Sinful

By Arlene Knowell

Bo McAlister, Crew Chief, trips Wendy's trigger. He; however, isn't interested. The team's sexiest mechanic, Russ Corel, is. The problem—Corel is a Casanova who loves 'em and leaves 'em.

 

A former pro-cheerleader and swimsuit model, Wendy keeps that truth hidden until a chance moment reveals her past. Is McAlister the kind of man to want a former cheerleader/model on his arm? Is Corel really the Casanova he appears to be?

 

After having been adopted as 'lunch girl' by a squadron of maintainers for the show's fighter jets stars, Wendy finds herself in a secret sexual relationship with Corel.

 

But when a sexual act drives a wedge into the maintainer's squadron, is it too late for Wendy to realize the man of her dreams in right under her nose? Can love prevail when sex and pride have distorted the view?  What's a girl to do when the truth gets in the way?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Champagne Book Group
• Release date: Sep 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781927454596

Book preview

Carnal Passions Presents

Sinful

By

Arlene Knowell

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

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 publisher.

Carnal Passions

A Division of Champagne Books

www.carnalpassions.com

Copyright 2012 by Arlene Knowell

ISBN 9781927454596

September 2012

Cover Art by Petra K.

Produced in Canada

Champagne Book Group

#2 19-3 Avenue SE

High River, AB T1V 1G3

Canada

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

Dedication

First and foremost I would like to thank my friend, Julia, for her input on this novella. Many times Corel was the top of our lunch conversation. So thanks Julia, for your fresh input and allowing me to bounce ideas off you.

Special thanks to my friends Jason and Mitch, who helped me understand the inner workings of airshows and the teams that run them. Without you this book wouldn’t have been possible.

As always, special thanks to Ellen Smith and the staff of Carnal Passions for another job well done. Last, but certainly not least, thank you to Patricia Bates for your hard works on edits. It was a pleasure working with you and I look forward to our next project.

One

Wendy craned her neck upward, shaded her eyes with her hand, and smiled widely when ten parachutes opened simultaneously. Every jump, she watched the parachute team glide flawlessly to the ground. It wouldn’t be very long until the fighter pilots were airborne. Her favorite time of any air show was taking lunch to the squadron of maintainers for jet number two once the jets were airborne.

She turned her attention to the crowd. As a traveling vendor, her first priority had to be selling merchandise. If she got too involved in watching the show, people would complain and she’d lose her job. She glanced right and noticed the maintainers were towing jets toward the tarmac. Her heart leapt when she saw Bo McAlister, Crew Chief of Squadron Number Two. She was as smitten with Bo as a high school girl with a college quarterback.

There he is, Jenna’s heavy New Jersey accent advised. Are you looking Wendy?

Wendy glanced toward the short curvy brunette and scoffed. Of course she saw him. There’s just something about him that trips my trigger.

He’s not very nice, Maggie, a thin, average height blonde explained. We see him a lot in bars and he acts like he’s never seen us.

He’s there for the drinks and the company of his team. Trust me. He isn’t looking for a woman. He talks about his girlfriend like she’s the sexiest woman alive.

Bo was about as interested in Wendy as he would have been

a nap in a hotel with bedbugs. His blonde bombshell girlfriend worked at a national chain restaurant serving up food and drinks while wearing short shorts and a tight t-shirt. Wendy had done time in a few slinky outfits herself. She’d majored in public relations at a Florida university, as she cheered from the sidelines. Picked up by a pro-football team in the mid-nineties, she’d served as a cheerleader for four years. She’d participated in USO tours three of those years. Once out of cheerleading, she’d gotten into swimsuit modeling and had spent a couple of years as a traveling beer girl.

Personally, I think you should go for the other one, Maggie advised. He’s much hotter and a heck of a lot nicer.

Corel? Wendy asked as she glanced Maggie’s way.

Yes, Jenna sighed and pressed her hand over her heart. He’s the best looking man traveling with this circuit.

I have to agree. Wendy gave her head a nod. He’s also too young for me.

He can’t be, Maggie protested. He’s at least thirty-two.

Wendy gave her head a shake. I don’t think so.

Have you asked? Jenna furrowed her brow and turned her full attention toward Wendy.

Bo told me, Wendy explained, not to pay much attention to Slick. He’s a bucket of raging testosterone and too young to realize there are consequences to such actions.

How old are you Wendy? Jenna met her eyes.

Thirty-five.

What’s five years? Jenna nudged Wendy with her elbow. Especially if you could have a man like him?

The audience erupted into applause as the first of the ten parachutes landed on a designated tarmac area at Fort Rucker, Georgia. Wendy released a deep breath and turned toward Jenna and Maggie. That’s my cue.

Go get ‘em girl, Jenna encouraged. We’ll hold down the fort. But we still think you’re after the wrong guy.

Wendy swallowed hard and gave their words some thought. Was she after the wrong guy? Was Corel older than she thought? Bo had made it a point to tell her numerous times not to let Corel into her bed. He’d made it clear Corel was a player just out to get laid, and she’d believed him. She thought Bo didn’t want her to end up as  part of the devastation left in Corel’s wake.

