Savannah and Martin at 219 Harper's Cove Read online

  Savannah and Martin at 219 Harper’s Cove

  Deanndra Hall

  Celtic Muse Publishing, LLC

  Contents

  Welcome to Harper’s Cove

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  About the Author

  Also by Deanndra Hall

  Savannah and Martin at 219 Harper’s Cove

  Harper’s Cove, Book 4

  Copyright 2014 Deanndra Hall

  Celtic Muse Publishing, LLC

  P.O. Box 3722

  Paducah, KY 42002-3722

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction.

  Names of characters, places, and events are the construction of the author, except those locations that are well-known and of general knowledge, and all are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental, and great care was taken to design places, locations, or businesses that fit into the regional landscape without actual identification; as such, resemblance to actual places, locations, or businesses is coincidental. Any mention of a branded item, artistic work, or well-known business establishment, is used for authenticity in the work of fiction and was chosen by the author because of personal preference, its high quality, or the authenticity it lends to the work of fiction; the author has received no remuneration, either monetary or in-kind, for use of said product names, artistic work, or business establishments, and mention is not intended as advertising, nor does it constitute an endorsement. The author is solely responsible for content.

  Cover design & Formatting by:

  Drue Hoffman, Buoni Amici Press.

  Disclaimer:

  Material in this work of fiction is of a graphic sexual nature and is not intended for audiences under 18 years of age.

  Welcome to Harper’s Cove

  Writing novels is my first love. I like nothing better than to take a name, find a photo that represents the face I have for him or her in my mind, assign a birthdate, an occupation, a love interest, family, friends, and sometimes enemies, and let my imagination go wild. If novels didn’t take so long to write, I’d crank out one a week!

  That’s how I got the idea for this series. They’re short, quick reads that will get your motor humming and entertain you enough to wonder what the next couple in the cove will be up to. I was trying to figure out a way to plug in some short but quality reading between the volumes of the Love Under Construction series, and along came Karen and Brett and blew me away! I couldn’t wait to get started on this series, and I think it’ll be different from anything you’ve read before.

  Take a stroll down Harper’s Cove and see what’s going on. And try not to be too judgmental; we’ve all got skeletons in our closets.

  Love and happy reading,

  Deanndra

  1

  Savannah

  I look around when I pull up in the drive. Nope―no nosy neighbor in sight. The car hasn’t much more than stopped rolling when I jump out and run to the door before she can spot me and come charging over.

  Gloria. The bane of my existence. We’ve only been in the neighborhood for about six months and already the woman is getting on my last nerve. Martin says to ignore her, but it’s hard when she keeps coming around. I’d like to get to know more of the neighbors, but they’re hard to meet. Apparently they all try to run from cars to houses to avoid her too. They wave, but I can’t seem to catch them long enough to speak. Who can blame them? She’s a real piece of work.

  I clear the door easily. It isn’t too hard, given that I’ve already clicked the security fob and the thing has swung open. It’s a given that the system is unarmed too; I shut it off remotely before my car even rounded the corner. Once inside, I slam the door shut and take a deep breath before offloading everything I’ve brought in and dropping down onto the sofa in an exhausted heap.

  Martin will be home in fifteen minutes so I need to start getting everything ready. I’ll get a few things picked up, and I did the cleaning last night. There’s not a lot left to do. All we need are the people.

  2

  Gloria

  I’ve tried everything to get that weird McIntosh woman’s attention, but she always runs to the house. I guess she needs to pee. I don’t know why anyone would run that fast to get inside unless they were running from something.

  I really believe there’s something going on over there. Russell says to leave them alone, but you know, if they’re doing something dangerous or weird, we all need to know, don’t we? This is our neighborhood too, isn’t it?

  I’m still sure that picture with that horrible article in the paper was a picture of the Millicans. Russell doesn’t think so; he says the woman’s hair is too long. But I really think it’s them. I can’t believe that would be taking place right down the street, but I guess you never know.

  Domination and submission. Sounds more like deprivation and subversion to me. Bunch of weirdos.

  I’m got eyes on all of them. I’m pretty certain there are some weird things going on around this neighborhood. That pair, the Reynolds? I still don’t know what was going on in their backyard that day. And what about the Hendersons? They had that woman living over there for awhile. Becca’s sister, my foot. I still wonder what they were up to, especially after what I saw over there. Russell still doesn’t believe me, but I know what I saw.

  I asked Pete, the guy who owns the liquor store, what he thinks. His wife, Rosie, has been my friend for years, ever since they came to this side of town and opened their store. I go there for the gourmet foods. They have quite the variety. Pete says every neighborhood has one, a house where weird things go on, but now I’m pretty worried because this is way more than one. As far as I can tell, there’s a whole bunch of oddballs around here. Russell and I are the only ones who seem even sort of normal.

