Monthly Archives: May 2015
Reese went back to Las Vegas to fight after his agent threatened to not only ruin him but those he loves. Lily is still in Braden but pregnant and about to marry a man she doesn’t love. Is there any hope for them? Let’s find out!
Crowds of people bustled through the Las Vegas airport. Lily tried to keep up with Connor as he nearly dragged her across the concourse. He was like a kid at Christmas getting ready to open his presents. Lily was just trying to not throw up. Again.
Tears burned her eyes as they passed one of what seemed like a thousand posters slapped on the walls advertising the fights the next day. Her eyes met the image that tore her apart. Reese, dressed in his tight fitting spandex fight shorts, stared back at her. She fought back a whimper as Connor tugged her along.
“So did you arrange us a sweet ride, Buddy?” Connor questioned excitedly.
Lily rolled her eyes and huffed. Buddy had been grinning like a crazy Cheshire Cat since they boarded the plane in Cedar Rapids. It made no sense. Buddy warned her to not marry Connor. He even proposed to her to keep her from marrying Connor. Why was he now arranging their wedding so happily? The change in attitude was baffling.
“Of course, man. Only the best for you,” Buddy reported. “Got any big plans for the honeymoon?”
“Gonna gamble. Gonna hit the strip clubs. Then when we get home we have an appointment with the adoption agency. I’m sure as hell not raising the spawn of Reese Cooper.”
Lily fought her grip from Connor. She winced as he tightened it nearly breaking her hand. “Connor, please. I don’t want to give up my baby.”
“Lily, no man in Braden is going to touch you now. You’re lucky I’m marrying you.”
“Sounds like a great plan,” Buddy agreed, his crazy smirk still plastered on his lips. “Let’s get our bags then get to the car. Can’t wait to get this weekend started. Just down this escalator ahead.”
Connor almost skipped to the moving staircase, leading Lily behind him with the vice grip on her fingers. She kept her eyes to her feet. She hated her fiancé. And she was about to marry him in the town where the man she loved more than her own life was about to fight. Things couldn’t get worse.
Lily looked up at Connor than ahead where his eyes were locked. At the foot of the escalator was Reese waiting for them, his strong arms crossed over his chest. His grin was nearly as crazy as Buddy’s.
“Our ride is here,” Buddy crooned into Connor’s ear.
Connor stepped off the escalator and stormed to Reese, yanking Lily in tow. “Get the hell out of my way, Cooper. I’m marrying her. And you are the last man going to stop us.”
“Really?” Reese dared. He clamped on to Lily’s wrist gently as he stood toe to toe with Connor, glaring him down. Cowering, Connor let go.
Reese pulled Lily to him, cupping her face in his hands. “Hey, Lilybug,” he whispered. Slowly, softly he pressed his lips to hers, taking the first chance he could to part them to deepen the kiss. Lily didn’t want to kiss him. He broke her heart and left her alone and pregnant in Braden. But Reese Cooper was a craving she just couldn’t get out of her system. She melted into him, sighing as she surrendered.
Final Shifts Book 6 of the To Love a Wildcat Series
by V.L. Locey
Secret Cravings Publishing
The only constant in life is that things will change when you least expect it. On the day of Derrick Andersson`s retirement ceremony, a late-season tropical storm parks itself over the City of Brotherly Love. The women who love the Wildcats will not only have to deal with the deluge outside, they will have to struggle through some of the greatest personal storms they will ever weather.
Liz and Veikko receive devastating news, Maggie and Derrick face a shocking announcement, and Isabelle and Philip receive the verdict of Philip’s court battle. Can Viviana and Alain work out the problems that have torn them apart? What has life dealt young lovers Petro and Margarite? The answers to those questions, as well as a surprise that will rock the Houseman, are revealed in this final book of the To Love a Wildcat series.
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“Don’t dis Granny Andersson,” he commented with a rather wry tone.
“You’re far too old to be using the term dis, my good man.”
“Yah? Well, last night you weren’t dissing me,” he countered quickly. I held up my hairbrush in a sign of defeat. He was right. There was no dissing last night. There was some moaning, gyrating, and pillow thumping, but nary a dis. “Ha! That got you good, eh?”
