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  HELL IN A HAND BASKET

  THE JOURNEY

  Damara Blackthorne

  Erotic Romance

  Secret Cravings Publishing

  www.secretcravingspublishing.com

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  A Secret Cravings Publishing Book

  Erotic Romance

  Hell in a Hand Basket – The Journey

  Copyright © 2013 Damara Blackthorne

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-61885-719-4

  First E-book Publication: May 2013

  Cover design by Dawné Dominique

  Edited by Sue Toth

  Proofread by Elaine Meyler

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2013 by Secret Cravings Publishing

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Secret Cravings Publishing

  www.secretcravingspublishing.com

  Dedication

  Many thanks to all who helped me edit and revise this story. Also, thank you to Jeff, Des, Kelli and Jenni who offered their support and allowed me to bounce ideas off of them as well as practice my writing skills on them. A big thank you to fellow Author John Smith who’s inspiration helped with a few very important scenes in the book. Thank you to my Editor Sue Hill, who's suggestions improved the book greatly, leading to its completion!

  And I couldn't have done this without Ariana, Dawné, and Elaine! Bless you ALL!

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  HELL IN A HAND BASKET

  THE JOURNEY

  Damara Blackthorne

  Copyright © 2013

  Chapter One

  "Can you believe this, dear? Our flight's been grounded. I guess we're stranded at the airport." An elderly lady next to me tried to strike up a conversation.

  "Un-huh," I grunted.

  I am not a big fan of flying and an even less a fan of being stranded in an airport lobby with total strangers. Especially when I have a deadline to meet and my muse went on vacation without me. How am I supposed to write without my muse? The bitch!

  I found a seat near an enormous plate glass window, displaying the most breathtaking view of snow-covered mountains. I hate the cold, but this view was simply gorgeous. The mountains seemed to creep in toward the airport under the snow. The trees nearby were coated in the crystalline powder, making them look as if they had been rolled in sugar, sparkling and glittering like millions of tiny lights encompassed them, turning them into a wonderland. The sky was such a stunning blue and the clouds were starting to show hints of yellow, fringed in orange with the barest tinges of pink. Thomas Kinkaid needed to paint this scenery.

  I tried to get situated. Toppling my coat, purse, and laptop case onto a seat, I took the one beside it. Silly me, I left the other seat beside me open for the elderly lady. Duh. Insert mental head slap here.

  I slipped off my four-inch pumps with the one inch wide heels —my friend calls them my "Fuck with me if you want to" shoes—curled my legs up underneath me, and then used my purse and laptop case as a makeshift table. I opened my laptop, turned it on and opened my writing program. I tried to pick up from where my characters had left off…"He leaned down and whispered in her ear. You're so beautiful. Your skin is so soft. She moaned in answer…"

  Ugh! Who can get inspiration in an airport lobby with Grandma Moses prattlin' on in my ear? This is not supposed to be the love scene of an elderly couple, although my next book could be. Maybe I should just stop trying to write and ask Grandma Moses here about her sex life. I bit my bottom lip to sto
p from outright laughing at the thought, but I couldn't stop the smile on my face. Most elderly people were appalled at the notion of merely hinting about sex in public, let alone discussing sex in full-blown detail. And me, I worked in details!

  Ha! Who needs an imaginary muse? Maybe I can get Grandma here to discuss her sex life and some of her fantasies and she can be my new muse. As a sarcastic right echoed through my head. I was afraid if I pounced on Grandma Moses and started asking her for sordid details pertaining to sex amongst the silver hair demographic, I would scare her off. So, I decided to take the grown-up approach and participate in her bland conversation. Kids, grand kids, where she's from, where she's headed and why. And then, Lord have mercy, she pulled out the pictures. I rolled my eyes and in the process caught a glimpse of what promised to be great inspiration.

  Over by the plate glass window stood a man who actually rivaled the view of cotton candy clouds drifting over sugar coated marshmallow mountains.