Wendy laughed aloud and then gave her head a shake. She couldn’t believe she was actually paying attention to what Jenna and Maggie had said. She doubted a highly intelligent man, who had no desire to claim her as his own, to listen to a couple of party girls. For a moment there, they almost convinced me.

She looked over her shoulder and fought the need to turn back. It wasn’t a good feeling to leave merchandise with a couple of party animals. Jenna and Maggie hadn’t gotten back to their rooms until almost three this morning. Their tired, hungover faces were proof they weren’t at the top of their game. Wendy knew she might return to find them asleep on the trailer floor. Why had she listened to them at all?

She shook off the thoughts and set her sights on another wonderful half hour with the guys of Squadron Number Two. When the jets were airborne for their forty-five minute performance, the maintainers would be hungrier than six grizzly bears. Over a year ago, she’d walked past their hanger eating a corn dog. The guys recognized her as a traveling merchandiser and begged for her corn dog. It was the start of a friendship and standing agreement between Wendy and the maintainers of Squadron Number Two. She slowly scanned the concession area in search of something the guys would like.

In the distance she could see a crowd gathering for the ground show. Wendy would love to watch but there wasn’t any time. It was the only time the maintainers were actually given a fraction of the credit due them. Wendy didn’t know a lot about military ranks, and she’d never asked any questions. She did know, however, those guys busted their chops to keep that jet in top notch condition.

Wendy pushed the lunch cart on a slow trek across the airfield. It amazed her how every airport was different, yet identical. Some places were cool and less humid. Others, like this one, were screaming hot with humidity that felt like a hot, wet blanket. The spectators were always the same, but with the variance of accents, as they cheered for those who took to the sky with iron will and rock solid nerves. Kids were excited to see airplanes. Men were obsessed with the mechanical make up of the aircraft. Women, more often than not, got through the day by enjoying the abundance of testosterone- filled hunks.

She moved toward a burger concession trailer. If they had chili, then Corel would be a happy young man. Jenna and Maggie were right. Corel really was the most handsome man on the circuit.

Do you have chili?

No, ma’am.

Give me six cheese burgers. Three regular, one with no pickles, one plain, and one with spicy mustard, she ordered. Two bags of barbeque chips, one plain, and three sour cream ‘n onion.

Wendy took food through the window and loaded it into the handy cart Memphis, a maintainer with Squadron Number Two, had made for her to ease the task of carrying their lunches.

Sometimes she got tired of hamburgers and hotdogs for lunch. Sometimes she got tired of sleeping in hotel rooms at night, but it was still her job. She’d lived out of a suitcase for twenty years and even if she wanted to sleep in her own bed at night, she wasn’t capable of it. The road kept calling her name at night. Maybe if there was a man who loved her by her side she could sleep, but the man she wanted was strictly off limits.

Wendy turned her attention toward the roar of a jet engine, then a second and third until all six jets were airborne. Several quad cab trucks moved across the tarmac, which meant the maintainers were headed to the hangars. By the time she made it across the airfield, they’d be ready and waiting for lunch.

She pulled her phone from her pocket and looked down at the numbers. She wanted to call Bo but decided that would be far too obvious and opted to call the first maintainer of squad two she saw. Even though she worked every air show as a vendor, she wasn’t allowed to walk into the jet pit area at will. Such a rule wasn’t likely to change. Someone would have to meet her at the security line and escort her inside.

The youngest member of the team, Koslowski, was standing in the open hanger bay door looking in the general direction of the crowd, probably hoping for lunch. She pushed a speed dial number on her phone and pressed it to her ear.

Toots. His voice came happily through the phone. Are you on your way?

You’re looking the wrong way kiddo. My booth is the other direction, she laughed.

Since the first day she’d met them, they’d called her Toots. But why? It was a question that might never be answered.

You’re a sight for sore eyes. We’re starving. Koslowski snapped his phone closed and jogged toward her.

He waved at the guard and opened a section of the temporary fencing to allow her inside.

What’s for lunch, Toots?

Burgers. Do they sell anything else at air shows?

Probably monkey burgers if we knew the truth of it. Koslowski laughed.

The guys were milling around the hangar, cleaning tools, and sweeping floors as she made her way across the tarmac with the food. Her eyes locked on Corel as he trotted her way. He was too young for her, but still smokin’ hot.

They need you in the shop, Electro. Corel pointed his thumb over his shoulder, sending Koslowski jogging into the hangar.

They don’t need him in the hangar, Wendy corrected. You’re so bad.

It worked, didn’t it? He shot her a wink and continued his confident swagger toward her.

It did. She gave her head a slow nod.

Every inch of him was visually perfect, from his short black hair to the soles of his government-issued maintainer’s shoes. His eyes were electric blue and he wasn’t afraid to wink at a girl to weaken her. He was slightly over six feet tall, and he carried the entire package to the gym quite often. Corel was a guy who could stand between two male underwear models and not be seen as an imposter. His hair was always perfect. Wendy called it Hollywood. It always looked like he’d just stepped out of a stylist’s chair. His twiggy, wet look was always perfect. Something told her, however, he was a