At Any Price(23)

With a huff and a sigh, I closed the program and shuffled off to bed. Despite being exhausted and having to report for an early shift in the morning—as in 5 AM sort of early—I couldn’t sleep.

I kept wondering if I should be irked or not. I kept wondering if I should be reading so much into his gestures. Were there ulterior motives or was this just second nature to him?

My mind wandered over everything and ultimately, kept returning to that feeling I got when he watched me with that intense stare. My skin flushed all over in response. And that kiss. I could remember the tiniest detail of it. Would sex with him be like that—only more?

His mouth had felt so good I couldn’t help but wonder what his lips, his tongue would feel like on my body. My nipples immediately tightened at the thought of that hot tongue sliding over them. I imagined the pressure of his hard, heavy body on top of mine, pressing me into the mattress.

My hand moved between my legs, stroking faster and faster against that knotted ache that had stirred into being when we’d kissed.

My eyes screwed tight as the pleasant anticipation built. His hands on my body, his body between my legs. His back under my stroking hands. Yes.

I gasped as I tumbled down that precipice, my body convulsing with the orgasm.

At two a.m. I finally drifted off, but not before becoming aware of an unease at the edge of my fatigued awareness. I was captain of my own ship, yes. But I still had to answer to the sea, the weather, the storm on the horizon. And Adam could be any one—or all—of those things. And in my sleep-induced haze, I couldn’t help but fear that he was.





Chapter Five




To Save a Distressed Damsel…Posted on the blog of Girl Geek on May 15, 2013



Have you ever noticed that one of the greatest motivators for champions embarking on an epic fantasy quest almost always involves a woman?

Either the knight-errant departs on crusade to prove his love to his lady fair or, more commonly, the lady has been captured and dragged off by big baddies and awaits her hero while locked in a tower or (shudder) a dank dungeon.

Take, for example, the latest in a series of mysterious quests in our oft-bemoaned but much-loved game Dragon Epoch. Players have been summoned to action by the capture of innocent elf princess Alloreah’ala by the race of evil Stone Trolls, who live far under the Golden Mountains.

Every quest, every motivation has something to do with our princess. Every illustration referring to the new expansion of the game has her scantily-clad likeness splayed across it—just to reinforce why it’s important to save her. Because she’s PRETTY and innocent. And helpless.

Oh and because the King has issued the edict to save his beloved daughter.

Okay, that bag of gold and laundry list of magical equipment might be pretty important, too.

My question is this…why can’t these games assume that the women can fend for themselves? My Spiritual Enchantress has a pretty mean Bedazzle spell in her arsenal and she’s capable of holding her own.

But why is this nonplayer female character so pathetic—one of a long line of pathetic females? Why can’t she defend herself? Why can’t she pull some kickass moves, steal the jailer’s weapon and keys, bash in some bad-guy heads and save herself? Why must she sit and wait, imprisoned, and in the process become just an object to save?

It’s time for the pretty princesses of Yondareth to rebel! Fight your own fight and stop waiting for some dudes to do it for you.



A few days before I was set to leave on a red-eye from LAX to Amsterdam, I went to Heath’s house to go over the details of the trip. He printed out my ticket and whistled, waving it under my nose. I snatched it out of his hand and stuffed it into my bag.

Heath’s green eyes sparkled as he laughed at me. He had unruly dark blond hair and his cheeks were roughened with a few days’ growth of golden whiskers.

“British Airways, first class. So high class, Mia. LAX to Heathrow for a layover and then on to Amsterdam.”

I sat on his plush couch shaking my head while he tapped away at the computer. I’d only flown a few times before—all domestic flights. The farthest was a trip to Washington, DC with my eighth-grade class. I’d never flown out of the country and in fact had only just received my first passport the month before in anticipation of the auction.

He hit a few more keys. Heath typed fast but always with only two fingers at a time—his pointer fingers. I often teased him about his hunt-and-peck approach, but he never bothered to learn how to use the home keys. “He e-mailed me a signed PDF of the contract which I printed. So, you need to sign a copy, too. Not that this thing would be legally enforceable, mind you. It’s an illegal agreement in our country, but it’s couched in all kinds of verbiage. Either one of you could weasel out of it. He doesn’t pay any money until you put out and you won’t put out until you see that the money is safely set aside for that purpose. Strange little situation, with these holding accounts.”