  He was looking in our direction, me and Grandma. Things were looking up.

  I must have wiggled in my seat because my laptop hit the floor.

  "Dammit!" My eyes widened in shock as I glanced over at Grandma. "Sorry." I mumbled.

  "No need, dear, I just hope your lap thingy is ok."

  I smiled. "Laptop, short for laptop computer, as opposed to the ones that sit on your desktop."

  I got resituated and opened up my laptop. Great, black screen. Maybe it just turned off. At least it wasn't the blue screen of death!

  I hit the button to turn my laptop on and surprise, surprise it not only came on but seemed to be okay. I clicked on the writer program icon, just to see…hoo-ah!

  "It seems to be fine."

  Grandma leaned over to look at the screen. She must have noticed the writing program I had just reopened. I caught a whiff of her perfume, a soft mix of lilacs, lavender, vanilla cookies and Tiger Balm. I couldn’t help but smile. She reminded me of my grandmother and although it had been three years since she passed, I still missed her terribly.

  "Are you a writer?" Her voice was soft and lilted up at the end as if full of childish wonder.

  "Yes ma'am. I'm trying anyways." Okay, so I have some manners. My grandma taught me to be polite, especially to my elders.

  "What do you write?" How sweet, Grandma was still trying to carry on a conversation. I glanced sideways at her, taking in her short gray hair. It looked as if it had once been a dark shade and it had faded to a nice mix of dark and light gray. Her eyes were a gentle mix of soft sky blue and a light ocean green. They held a glint and humor that told of many years of happy living. Although she didn’t have the wrinkles that my Gram did, her eyes told me that she had lived a very full life and she knew things I could only hope to know. I know how my grandma felt about adult topics, especially sex. My Gram was a very devout Southern Baptist lady. Sex before marriage was such a sin, and discussions about sex in any manner were beyond taboo. She couldn’t stand to watch television. She used to say that the whole world was going to Hell in a hand basket. And now that she’s gone, here I am contributing to the basket. I think that’s why I decided to answer this Grandma the way I did, maybe, just maybe to test her reaction.

  "I write smut," I nonchalantly dead-panned.

  I glanced back up and there he was, leaning against that tremendous plate glass window. The window took up an entire wall and should have dwarfed him. His presence was so devastatingly powerful. I not only forgot there was that window with one of the most impressive scenes behind him, but somehow I forgot there was an entire airport full of people surrounding us. His arms were crossed over his chest and his long legs crossed at the ankles. He looked so casual, as if being stranded in the airport lobby was not only a normal occurrence, but one to be appreciated and enjoyed. He was so gorgeous, looking at him almost hurt…almost.

  I took my sweet time perusing him. He was tall, about six feet. I couldn't really tell since he was leaning. His dark hair framed his face, which was somewhat rugged, but not chiseled. His skin sported an olive complexion. And those eyes…from where I sat, I couldn't tell what color they were, but I could see the amusement in them and a hint of…what was that…hunger? The glints of amusement in his eyes seemed to be escorting the slight upturns of the corners of his mouth—and OH. MY. GOD. It took everything I had not to get up, go over there and taste that mouth. As soon as I thought that, it looked as though he smirked. Was that a coincidence? I just didn't know.

  I decided it would be best if I sat where I was and continued my appraisal…and…Oh Holy, it should be against the law for a man to look that good. His hair fell about his broad shoulders, which rested nicely above a barrel chest that he had tried to stuff into a cream-colored sweater. I mean really, he should have just gone without a shirt for all the good the sweater did to hide that body. His narrowed waist dipped into slender hips, which topped long, lean, muscular legs. And the jeans he was wearing—faded blue and snug—fit exactly where my eyes and imagination needed them to fit! I guess he was wearing shoes, but my eyes never made it that far. Hell, he could have run around barefoot for all I cared. Or better yet, only a towel. I smiled at the thought of that body running around the airport lobby in nothing but a towel…oh no, wait…naked! Excellent!

