Daring Young Man Read online

  A novel of erotic romance by

  Phaze 6470A Glenway Avenue, #109 Cincinnati, OH 45211-5222

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  eBook ISBN 1-59426-620-4 Daring Young Man © 2006 by Leigh Ellwood All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No

  part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Cover art © 2006 by Kathryn Lively

  Phaze is an imprint of Mundania Press, LLC.

  www.Phaze.com Also by Leigh Ellwood

  Truth or Dare Dare Me Double Dare Dulce Jack of Hearts Jack of Diamonds Voyeur Muse Prologue

  Lauren McKenna drummed her fingernails on her desk, sighing as she watched her Internet connection plug along at a snail's pace. One of these days a wifi or cable provider was going to have to offer its services to Dareville. She had had enough of the World Wide Wait.

  A benign blip finally pinged from tiny speakers and alerted her to the arrival of new e-mail. "Finally," she muttered, and pointed her mouse to open the first downloaded message in a larger window. The screen immediately filled with gigantic photos of smiling friends waving before blinding, neon backdrops. Lauren snickered as she scrolled up and down, then left and right to see every corner of each picture.

  "Sue," she sighed. A great photographer, her friend was, but Sue Carmichael had much to learn about sending her work via electronic mail. Otherwise she would know to pare down the size of the scanned photos before attaching them to an outgoing message, so they wouldn't gum up what little memory Lauren had available on her computer.

  Briscoe , Lauren reminded herself. Sue was married to Cal Briscoe now. The images rolling slowly down her screen attested to that.

  At least they were good pictures, free of red eyes and those grainy, mysterious white strands that usually marred the photos Lauren took with her endless supply of disposable cameras. She was touched that Sue thought to share pictures of Brady Garriston and Ellie Shaw's Vegas chapel wedding, as well as hers to Cal. Lauren clicked on the mouse button to save the photos to a floppy disk. The other teachers at Dareville Primary Academy, where Lauren taught and where Ellie used to work before quitting to marry the famous rock singer and enjoy a life of leisure, would definitely want to see them as well. And fume with jealousy, Lauren snickered to herself.

  She grabbed the tote bag hanging from the back of her chair and slipped the unlabeled disk into a side pocket. The glint of a key caught her eye, and Lauren remembered she needed to stop by Sue and Cal's new house to water the plants and feed Ellie's cat Typhoid, who was staying there for the duration of Brady's tour. She sighed, glad the newlyweds would be returning in a few days. How nice it would be for somebody to one day check on her stuff one day while she was on some fancy, exciting vacation! Or, better yet, her honeymoon. All she had to do was snag the groom. Before zipping the bag compartment shut, she pulled out an identical disk already

  there, turning it in her palm before sliding it into the proper port on her tower unit. Opening a photo viewing program, she browsed through the files on the disk—the budoir photos Sue had taken of her a few months ago, that Cal had kindly scanned onto the disk before they left for Vegas. Every night she looked at them, and still could hardly believe this had been her pouting and preening before Sue's lens. The pictures were wonderful, and Sue was wonderful for making her look so good. She had said as much at least a hundred times when Sue handed her the envelope containing the glossies.

  "No," Sue had retorted, " you already looked good. I didn't have to do anything." And Lauren was amazed. She was hardly one to consider herself a prude, and anybody taking a tour of her modest one-bedroom apartment would realize that upon seeing her impressive collection of adult toys and films, but until now she never thought of herself as sexy. She was comfortable enough with her looks and figure, yes, and thought perhaps the pictures would at the very least serve to titillate Jake Marbury, and at best spur him to pursue a relationship with her. Skin was skin, and the more exposed the better, she believed when trying to secure somebody's interest. She hadn't expected to look like a glamorous porn star.

  But wow, she thought, clicking through picture after picture tiled across her screen. I am hot!

  Her mouse pointer came to rest on the photo of her spread-eagled on the bed, eyes closed and fingering her clit, her mouth pursed into a tight O. The detail was excellent; Sue had produced a picture worthy of Penthouse, and Lauren smiled at the notion. She wondered whether or not her friend would take that as a compliment.