  Yeah, this neighborhood is going to the dogs, I tell you. No one else seems to care except me. I guess I’m all alone in this, so I’ll do what I have to do.

  Whatever that is.

  3

  Savannah

  I put out the fishbowl. I’ve got prettier containers, but this one is kind of symbolic for us. It’s been with us for a long time now, and I think if I changed it out, everyone would just ask where it was.

  The food is almost ready, and everyone is bringing something, so it’s not all on me. I get out the guidelines; I understand Rowan and Stella are bringing a new couple tonight. That gets my interest up. Stella said she’s been trying to get them to come for some time and they’ve been reluctant, but she’s finally talked them into it. I hope to god she’s been very clear with them about what we do and how we do it. Anyone we bring in has to be approved beforehand and fully vetted.

  Martin comes through the door all smiles and hugs. I know he hates that job; I hate that job for him. It’s drudgery at its worst, but it pays the bills. If I could get a teaching gig, that would at least give him time to go out and look for something a little better. But so far, no luck.

  Layla and Jeremy are the first to show up. She fixed those little meatballs everyone loves so much―I could eat my weight in those. We talk about minor t
hings, the car repairs I had to have done, the dog going to the vet, and then she asks me if there’s any news about my nosy neighbor. I’m glad to report I haven’t had a run-in with her in about two weeks. I’m pretty sure my luck’s about to peter out.

  They haven’t been here for five minutes when Harrison and Maura show up. They’re so much fun, and Harrison, well, he’s a very talented guy. I’ve heard from Martin that Maura is pretty talented in her own right. They’re followed by Marissa and Tate, then Makayla and Ainsley.

  When Angel and Hayden get here, it’s pretty clear something’s been going on. I hate starting this any time one of the couples in the group has been having problems. If you didn’t have them before, this will do it, so going in with a problem makes it problematic for everyone.

  By the time Stella and Rowan show up, I’m getting kind of antsy. I’m wondering who this is they’re introducing. They don’t give us a hint, but she’s all smug and winking.

  Then the doorbell rings. When I answer it, I get the biggest shock of my life.

  What’s standing on the other side of my door is a man over six feet tall with the most beautiful caramel-colored skin I’ve ever seen. If that wasn’t enough, the dreadlocks he’s wearing almost halfway down his back would’ve done me in. And those eyes―flecks of gold in a sea of chocolate. His lips are full and lush, his nose just wide enough for the rest of his face, and he’s got almost sinister eyebrows, their cant enough to make a heart stop. He reminds me of Jason Momoa, only darker. He says in a breathy tone, “Are you Savannah?”

  “Yes,” I manage to squeak out. Damn. I’m going to embarrass myself, I can tell. Beside him is a woman who looks remarkably like … me.

  “I’m Tristan. This is my wife, Jasmine. I was hoping this was the right place.”

  “Uh, yes, um, come in,” I stammer. Everyone is staring when I look back at the room. “Everyone, this is Jasmine and Tristan.” Martin takes over, thankfully, and finishes the introductions. I’m relieved. I can sit and stare. Most of the other women are staring too.

  Dinner is casual. Somehow I can’t help but keep staring at this new person and wondering what it would be like if I got his keys. I wish I could get a look at the fob, but he hasn’t plopped them down in the bowl yet.

  As soon as we’ve cleared the dishes, I start by saying, “Martin, why don’t you remind everyone of the ground rules?”

  He picks up the sheets of paper I pulled from the drawer, clears his throat, and stands. “First, the women choose. Always. And if you draw someone you don’t want to go home with, then we put all of the keys back in the bowl and start all over. For example, if you drew the same person two weeks in a row, you might not want to follow through, which would be understandable.” Everyone nods.

  “Second, condoms. Always. No exceptions. I hope everyone brought a supply, and I believe every house in the group keeps plenty, am I correct?” Everyone nods.

  “Third, everyone’s out by six o’clock tomorrow morning. No exceptions. There will be no man in someone else’s bed when he comes home. That’s always been a rule, and that’s not going to change. No threesomes; no foursomes. Couples only. We could get something started that we really don’t want to continue in that fashion. Agreed?” Everyone nods. “Guys, we’re all meeting at the Waffle Iron down the street for breakfast at six thirty, give the women time to clean up and get some rest while we compare notes. Everybody on?” All the guys nod in agreement.

  “Fourth, you can’t go home with your own man. Against the rules. That kind of does away with the purpose of the group. So remember that. Okay then. I can’t think of anything else. Anybody?” No one says anything, and several shake their heads. “Then welcome, Tristan and Jasmine. Are you ready to join this little group?”

  “I just want to thank everyone for making us feel so welcome,” Tristan says. I don’t know if he’s sincere or not. He’s got to be uncomfortable with me staring at him the way I am, but I just can’t help it. I haven’t been able to take my eyes from him.

