with her, determined to make the point that he considered