I nodded to give the man his due. His face split into a wide grin, white teeth brilliant against the dark brown of his beard.
“Yah, that’s right. Who is the man?” he asked, puffing out his chest like a proud bantam rooster. Cocky bugger.
“You are.” I sighed with proper defeatism in my tone.
He dropped his face to my neck, smooched my ear loudly, and then whistled gleefully while he finished shaving. I cleaned shaving cream out of my ear with the corner of a hand towel. Ever since we moved in with Derrick, my mornings have been so much more enjoyable. We wake up curled around each other, we play as we shower. Sometimes we play in the shower! The man makes me smile. He warms my heart when I awaken more than the sun that creeps into our window bright and early. I simply cannot imagine not having these precious few moments every morning now. After he had stepped into the shower, I thought to ask. Mascara wand in my right hand I turned to stare at his large form behind smoked glass. The query was lingering on the tip of my tongue. I swallowed it down. I’d let him broach the subject of his retirement ceremony tonight. Things with the team were dicey to say the least. Not a player or person in management wasn’t walking on eggshells. I turned back to the mirror to finish my makeup as Derrick hummed something by Blake Shelton as he lathered and rinsed.
We emerged from our room about twenty minutes later, Derrick in the suit and tie all NHL players and staff are required to wear into and leaving the stadium. His tie was loose yet, and his dark brown jacket lay over his left arm. I had pulled on a rather somber looking navy dress, as I would be accompanying Isabelle to court yet again. Just thinking about my duties made me nervous. There was so much to handle being the personal assistant to a woman that owns a hockey team, as well as several other multimillion-dollar businesses. Thank God I was only tasked with making sure Isabelle’s day ran like clockwork. My boss worried me. Her blood pressure was skyrocketing, her sugar count was high, and her OB/GYN had given her strict dietary guidelines to follow. I feared if she went back next Monday at nine, and her BP and sugar weren’t any lower, her doctor would be forced to put her on strict bed rest until her son was born. Knowing Isabelle that would last exactly four hours. Then she would be up doing something. What if Philip were found guilty? She would be forced to fire him. The Commissioner was already riding her like Secretariat about the Wildcats. First Petro and now Philip. And this mess surrounding last year’s Stanley Cup winners? The commissioner was not happy. Not at all.
“Hey, you need to put them there grinds into the filter and not the pot, Mags.”
I shook off the spiraling dark thoughts. There I stood, in my kitchen, the coffee pot filled with coffee, and the filter resting inside the basket empty.
After the team left the ice, I asked my new friends if they would like to continue up in the owner’s skybox. They were thrilled to do so. It is a darn impressive lounge that Mama owns way up in the rafters. We rode up in two elevators, passing security with a wave of my hand. Into the luxury box we all piled. Soon we had coffee, crullers, and conversation flowing. I should have brought them up here to begin with, but they had seemed so intent on watching the players. Now that the distraction of the Wildcats was no longer an issue, we started making some real progress. I called an end to the meeting after another thirty minutes. We had gotten as far as possible. I stood up, smiled and shook each hand as our community volunteers left the skybox. Security escorted them down to the players parking area.
I returned to my seat at the head of a long, rectangular table, to gather up the four thousand or so notes I had jotted down. My head came up when someone rapped on the other end of the table. Petro smiled at me. I ran my sight over him. The suit he wore was dark grey, his shirt white, his tie black as a pirate’s pearl. He looked delicious. I dropped my notes back to the table. He arched a dark eyebrow. I nodded. The man turned, walked back to the door, and then turned the lock. My body began revving up. Petro glanced over his wide shoulder, his eyes crackling brown embers.
“When I turn around, you be ready for me,” he informed me then returned his steaming gaze to the door. His command gave me pause for perhaps four seconds. With quaking fingers, I hurried to pull my blouse out of the top of my skirt. He shucked off his suit jacket. I tugged my shirt over my head, my hair getting wound in a few buttons. Hissing at the painful tugs, I fumbled to free the tight black ringlets. My blouse fluttered to a padded leather chair, one of twenty. My nipples hardened inside my lacy blue bra. They ached. I was tempted to touch them but Petro’s jacket dropping to the floor stole my attention. I reached to the side, unzipped my skirt then let it slither down my legs. I stepped out of it then looked at Petro. His tie sailed over his damp head, landing on a vase filled with fall mums resting on the center of the table. I could feel the slick dew weeping from my pussy. Tenderly, I reached between my breasts, my sight latched onto my lover as he began to unbutton his dress shirt. I slowly undid the three small hooks. My breasts popped free.
