Paradise Tempted: The Beginning (Paradise Stories) by L.B. Dunbar Page A
Authors: L.B. Dunbar
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pulling something from her finger.
I was still laying there petrified as I held my most precious body part upright. The bed sheet draped over my thighs. I stared at her blue eyes that softened as she spoke.
"It was fun, if just pretend." She smiled weakly and held up the large diamond before placing it on the stand.
I knew instantly something was wrong. She crossed the room to the door before I sat up and covered myself.
"Wait," was crossing my lips, as she opened the door and slipped outside. I had a brief glimpse of Kursch standing in the hall. The large bald man stopped short when he entered the room.
"You idiot. Get the girl!" I yelled.
The towering man, who had known me since childbirth and protected me like his own, crossed his large biceps and stared down at me.
"You fucked up big this time, Cobra," he addressed me with a curved mouth and dark set eyes.
Falling back on the pillow one more time, I blew out a breath and ran a hand down my face.
"What did I do?"
"For someone trying to lay low, you made quite the spectacle last night."
"Does my father know?" I huffed.
"Not yet." Kursch paused. "But he will. I gave you a week, but there was enough picture taking to fill an album last night."
"How much time do you think I have?"
"I'd say twenty-four hours. Maybe forty-eight, at the most."
The night was too unrealistic to be real, yet I was hopeful. He seemed genuine. He seemed interested. He seemed different. When the night started out with him thinking he could out drink me, I knew it was going to be interesting. I might be small, but I can handle liquor. I'd grown up on it. You can't grow up in Napa Valley and not be able to drink copious amounts of wine or handle home distilled alcohol. I was here for the weekend to help my grandparents. Weekends were busy at The Vineyard Inn. We catered to an exclusive clientele: the rich and famous.
That was another thing I'd grown up on. I'd met enough movie stars having affairs, directors cheating on their wives, and rock stars with weekend women to be immune to them all, so his presence struck me as unusual. That a man of his size and stature would be here alone seemed unbelievable to me. There was another man lingering near him, and at first, I thought this was another type of rendezvous. I quickly learned the larger man was his uncle.
Over time, the bald man seemed more interested in the group of women celebrating the new divorce for one of their own. The First Wives Club, they called themselves. Few were still married and they returned to commemorate that another marriage bit the dust. Of the ten women, eight were now single. Coming here didn't provide the pick-ups and hook-ups they each sought. It offered a sanctuary as they drank too much wine, bashed the men in their lives, and counted the dollars they'd receive for alimony.
Again, he stood out from the romantic coupling and the rousing party members.
"Got anything stronger than this," he said with a nod to the racks of wine behind me. I worked the bar, as I only occasionally had to pour wine, explain flavors then walk away. I had a mid-term in a week to study for: human anatomy. Intriguing stuff as a Friday night read for someone who wanted to be a doctor.
"I'd recommend this robust red made with..."
"Stop."
I was startled at the directness of his voice.
"Be real," he said. "Something harder."
"Be. Real," I mouthed. "Okay. You look like a man who could handle Grandpa's Passion."
"I don't want some damn fruity drink," he squawked, as I crossed behind the wooden bar and reached into the private stock cabinet. Inside was Grandpa's Passion, and it was anything but fruity. Made from some unknown combination of natural herbs, this concoction was produced in an old fashion distillery and aged over time. Tonight seemed like the right time to open a bottle.
Placing the tumbler glass before him, he smelled the clear liquid before throwing it back in one swallow. I waited. He'd be sorry. His eyes stayed
I was still laying there petrified as I held my most precious body part upright. The bed sheet draped over my thighs. I stared at her blue eyes that softened as she spoke.
"It was fun, if just pretend." She smiled weakly and held up the large diamond before placing it on the stand.
I knew instantly something was wrong. She crossed the room to the door before I sat up and covered myself.
"Wait," was crossing my lips, as she opened the door and slipped outside. I had a brief glimpse of Kursch standing in the hall. The large bald man stopped short when he entered the room.
"You idiot. Get the girl!" I yelled.
The towering man, who had known me since childbirth and protected me like his own, crossed his large biceps and stared down at me.
"You fucked up big this time, Cobra," he addressed me with a curved mouth and dark set eyes.
Falling back on the pillow one more time, I blew out a breath and ran a hand down my face.
"What did I do?"
"For someone trying to lay low, you made quite the spectacle last night."
"Does my father know?" I huffed.
"Not yet." Kursch paused. "But he will. I gave you a week, but there was enough picture taking to fill an album last night."
"How much time do you think I have?"
"I'd say twenty-four hours. Maybe forty-eight, at the most."
The night was too unrealistic to be real, yet I was hopeful. He seemed genuine. He seemed interested. He seemed different. When the night started out with him thinking he could out drink me, I knew it was going to be interesting. I might be small, but I can handle liquor. I'd grown up on it. You can't grow up in Napa Valley and not be able to drink copious amounts of wine or handle home distilled alcohol. I was here for the weekend to help my grandparents. Weekends were busy at The Vineyard Inn. We catered to an exclusive clientele: the rich and famous.
That was another thing I'd grown up on. I'd met enough movie stars having affairs, directors cheating on their wives, and rock stars with weekend women to be immune to them all, so his presence struck me as unusual. That a man of his size and stature would be here alone seemed unbelievable to me. There was another man lingering near him, and at first, I thought this was another type of rendezvous. I quickly learned the larger man was his uncle.
Over time, the bald man seemed more interested in the group of women celebrating the new divorce for one of their own. The First Wives Club, they called themselves. Few were still married and they returned to commemorate that another marriage bit the dust. Of the ten women, eight were now single. Coming here didn't provide the pick-ups and hook-ups they each sought. It offered a sanctuary as they drank too much wine, bashed the men in their lives, and counted the dollars they'd receive for alimony.
Again, he stood out from the romantic coupling and the rousing party members.
"Got anything stronger than this," he said with a nod to the racks of wine behind me. I worked the bar, as I only occasionally had to pour wine, explain flavors then walk away. I had a mid-term in a week to study for: human anatomy. Intriguing stuff as a Friday night read for someone who wanted to be a doctor.
"I'd recommend this robust red made with..."
"Stop."
I was startled at the directness of his voice.
"Be real," he said. "Something harder."
"Be. Real," I mouthed. "Okay. You look like a man who could handle Grandpa's Passion."
"I don't want some damn fruity drink," he squawked, as I crossed behind the wooden bar and reached into the private stock cabinet. Inside was Grandpa's Passion, and it was anything but fruity. Made from some unknown combination of natural herbs, this concoction was produced in an old fashion distillery and aged over time. Tonight seemed like the right time to open a bottle.
Placing the tumbler glass before him, he smelled the clear liquid before throwing it back in one swallow. I waited. He'd be sorry. His eyes stayed
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