Bending Over Backwards (17 page)

Look for these titles by Samantha Hunter

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Tight Quarters

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One Hot Night

Two hearts converge…until fear runs love off the rails.

Tight Quarters

© 2013 Samantha Hunter

A
Strangers on a Train
Story

In the years since a horrific car accident left her with a long list of phobias, Brenna Burke has overcome them all except one. Crippling claustrophobia—not a good trait for an aspiring travel writer.

With an interview for her dream job looming, Brenna forces herself to board a train for a weekend tour through New York State…only to find her berth has been double booked.
 

Retired NYPD detective Reid Cooper isn’t happy about the mix-up, or his attraction to his petite, sexy roommate. But as their up-close-and-personal weekend progresses, something remarkable happens. Being with Reid makes Brenna feel normal, unafraid of anything.

After one passionate night, both are thinking beyond a mere weekend fling. But when Brenna’s last phobia pounces at the worst possible time, she could miss the last boarding call for happily ever after.

Warning: This book contains a hot-to-the-touch hero and sizzling sex at high speeds.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Tight Quarters:

Brenna Burke forced herself to relax, her bags bumping against her hip with each step even though the middle aisle of the train was more than wide enough for two people to walk abreast.

She was feeling good and rocking this trip so far. It was the fifth time she’d boarded this train in the past year, but this time would be the
one
.

Everyone was on her side. The porters had cheered her on when she’d arrived, and the conductor had even given her a thumbs-up.

“You can do it, Brenna. You’ll clinch it this time,” she heard someone say, and she looked up to see Sean, the bright-eyed, young car attendant who had showed her the suite a few weeks before. He was helping a disabled woman to her seat.

“Thanks, Sean,” she said with a smile that was sunny and positive.

Because that’s who she was, she reminded herself. In all areas of her life, Brenna took the bull by the horns and lived. She loved her friends, her home and her work as a travel editor. If she could tame this last demon that had kept her down for the past twelve years, she would be good to go.

The first time she’d tried taking the weekend train from Lake Champlain to Niagara Falls, she’d choked up inside the door and had to get out, nearly plowing over several passengers in her hurry to escape. Each of the subsequent times, something had gone wrong at different points before departure, and she’d had to leave.

This was her chance, and life wasn’t waiting for her. On the cusp of turning twenty-nine, she dreamed of the world
out there
. She thought about turning thirty in Paris. Or on some amazing beach in the Caribbean. This was the next step to making that happen.

If Brenna could do this—spend four days on a train—she could do anything.

Something jolted her. She paused in the middle of the aisle, caught in thought. People were lined up behind her; the aisle was full. Too full, making her feel closed in.

Breathe.

She inhaled something spicy…cloves? No, sandalwood. It was nice. Calming. Then she realized it was coming from whoever was standing right behind her, breathing down her neck, their body inches from hers, crowding…

No
. The poor guy was stuck there, waiting for
her
to move. Turning slightly, she smiled at him.

“Sorry,” she offered, proud of how steady her voice was, considering that his chest completely blocked her view. He was big. Not rotund, but large. Muscular. Broad. Solid.

Shit. She was staring. He was staring back, though it was more like he was trying to exert some superpower through the force of his brown-eyed gaze—namely, the ability to make her move forward. Then he smiled, and that didn’t help her stop staring.

“No problem,” he said. “Take your time.”

Innocent enough—polite even—though his voice was the closest thing to sex she’d had in a while. Unfortunately, her problem with close spaces had taken its toll on intimacy as well. Trying to make love while asking the man she was with not to crowd her didn’t usually work out very well.

Brenna somehow made one foot move in front of the other, continuing down the length of the long car. Taking her mind off of where she was and what it all meant, she focused on the beautiful train she was boarding for the weekend. The 1930s Zephyr had been retooled to include all of the amenities that contemporary luxury travel had to offer—including spacious sleeper cars that replaced the original
roomettes
, which had barely had enough space for the pullout bed.

Though its “Silver Streak” namesake was one of the fastest trains of its time, this one would roll along at a gentle pace, allowing everyone to enjoy the view while making frequent stops for shopping and sightseeing. For Brenna, those detours were also an escape hatch, if need be.

A glance behind told her that
he
was still there, keeping step, right behind her. That, in and of itself, wasn’t a huge deal, except that as they passed room after room, other passengers found theirs, and eventually it was only the two of them making their way to the end of the car. Brenna had asked for the end room—a suite—specifically, since it had more windows. Four windows in ninety-five square feet with one double bed and one pullout half-twin.

The berth was advertised as big enough for three people, with its own small bathroom, but it was just barely big enough for her to be comfortable inside with the door shut. Though it had cost her enough, she knew it would be worth it. She’d tried to get comfortable in the smaller rooms, but she wasn’t able to.

Maybe he had simply missed his room number, she thought absently, still aware of him.

As they reached the end of the car, however, her pulse picked up. Something was askew. Suddenly she felt very alone in the hallway. She reassured herself that if she screamed, people would certainly hear her.

Brenna turned without warning and planted a hand on the man’s chest, stopping him in his tracks. His expression more surprised than menacing.

“Why are you following me?” she asked, looking him in the eye. His were deep, dark brown, like the best chocolate and coffee. His hair was curly—not shaggy, but not styled either. A little wild, actually. Slightly darker than his eyes.

