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Rhymes with Foreplay

 

Available Now from Liquid Silver Books!!

When April Valenzuela's memory goes missing, all her money can't buy it back. Good thing hunky guitarist Zach Harris is on hand to teach her about Love...from A to Z.


Love, From A to Z

Prologue
Friday Night
Venice Beach, CA

            April Valenzuela wasn't going anywhere.  No matter how pissy and bad tempered her cousin Richie got, she was going to stay right where she was.  It was Richie who had suggested this night of bar hopping in the first place.  He'd dragged her all over the L.A. Basin, hitting one sleazy nightspot after another, finally landing them here, at this mostly forgettable Venice Beach dive where April had at last discovered something that might make the whole sorry evening worthwhile.

            The lead guitarist of the band currently reigning over the bar's small stage was easily the best thing she'd seen in a long, long time.   Even scruffily dressed in a faded black T that accentuated broad shoulders and a nice pair of pecs; and torn jeans that molded enticingly around the impressive bulge at his crotch, he was breathtaking.  With his tall, sinewy build, devilish smile and angelic, golden curls, he took hot to a whole new level.  And the way he played!  Well, that was taking her to another level, as well.

            She wasn't sure how he did it.  It could be something to do with the way he held the neck of his guitar, she supposed, combined with a strange, somewhat complicated picking technique.  Whatever it was, it was fan-fucking-tastic.  She sat mesmerized, watching as his fingers coaxed music from the strings,  feeling every one of those delicious notes as they vibrated deep inside her, making her clit throb and her nipples bead tight.  She’d bet anything it was intentional.

            "C'mon, let's go,"� Richie whined again.

            "Not a chance,"� April snapped.  You couldn't really climax simply from listening to someone play their guitar, could you?   The longer he played, the less certain of that she became.   For the sake of research alone, she owed it to herself to stay and find out.  She gestured at the empty glasses on the table in front of them. "Look,  Richie, if you're that restless, why don’t you go get us some fresh drinks?  It'll do you good to stretch your legs."�  It'll do me good to get you out of my hair for a couple of minutes.

            Sighing impatiently, Richie pushed away from the table.  "Bitch," he muttered beneath his breath as he headed for the bar. 

            April shrugged.  "Wow, how original."�  She was a bitch, damn it, and even though she'd never in a million years consider wearing one of those flashy gold necklaces that proclaimed it to the world, she was proud of it.  It was a quality she'd developed young, it was what helped her survive the cut-throat family politics she'd had to endure following the deaths of her parents.  It was precisely the reason her grandfather had chosen her to inherit the bulk of his estate when he died six months ago, much to her relatives continued dismay.  

            So, if Richie didn't like it, he could kiss her ass.  She had no illusions about why he'd invited her out tonight, anyway.  No doubt he was hoping to hit her up for money.  It was the same ploy his father had used only last week, inviting her to lunch with him at his club, and then asking for a loan.

            "It's not really a loan, though, Uncle George," she'd pointed out.  "Is it?  I mean, after all, it's not like you'd ever planned on paying me back."

            George hadn't taken being turned down well, not that she'd expected him to.  Most likely Richie wouldn't like it much either.  But that was just too bad and, come to think of it, if that was the case, they could both kiss her ass.

            Just then, the guitarist launched into another of those wicked little riffs that practically had her coming in her seat.  She squirmed restlessly as heat pulsed inside her, then gasped in surprise when her pussy clenched.  Damn.  Almost.  When she raised her gaze to his face, the look in his eyes only reinforced what her own intuition had already told her.  He knew just what he was doing to her, and loving every second.

            Not that she wasn't enjoying it even more herself, of course.   And, as this was all the enjoyment she was going to get from him, she decided to make the most of it.  "Ooh, yeah, bring it, baby,"� she murmured as she stretched, arching her back, raking her fingers through her hair.  The movement caused her breasts to strain against the sheer fabric of her blouse, riveting his gaze.  That's better, she thought, smiling slyly as she reclined in her seat, the better to feel the sensations as they washed through her. 

Her eyes narrowed down to tiny little slits as she felt her labia soften and swell.  As her fingers traced the neckline of her blouse, skimming lightly over the curves of her breasts, she longed for the courage to slip her fingers beneath the filmy silk, to massage the aching tips.  Or, better yet, to slide a hand between her legs, and help things along.  But she wasn't that brave.  

            She would have liked to take her new playmate home with her, too; to strip him out of those clothes and find out how much of that bulge was for real, to dig her nails into those broad shoulders, to test her teeth against those taut pecs.  But all of that was out of the question.  She knew only too well what would happen if she did.  It didn't really matter how hot he was, or how good they might be together.  One look at the manse, and he'd find himself falling madly in love--with her money.


 

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Copyright 2006, PG Forte