Wet Heat: The Aphrodite Chronicles Story One
Erotic Paranormal Short Story
Attorney Naida Bouche has a secret… of paranormal proportions!
The secret tore her, and fellow attorney, Coop’s, marriage apart. She let her guard down and allowed herself to love. But that love—and the passion that followed—could have been the death of them…well, him.
A chance encounter in judge’s chambers catapult Coop Martin’s and his ex-wife’s libidos into overdrive. Add being stuck in an elevator to the mix and desires explode. Coop wants his wife back but she’s thrown up a roadblock that he’s determined to break through.
Can their undeniable chemistry be enough for Naida to reveal who—and what—she is? And could Coop still love her should the truth be revealed?
The last vestiges of summer
Second Chance, Pennsylvania
Water cascaded off her nude body. Small rivulets ran over her breasts and down her slightly rounded stomach, disappearing into the surface of the lake.
She was one with the water.
She could, literally, become one with it.
Moonlight reflected off the mirror-smooth surface, adding a soft glow to the night. Crickets serenaded her with their chirping song. A wolf howled in the distance. Nature cocooned her.
She grinned and dove under. Liquid embraced her, still heated from the sun’s rays of earlier in the day. Her body became insubstantial, fragmenting into molecules of H2O. Disorientation left her bewildered, but the feeling came and went. Weightless warmth enveloped her, and the ebb and flow of the tide lulled her into blissful relaxation.
The moon slid across the sky. Hours had passed. Her body became corporeal with a single thought. After regaining her human form, she cut through the water with powerful strokes and rose to the surface in a rush of bubbles.
The night air chilled her damp skin, raising goose pimples along her flesh. She pushed the long fall of golden blonde tresses from her face and glanced into the deep, lush woods that ringed the lake. Soon the leaves would change to shades of gold, orange, red, and brown. In would come the autumnal chill. Her time in the waters would decrease, and then winter would set in and freeze her out.
When that happened, she’d resort to the swimming pool located on the basement level of her large log home. Even with the greenery she had sprinkled about, it never fully replaced the exhilaration of the lake, the feel of fresh air against her skin, and the scent of the wilderness.
She repeated the cycle, year after year. The monotony had long since worn short on her nerves.
At one time, she’d had someone to break the mundane tones of her life.
But she had ruined that.
He hadn’t understood the need, the drive, to be one with the water.
She had allowed it to build a wall between them.
But how could he have understood? Hell, she’d have trouble believing the truth, if it wasn’t her life.
The root of their problems had been otherworldly, as her father was human and her mother was a water nymph.
The nymph side of her heritage presented two problems. First, she needed daily contact with a body of water. Like her pool in the basement. Second, she also needed a daily dose of sex. Preferably more than once a day. After all, the term “nymphomaniac” had been born of a nymph’s sex drive.
No, he had never known the truth of her desires.
She had pushed him away, afraid of exposing her real self.
And that fear, that uncertainty, had left her alone…and needy.
Coop thanked Smythe as he spun toward the bank of elevators. He pressed the “up” button and waited for the car to descend. The stainless steel doors opened with a bing. Stepping through the threshold, he hit the button for the third floor. He checked his reflection in the mirrored panels gracing the walls. The ride seemed to take longer than normal, which annoyed the hell out of him. His foot tapped impatiently on the carpeted floor.
The doors opened again, and Coop darted from the car to the judge’s chambers. His long, ground-eating strides took him to his destination in under a minute.
Coop didn’t bother to knock. He simply swung the door open and strode into the room. Sitting behind a large, ornately carved desk was Judge Hawker. Her gray hair haloed her head in a tidy mass of curls. Lines deeply etched her haggard face, affirming she was a kick-ass bitch.
She tapped her pen on her ink blotter. “So nice of you to join us, Mr. Martin.” Her voice cracked like an old Victrola record player.
Coop’s gaze fell upon the female occupant sitting in one of two black leather armchairs. Long, golden-blonde hair cascaded over the back, beckoning for him to run his fingers through the silken stands.
Anger, both at his reaction to seeing her and the fact she was there in the first place, rose up like a leviathan from the deep. The muscles in his jaw tightened, and his lips formed a thin line.
He walked in front of the woman. “Naida,” he greeted, through clenched teeth.
Coop stared at her beautiful face. Naida’s kissable, full lips formed a soft, forced smile that her large, doe-shaped brown eyes didn’t reflect. A form-fitting, cream-colored sweater hugged her breasts and torso, doing little to hide her lithe figure. Her hands rested in her lap. Long, jean-clad legs crossed at the ankle. The brown of her high-end leather satchel matched her well-worn hiking boots.
“Cooper,” she replied.
He inhaled sharply through his nose, never breaking eye contact with her, and enunciated each of the words that followed very clearly, “Do. Not. Call. Me. Cooper.”
* * * *
Naida hadn’t meant to say it so sarcastically. It had just slipped out. A defense mechanism. A way to cover the instantaneous hurt that had rocketed like a missile to her heart.
The other option had been picking her jaw off the ground. She hadn’t expected Coop to walk through the door.
His stiff-shouldered stance emanated anger. And rightfully so.
He had been wronged.
By Naida herself.
She ripped her gaze away from Coop and turned toward the bitch who had set her—no, us—up.
Judge Hawker grinned, exposing age-worn teeth. The pack of cigarettes she smoked a day did little to detract from the look. “Do you have something to say, Miss Bouche?” Her voice grated Naida’s nerves and reminded her of gravel scraping over an asphalt road. The hag had the nerve to broaden her smile.
Naida rose from the armchair with fists clenched at her sides, nails biting into the flesh of her palms. “Why is he here?”
“Why are you here?” he retorted, his steel-gray eyes darting from one female to the other and shooting daggers at same time. He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it onto the empty armchair.
One of those daggers pierced Naida’s heart, which thudded hard against her breastbone. How she hated Coop looking at her with such disdain. But she had brought it on herself.
Three years ago, she had filed for divorce from Coop with no explanation why. Just up and went to an attorney. Had he done anything wrong? No. Had he begged and pleaded for an explanation? Yes.
She had merely shrugged her shoulders and walked away.
That action had taken her away from the one man, the one human, she’d ever loved.
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I’m a writer of sexy romances with a kick of heat! Though my contracted stories are paranormals, I haven’t discounted writing a contemporary or two.
I live in Pennsylvania just a hair shy of the Maryland border. I live with a family I adore which includes two furry feline children and a furry canine daughter.
In my spare time, I’m more than likely watching television. I watch Bones, Blue Bloods, NCIS:New Orleans, or some sort of car show like Wheeler Dealers.
I’m a huge sports fan, football in particular. During the fall/winter, I’m watching Notre Dame or Penn State on Saturdays and the Saints or Colts on Sunday.
I’ve been known to have my nose buried in a book. Nora Roberts/JD Robb and Clive Cussler are favorites of mine. I know, I know…Clive Cussler isn’t a romance author. The man can weave a tale of adventure like no other!
Find me at:
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