  My, but that girl looks like she's having fun . Lauren leaned back in her chair and let her eyes flutter shut. Her hand slid underneath the band of her sweatpants and stopped at her pussy. She pried her lips apart and took hold of her clit, mimicking the photo, tugging the hard nub in rapid circles.

  She wondered how Cal Briscoe had reacted upon seeing the photos for the first time. Had he been turned on? Surprised? Interested, even? Sue never said. But that didn't really concern her now. Would Jake be turned on? Surprised? Interested? She hoped so.

  A clear image of Jake surfaced in her mind, and she further quickened her pace. The handsome, silver fox was always a delight to see: his skin browned from hours of gardening, muscles toned from lifting heavy carts of produce, an ample bulge in his work jeans. He was a beautiful man, inside and out, and it seemed such a waste for him to not have a companion now that his wife was gone a year.

  Yes, he was sixty and almost twice her age, but he was virile, Lauren could tell. Easily he had a good twenty years left, if not more, so why not spend them with her? They certainly wouldn't be boring years, she'd see to that.

  "Mmm." Her pussy lips swelled and throbbed as her orgasm hit. Lauren moved her middle finger to tease her slick opening while her forefinger stayed on her clit. Oh, it felt good, but Lauren needed more than just this. She needed a cock inside her. Jake's cock. She knew it was good to go, too, despite his age. She had socialized his wife Cynthia over the years at school functions and town festivals; Cynthia liked to brag.

  She opened her eyes as her orgasm faded, and the room slowly turned back to normal. She still had a month before the first year anniversary of Cindy Marbury's death, and she had decided to wait a month after that before approaching Jake so she wouldn't appear like a vulture. Two more months without a man...she could do it standing on her head. The drought thus far was already at the year mark, what was another sixty days? She had plenty to keep her somewhat satisfied until the rainy season.

  Lauren rose and plodded to the foot of her bed, then knelt before the cedar hope chest given to her by her grandmother. Really it was nothing more than an antique adult toy box, storing Lauren's supply of dildos, lotions, and vibrating aids. The only hope Lauren expected of this box was that of a better and longer orgasm every time she opened it.

  "I'm thinking pink tonight," she said aloud and plucked a thick, realistic dildo from its plastic casing. She stroked the soft silicone, tracing the raised veins, and tested its weight in her hand briefly before leaping into bed. Shedding her sweatpants, she lay back and teased her slit with the bulbous pink head before easing it inside her.

  She gasped softly and clamped her pussy around the flexible shaft. Soon Jake would be doing this to her, sliding his cock into her pussy, and she would be clamped around him. She'd have no need to masturbate or use toys, because Jake would be pleasing her, lo
ving her clit, making her come.

  He had to. He had to fall in love with her, and she had to see to it by any means necessary. If she could show him that he was still a desirable man, and that she desired him, she knew she would win his heart.

  She needed this, she deserved this. She had had enough shit relationships in her life; she wanted somebody good. She would good for him. Jake was good, and he would be hers. She had to keep that hope alive.

  One

  Any longtime resident would readily agree that summers in Dareville were traditionally and notoriously merciless. St. Francis Cemetery, for its lack of tree cover, should particularly have been designated the town's boiling point in mid-August. Sardonic jokes of frying eggs on granite headstones might certainly have been shared by visitors come to acknowledge and remember their respective dead on a typical Dareville summer afternoon.

  Today, however, the few who solemnly strolled the grounds were granted a reprieve in a cool breeze that tickled the branches of the few trees dotting the landscape. This was weather reserved for a later day, perhaps October, but it was assuredly welcome now.