I cradled them lovingly. His shirt slid down his back, revealing ropes of thick muscle. There he stood, as if he knew I was ogling him. He flexed. My sex tightened. I flicked my nipples with my thumbs. Petro stiffened as a low moan escaped me. His neck muscles bunched. He tugged his shirt free from his trousers. My eyes followed the pure white cotton as it flew across the skybox. Petro turned to look at me. His eyes grew wide. His nostrils flared. His jaw twitched when he saw me fondling my boobs. The peaks were hard as a diamond, elongated, begging him to take them between his teeth and tug. Speaking of hard and elongated…
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, belly laughs, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee. (Not necessarily in that order.) She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted goofy domestic fowl, and three steers.
When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand. She can also be found online on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, tsú, and GoodReads.
I love to meet new friends and fans! You can find me at-
Secret Cravings Backlist Books and Upcoming Releases
Pink Pucks & Power Plays (Book One of the To Love a Wildcat Series)
A Most Unlikely Countess (Book Two of the To Love a Wildcat Series)
O Captain! My Captain! (Book Three of the To Love a Wildcat Series)
Reality Check (Book Four of the To Love a Wildcat Series)
Language of Love (Book Five of the To Love a Wildcat Series)
Coming in August of 2015 only from Secret Cravings . . . Clean Sweep (Book One of The Venom erotic hockey romance series)
Torquere Press Backlist and Upcoming Releases
Two Guys Walk Into an Apocalypse (Part of the He Loves Me For My Brainssss anthology)
Two Guys Walk Into an Apocalypse 2: It Came From Birmingham
Two Guys Walk Into an Apocalypse 3″ He’s a Lumberjack and He`s Undead
Love of the Hunter
All I Want for Christmas
Every Sunday at One (Part of the 2013 Charity Sip Anthology)
Night of the Jackal
An Erie Halloween
An Erie Operetta
Coming 4/1/15 exclusively from Torquere Press . . . Early to Rise – A Toms & Tabbies Tale.
Debris littered Braden from one end of town to the other. By some stroke of luck nearly every structure survived the tornado’s wrath. Lily shuffled past the splintered wood and broken glass as she made her way down the street, a couple of Merryn’s chicken sandwiches tight in her hand. Merryn had given her a tight hug and instructions to take one of them to Reese. She must have seen the exhaustion in Lily’s face because, before she could slip out of the bakery door, the woman wrapped her in another bear hug. If she only knew the past few hours I’ve been through.
Lily and Elijah fought through the damage at the library, sweeping up the shards of glass, boxing up books and putting them in the basement and carefully wrapping up the old clock so it could be repaired. With every step Lily saw her livelihood in tatters around her. But it was nothing compared to the single life lost in the storm. She brushed tears away over and over again throughout the night. They weren’t for Howard Cooper but for his grieving son.
At three o’clocking the morning, Lily sent a sleepy Elijah home. She hunkered down in her office to get a couple of hours sleep before she went back to work. Just as her eyes fluttered closed, she was jolted back awake by the vibration of her phone. After reading the text, she jumped to her feet and hurried through the streets. Minutes later she was drifting back to sleep in Reese’s bed wrapped tight in his embrace, his face buried against her neck as he looked for comfort in her arms.
Lily lifted her head as she let go of her memories, her feet stopping at the edge of the curb. Ground zero. The basement where Howard Cooper’s house once stood gaped open. Momentos of the lives lived in the house laid scattered among the rubble. In the middle of it all stood Reese, his strong shoulders hunched in defeat. He wore thick canvas gloves to protect himself as he cleaned up the aftermath. Lily tiptoed through the mess to his side. “Merryn sent a sandwich for you,” she told him softly.
“I’m not hungry,” he murmured.