“I’m not following you. Not in the way that you mean. I’m going to my room.” His eyes dropped to her hand.

She removed it, her lips twisting in doubt.

“The only room left in this car is mine. Yours must be behind you.”

“No, mine is right down there.” He gestured to the end of the car.

She detected a hint of Brooklyn in his tone, or maybe it was New Jersey or Philadelphia. She could never quite sort them out.

“That’s not possible. I specifically reserved that berth,” she said pertly as she turned and walked away.

When she slipped the key card into the slot on the door, it flashed green. She smiled, stepping inside and looking at him victoriously.

“See? Yours is back there somewhere. Have a nice day.” She closed the door in his face.

Turning her back to him and the door, she looked at the room.

Just as she remembered. Except for the bouquet of flowers on the table by the window. Curious, she walked toward them, picking up the card. They were from her friend Mel, wishing her luck.

The windows were small, with shades, but they let in enough light. The bathroom was also narrow, fitted with the bare necessities, but if she left the door open, she would be fine.

Brenna felt good. A thrill ran through her. She could do it this time.

The door behind her
clicked
,
buzzed
, then
clunked
. The same noise it had made when she was opening it with her key card. Shock had her fingers fisting around the handles of her bags as she turned to find
him
standing there in the entry.

He smiled, waving his key card at her.

“Well, look at that,” he said and winked at her with wicked satisfaction, stepping inside and closing the door behind him with a click of finality that echoed in her brain.

Numbness set in. This couldn’t be happening. Brenna’s mind blanked as she confronted the one thing she couldn’t ever have prepared for.

What’s a little lie between strangers?

Back on Track

© 2013 Donna Cummings

A
Strangers on a Train
Story

Allie Whittaker is in a dating slump, too busy getting her fledgling marketing company off the ground to have a personal life. All that could change, though, if she can get baseball superstar Matt Kearns on the cover of a charity calendar. Except Matt won’t even talk to her.

Matt is in a slump, worried his career might be over. A Napa Valley wine tour isn’t enough to take his mind off his troubles—until sexy, funny Allie plops into the adjacent seat and tells him three things about herself. One of them, she says, is a lie.

Matt can’t resist playing along, and soon the afternoon getaway becomes an interlude with lies, truths, and desire flowing as fast as the wine. Then Ally lets slip one truth too many…and they both realize they’re playing for keeps.

Warning: A handsome hunk, a determined lady and a few glasses of wine. Throw in a little on-the-run action, and what more do you need to while away an afternoon?

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Back on Track:

“How did you talk me into this again?” Allie Whittaker gave her best friend a mock glare over her wineglass and then took a sip of Riesling. It was fruity and smelled like honeysuckle, and it made her taste buds incredibly happy. “Oh, that’s right. Wine.”

“Lots of wine.” Sandra lifted her half-empty glass in salute. “And don’t forget the wonderful scenery.”

Allie glanced out the window. They were sitting in the comfiest club chairs on the Napa Valley Wine Train, watching sun-drenched vineyards pass by in a leisurely green blur. “You’re right.” She sighed with contentment, gazing at the hills in the background, which sheltered the acres of vines in their long, tidy rows. “It really is beautiful.”

Sandra laughed. “I was talking about all the gorgeous guys on this train.”

“I’d nearly forgotten about that part.”

“I sure didn’t,” Sandra said, patting her perfect blonde hair into place.

Allie spun around in her swivel chair to avoid Sandra’s pointed look. Pretend as she might, she knew exactly why she’d been dragged away from working this weekend.

There were clusters of men chatting with women throughout the lounge car, some of them standing in the aisle, others seated at the upholstered booths scattered among the club chairs.

All of them were laughing and drinking wine and clearly having a wonderful time.

Her heart sank at how effortless it seemed for everyone. “I barely remember how to flirt, or mingle, or any of that stuff.”

“You do it with your job on a daily basis. Getting people to do what you want is your specialty.”

“That’s different. Plus, I’m failing at that right now too.” All she needed was one more sports figure to say yes, and the celebrity calendar project would be a go. After that, she hoped to use the victory as a springboard to lure more lucrative accounts to her fledgling marketing business.

But right now, it was the hardest “yes” she’d ever gone after.

“You just need to get your mojo back. And this is the perfect place for it. It’s only three hours. It’s not in our neighborhood.” Sandra ticked each item off on her fingers. “If you like someone, great. If not, you never have to see them again.”

“Tell me again why I can’t sit here and drink wine all afternoon?”

“You’re in a dating slump.”

Allie sat up, stung by Sandra’s brash statement. “It’s not a slump. It’s just been a little while since I’ve dated.”

“Months.” Sandra dragged out the word.

“I’ve been incredibly busy with work,” Allie said defensively. “It’s not easy starting up a business. It takes every minute of my time—”

“Slu-ump,” she continued in a singsong voice.

“Stop that. This doesn’t qualify as a slump. I’m not sure I like that word.”

“You’re in a slump. I know. I’ve been in one before.” Sandra shuddered. “And slump is a better description than dry spell.”

“Oh God, you’re right.”

Allie took another gulp of wine. She gazed wistfully at the other people laughing and having so much fun. It had been a long time—too long—since she’d felt that carefree. It had been even longer since she’d had fun with someone of the male persuasion.

She was so stingy with her non-work hours, she barely spent time with Sandra, her best friend, which is why she had finally agreed to go on this trip.