  Jake Marbury lifted his face to the sun and smiled, taking the respite as a sign of good faith from his Creator. Having come from work in his denim coveralls, he didn't feel at all uncomfortable. Sad, yes, but that was to be expected, considering…

  He lowered his gaze and fixed on the simple granite slab that marked his wife's grave. Beloved wife and mother read the caption below Cindy's full name and dates of life. There were no ornate designs or borders etched into the stone, nothing more to indicate that Cindy's final destination caused her widower any great expense. Of course, Jake had once expressed to Cindy his desire to offer her a memorial more suitable to her. Cindy, always the pragmatic one, had jokingly threatened to divorce him first before dying.

  "Don't spend money on the dead, the dead never appreciate it," she had croaked, and touched a withered hand to her throat. "Spend it on the grandchildren. Better yet, spoil your next wife with something nice."

  Jake's knees wobbled and he kneeled at Cindy's grave, recalling how those words had numbed him. "There won't be another wife," he had averred. "How can you even joke about something like that when you're dying?"

  And, despite the ravages of cancer evident on her body and in her voice, Jake saw that sparkle in her green eyes, the same point of light and life that had attracted him to Miss Cynthia Redding so many years ago. "You'll love again," she said with a firm smile. "It may take a few years, but it will happen. It had better happen, too. You have too much love in you to let go to waste." "It won't be wasted on our family." "That's not the kind of love I meant." That kind of love doesn't exist for me anymore. Jake sat back on his haunches; his shoulders slumped as he leaned forward to touch the stone. That love was in the ground now, resting in peace in a cold, steel box with his wife of forty-one years. It would never be resurrected.

  His fingers brushed along the indented date of her death. Exactly one year and one month ago his wife, while lying in his arms, breathed her last, and nothing since had been able to replace the warmth of her body against his. Try as he might to fill the void left by that final embrace, be it with carts of produce from the grocery store or a wriggling hug from one of his granddaughters, he still felt as if a part of his own body had been removed. He smiled, but inside he ached for that loss.

  "Sorry I'm late, darlin'," he whispered. He had meant to come on the exact anniversary, say a few prayers, and lay some fresh flowers instead of the tacky, vinyl bouquet left by cemetery maintenance as part of their "perpetual care" plan. His sons had prevented that visit, reasoning that Cindy would not have wanted their father to spend the day blubbering over his loss while he still had good breath in his lungs. The day was spent instead at Cindy's favorite restaurant, toasting her memory with champagne while the grandchildren dueled with their drinking straws. The store and other distractions had kept him away, until this afternoon.

  "You would have loved it, the dinner," Jake told her as his gaze panned the overgrowth leading away from the stone. He could feel the sadness projected forward as his face pinched with sadness. Seemed only yesterday the grave had been freshly dug; now, new grass blurred the borders, making it appear as if Cindy had been dead much longer.

  "It was a typical, noisy Marbury outing. Charlie pouted because Arlene got more fried shrimp on her plate, so Red had to sit between them to keep them from tearing up the place." Jake chuckled at the memory of the two little girls hissing juvenile insults at each other. "Counting shrimp, out loud, at the table!" he exclaimed.

  "But, Grandaddy made it all better with hot fudge sundaes for dessert. Of course, I had to instruct the waitress to make sure the ice cream scoops were the same size." Jake laughed. "You know, when she came back she said she even counted all the nuts to make sure they got the same amount! Oh, Cindy," he said, "we had such a good time…you should have been there."

  But the laughter gave away to a shuddering, sad sigh. Jake felt the tears sting the corners of his eyes. He had had such a good time, he had almost forgotten what the day was about, was what he was going to say. He had almost forgotten that was the day Cindy died…the day a part of him died, too.

  Without a thought for the grass and dirt staining his coveralls, he leaned further forward and rolled on his back so that the top of his silver-crowned head barely brushed the granite slab next to Cindy's. This space was to be his grave, though the stone was unmarked—not even with his name. Jake left it blank at the behest of his two sons, as neither wanted to see his father's name etched there while Jake still lived. Jake thought it odd, but complied. Perhaps seeing his name on a grave marker would cement his mortality to them, he guessed, and his family had suffered enough with Cindy's death.