  The elderly lady placed her hand on my arm, bringing me out of my reverie and back to our conversation. Oh God, I hadn't noticed how much I had been grinning. My eyes widened and I bit my bottom lip.

  "Pardon me, dear. You write what?" She wore a look of confusion as if she had heard me wrong.

  "Adult erotica," I answered with a tone so sweet I was afraid of getting a cavity.

  "Adult erotica?" Her voice a mere squeak. Could she get any sweeter or naive?

  "I write porn." The look on her face was priceless. Disbelief and embarrassment, as if I had just informed her that the cookies from the vending machine were better than any she could have baked with her own sweet hand in her loving home.

  Truth be told, I guess it really was one of the reasons I stated my profession the way I did, just to see her reaction. Pay dirt.

  "I could read some to you if you'd like," I offered in a saccharine sweet voice, quite certain of what her response would be.

  "Yes, please." I looked up, startled.

  There he was sitting directly across from me, leaning back in his chair. When did he move? His arms were still crossed over his chest and his long legs stretched out in front of him crossed at the ankles. Well, what do you know? He was wearing shoes…boots I think. And seriously, was that the only pose he knew? The mischievous grin on his face and his deep emerald green eyes sparkled. For the first time in my life I was at a loss for words, absolutely speechless.

  I quickly recovered, well as best as I could.

  "I'm sorry, that was an offer for the lady." I turned to my left and the elderly lady was gone. Well, crap on a cracker. I had just chased away my chaperone.

  "Are you referring to Gertrude?" He cocked his head toward the restrooms and there she was, counting something as she shuffled away. "I paid her to inquire as to what was on your laptop that had you so engrossed."

  "Why would you do that? Don't you have the personal fortitude to inquire on your own?" I shot him a look of disbelief.

  "Sure I do, I'm here now. Besides, watching the two of you interact was great entertainment."

  "Well if that was great entertainment, you must lead a very boring life." I bit my bottom lip in an effort to keep a straight face. "And if that's the case, reading you any of my works may cause you to go into full cardiac arrest, and I simply cannot have that on my conscience."

  In one fluid movement he brought his knees up, spread his feet to about shoulders width apart and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. He pursed his lips and started chewing the inside of his mouth as if he were in serious thought. Tapping his thumbs together he replied, "Yes, I see your point. But imagine the benefits. Your work would have to carry a warning label. T
he tag line could read that your work is so racy it may cause heart attacks. Sales would go through the roof." He flashed a sweet smile that seemed sincere. The glint in his eyes made my knees go weak and yet here I was, already sitting down.

  "Nice concept and tag. Are you in advertising?"

  "Not exactly."

  "Then what exactly?"

  "Is advertising really what you want to talk about?"

  "Sure, why not? It is polite conversation."

  "Because I believe you're supposed to be reading some of your work to me." He waggled his eyebrows. Waggled…really?

  "Oh no. Heart attack, remember?" I placed my right hand over my chest and gave him a look of mock shock.

  "You didn't seem to be so concerned about Gertie having a heart attack earlier." He gave me a slight pout.

  "That's because (A, I'm quite certain Gertie would have declined, and (B, she never claimed to lead a very boring life."

  He tipped his chin up, raised his right hand and then with his fingernails and the tops of his fingers began a gentle stroking of the underside of his chin and throat. He stroked back and forth, back and forth oh so very slowly. I thought I was going to have a stroke.

  "Valid, very valid. What if I can prove to you that my heart is sound? Would you read to me then?" Again with the waggling eyebrows and a smirk that may be the very reason for global warming—I know it was the cause of my temperature spike.

  "And just how do you propose to provide me with this proof you speak of?" Now it was my turn to waggle my eyebrows at him. And he chuckled…he actually chuckled at me. "I am so glad that I entertain you."