  “You’re quite welcome. So, ladies, make your choices.” We all rise and go to the fishbowl.

  It’s been a custom of the men in the group to collect odd key fobs. We’ve had everything from troll dolls to rubber dinosaurs to bottle openers shaped like credit cards. They change them up every week, swap them around, get new ones to throw us, anything so none of the ladies know whose keys are whose. I’m glad of that or otherwise I would’ve made some choices over the years that were based on whose keys I could nab, and that wouldn’t have been right. Along with the fun, this is an exercise in following through with choices and doing something we think we might not want to do. Cheating would’ve been counterproductive.

  We draw numbers and Marissa goes first. She takes the keys with the weird little wrench key fob. Then Makayla draws a set that I’m pretty sure are Martin’s. I take the one with an odd symbol on it. I’ve never seen anything like it before, and I’d like to know more about it. You can bet I’ll ask whomever they belong to.

  So we go to our respective seats and Marissa holds up the keys she pulled. They’re Jeremy’s. Makayla’s keys are Martin’s―just as I thought. I could tell by his remote clicker. The pictures are worn off, and it’s a Toyota, so that’s pretty distinctive in this group.

  Then I hold mine up. There’s a pause, a long one, and a voice says, “Mine.”

  It’s Tristan.

  I can’t believe it. That’s not even possible. It’s like my dreams and wishes drew him to me, and I had the good fortune of having Lady Luck actually hear them this time. As he looks at me, I wonder what he’s thinking. And he smiles. That’s a good sign.

  We go on through the assignments. Everyone’s happily paired, it seems. Jasmine draws Rowan, which is good; she takes home someone she already knows. This can be intimidating the first few times.

  I don’t have to go anywhere. One by one, the couples wander off, and pretty soon it’s just me and Tristan. He turns to me.

  “So what do we do from here? I’ve never done this before.”

  “Well, first we sit down and kind of get to know each other. Do you want something to drink?”

  “You having anything?”

  “Hell yeah! I’m having a glass of wine.”

  His voice is dripping honey when he says, “I’ll take whatever you’re having.” I draw out two stemless wine glasses and fill them full of a nice, warm pinot noir that I bought a couple of days earlier. We swirl the liquid and sit in silence for the first few sips.

  Finally, Tristan breaks the silence. “So, have you ever been with a man of color before?”

  I shake my head and my face turns red. “No, I have to admit I haven’t. Not because I didn’t want to. It just never happened.” As I speak, I grab the bottom edge of my top and pull it over my head, then toss it to the floor.

  He laughs. “Well, then let me assure you, the rumors are untrue. We’re no different than any other man.” He stops. “Any white man. It’s just the brothers who are overly endowed who get the press. Not the rest of us.” He’s unbuttoning his shirt as he speaks and, when it’s undone, he draws it off and tosses it onto the floor with my top. His chest is hard and smooth.

  “That’s a shame,” I say without thinking, and he bursts into laughter. I like this guy. I mean, along with his looks, I really like him. He and Ainsley kept everyone laughing throughout dinner so he’s got a good sense of humor, and I value that highly. “I’m sorry. That sounded kind of shallow, huh?” I chuckle. I’m undoing my jeans. Once they’re unzipped, I shimmy out of them and they join the other clothes.

  “No. That sounds honest, and I like that.” He trails a fingertip up my arm. “We almost didn’t come tonight.”

  “Oh? Why?” I imagine he’s about to tell me that Jasmine didn’t want to come, that she was afraid or something.

  “I was afraid.” I’m startled. This big, gorgeous, powerfully-built man was afraid? “I have problems opening up to people. I was abused as a child, and I really don�
�t trust too many people. But you look pretty trustworthy, I guess,” he says and smiles again.

  “I try to be. What did Stella and Rowan tell you about the group?”

  “They said you’ve been doing this for a good while. They said it was safe, consensual, and lots of fun. They said it would spice up our love life. It’s pretty good already; if this pumps up the volume, I’m going to need more vitamins!” he laughs. He stands, unbuttons and unzips his slacks, and lets them fall, then steps out of them and sits back down. His black boxer briefs accentuate every ripple.

  “It’ll do it. We get together the second and fourth Friday nights of the month, and everyone looks forward to it. Think about it―it’s like a mini vacation from life. Plus if someone doesn’t show up, no big deal; we just have fewer keys to choose from, that’s all.” He reaches over and unhooks my bra for me, and I draw it off and throw it in the pile.

  His visual assessment of my breasts makes me suck in a breath, and he nods. “Makes sense. Have you ever been to an orgy?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. I’d like to sometime, though. But it would have to be a group of people I really trusted, and I don’t know that many.”

  “This is damn near a big enough group already, don’t you think?” he asks, and continues to stroke my arm. Then he moves a little closer to me.