  He closed his eyes, rested his twined fingers at his breastbone, and lay perfectly still. He would come here, to rest next to his wife for all eternity, and he wondered if the time would come soon. He wouldn't mind so much if it did. As much as he loved his family and the grocery—the business he owned and fostered with Cindy for nearly a decade—he found no true joy in life without her, and every day he found it increasingly difficult to stay upbeat. Minor interruptions of his misery, like last month's dinner, were just that, and hardly dented the shell that preserved his grief.

  He wondered if his regular customers and employees were aware of the pain he masked daily when he greeted them, if they knew how badly he wanted it to end so he could lie here, underground, forever.

  I miss you so damn much . Tears slid down his temples. Orange sunlight burned the insides of his eyelids as Jake sought to form Cindy's image in his mind. He longed to see her smile again, that lively spark illuminating her face. He ached for her soft, gliding touch across his bare chest when they lay together in bed, for her sweet kiss, her soft lips brushing the coarse stubble on his cheek.

  He willed the memory of her form molded against his as they made love, her soft sighs and quirky movements every time he kissed a sensitive spot, every time he entered her. How, too, could he forget that mischievous gleam in her eye that accompanied the gentle brush of her hand across his aching groin? Those touches she swore were "accidental"?

  He chuckled. What he wouldn't give for one of Cindy's accidents, just once more. How could she expect him to become aroused by another woman? How could she suggest he find love again?

  The breeze tickled a few strands of silver hair crossing his forehead and he felt a shadow cross his face. Jake thought at first the sun had ducked behind a cloud, but it didn't explain the soft breathing sound overhead. He opened his eyes to a near mirror image of himself, if that mirror were also a portal into time.

  His son, Jake, Junior had his hands plunged into his charcoal slacks, and he was frowning down at him. "Taking a nap?" "Resting," Jake, Senior mumbled and sat up straight. "You look ridiculous, Dad. What if somebody else had come this way? They might have thought you had a heart attack." J.J. scanned the breadth of the cemetery; they were the only
two people there right now. The others mourners were now gone. "You might have had one, too, if somebody scared you trying to 'revive' you."

  "I'm fine. I'm healthier than most men half my age," Jake insisted, standing. He brushed the grass and dirt from his coveralls and arms.

  I'm healthier, damn it. Healthier than his wife was. He was probably indestructible. Let him have a heart attack, he really wanted to say, and let it be a massive coronary with no hope of resuscitation. The sooner he escaped the surly bonds of earth, the sooner he could spend eternity with Cindy.

  "I hope," he added instead, "that this visit was intended more for your mother than it was for checking up on your old man."

  J.J. said nothing, and Jake sighed. He could only assume his son, having failed to find him at work and at the house, came here on a hunch. "You could have at least brought flowers, son," he said. "Made it look like you actually wanted to pay your respects."

  "I do pay my respects to Mom, I was here last Sunday," J.J. said, sounding hurt. "Just because I don't advertise it like Red does, it doesn't mean I haven't forgotten about her."

  Jake immediately felt bad. He patted his son's shoulder. "I'm sorry, son. I didn't mean it like—"

  "And you know how Mom felt about us spending money unnecessarily, even for flowers," J.J. continued, sniffling. "She wouldn't want flowers on a grave where nobody else could enjoy them. She'd want to know why I wasn't buying anything for my nieces." J.J. looked down at the grass. "Or for a girlfriend."

  Jake snorted at that. Up until the day she died, Cindy had harangued her eldest to go forth and multiply as his brother Redding had done. Jake wondered now if J.J. was feeling guilty for not having respected that final wish. Though he dated, he still wasn't actively looking.

  "True," Jake conceded. He looked at the twin long stem roses he had laid by the stone. Not an extravagance, as he picked them from the store, but he could hear Cindy clucking all the same. Her frugality and shrewd mind for business had kept the family financially comfortable, yes, but Jake had often distressed over the fact that Cindy had not received the luxuries she so deserved in life.