New Erotic Romance
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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