Just Released!
Sweet Victory
Tomorrow
is the day for beginning a new career for Christina Lakely—the dream job.
Confident and excited she is to embark upon the path to become a police officer.
But as in all romantic situations for her, things do not go as she plans. She
encounters a powerful and attractive man in a café—possibly the man of all her
fantasies. Although he expresses avid interest in her and she is equally
attracted to his rugged male qualities, Christina rebuffs his advances knowing
that she will be spending all her precious time, energy, and thoughts toiling in
the police academy.
But there are problems at the academy. There is someone there who doesn’t want
her to graduate. There is someone who has the wrong idea about Christina Lakely—and
the way she will live her upcoming days. Love, mystery, and real life collide in
this romantic slingshot ride; but deception may be right around the corner. It
always is…
Available Now!
A Romantic Mystery of the Future.
A time when robots and people interact. And maybe they shouldn’t.
If you like romance, mystery, sci fi, and adventure, this is the book for you.
Officer Richard Berry has a problem. Not only has a smuggling ring for robotic transistors (that would enable robotic terrorism) set up shop in his district, but a fellow officer has turned up dead. So now Berry must infiltrate the neighborhood posing as an immature dysfunctional robot – a robot that looks and acts very much like a human child – to find the culprits. But who knew that in this disguise he would meet Dannielle Lawrence, the woman of his dreams?
And his nightmares.
ONE
HOUR SERVICE
The Time for Clean
--and Suspense--
is Now.
Coming Soon From Barbara Weinberg & Dinah Roseberry
You'll think twice the next time you go to the cleaners . . .
Sample Chapter
CHAPTER ONE
"Damn!" she cursed under her breath. Wiping bits of makeup from her fingers onto a nearby towel -- beige on white -- she shook her head, frustration lines touching her normally smooth forehead. "Is this what I went to college for?" Perspiration dripped over her eyes and down her cheeks, forcing Tracy to smear what was left of her sparsely applied makeup.
Her small dry cleaning shop was at least 110 degrees and the green drum‑like machine was filled to capacity with hot and sticky clothes. Other peoples' clothes. Other peoples' lives. Other peoples' dirt. Tracy's entire body felt wet and miserable.
Sighing, she bent over to grab yet another armful of rank clothing and fought a shiver of disgust. Learn the business from the bottom up, her father had preached to her. It was the only respectable way in his eyes! But retiring at such an early age and then expecting her to step in to run the family business had not been in her plans. Even his part time visits to scrutinize her failures were becoming a hassle. And just what about her chosen profession?
Tracy growled at her thoughts and shook her head, knowing that she was not being fair to her father. He was a great help. Really he was. And he'd spend a great portion of his life trying to make the business a success, with dreams of his daughter following in his dry cleaning ways. He taught and figured and clucked over the business until she got it right.
"BAH!" Tracy grumbled, again wiping her moist forehead. "Fine! Learn the business. Just fine! But why did you have to take a trip the same time everyone else was on vacation, Daddy?" she whispered. Drying the tiny beads of water above her lip, she threw the towel to the floor. "And Hawaii, yet! I should be in Hawaii! Dirty laundry! Hot, dirty laundry!"
Picking up an attractive, but stained, suit coat, Tracy's anger at her situation worsened. "Damn!" she said again. "I tell that girl over and over again. And then I tell her another time! Check through pockets before sending the stuff back here!"
Reaching into the breast pocket of the jacket she held, Tracy pulled out an envelope with a wad of photographs sticking out from the top. "Hmmmmm," she said, unconsciously pushing the cloth of her yellow cotton t‑shirt close between her breasts to soak up the mounting sweat there.
She'd always had a passion for photographs ‑‑ especially other peoples’ -- and although she hated to admit it, she knew there was a nosey streak racing through her at full gallop. Her mother was the same way. Why, once, she had even peeked into her neighbor's diary that had been laying prominently on the counter when she’d visited; and no one with a normal nose would do that! Photographs held that same allure!
The soft, blue velvet eyes of a handsome young man stared out from the top photograph in her hand. He looked to be in his late twenties. His tan ‑‑ not too dark, nor too light ‑‑ was accented by streaks of golden blonde body hair. Tracy shuttered inwardly and chills ran breakneck along her limbs. What a classic feeling, she told herself with an inward shrug. The man's eyes seemed hypnotic ‑‑ even in the photograph ‑‑ and the energy he inspired was profoundly sensuous! “Wow,” she whispered.
Dressed in pale yellow shorts with wisps of blonde hairs evenly spread on his masculine legs, his confidence was evident. He stood straight and tall; and was not the least bit conscious of the blondish curls peaking out of the matching yellow and white striped shirt. He had read style. She pondered him further. His chest was broad and rippled with muscles. Tracy shivered involuntarily. Again, the emotion inspired by classic maleness shook her.
"Lordy! Those eyes could make ice cream melt!"
A sudden static‑like screech came over the intercom from the main shop, jarring her attention and adding still more discomfort.
"Tracy, could you come up to the shop‑front for a minute?"
Jolted back to reality, Tracy sighed and pushed the answer button. "Sure, Sally. Be right there."
Sally had been her father's favorite employee, weathering the recent employment crunch that raped most service businesses. She had been with him for three entire years ‑‑ a lifetime in his eyes, no one stayed in the laundry and dry cleaning business consistently on the worker's side. The daily drudge was hard and hot when working with dirty clothes, and grating on the nerves for those in the front shop. Customers could prove to be very overwhelming at times for the strongest of employee temperament. The days of happy customers and smiling faces were diminishing.
Taking one more quick look at the photograph, Tracy sighed, stuffed the photographs back into the envelope and dropped it on the counter. The man in the photo was captivating, but he would have to wait. As her father always said, the business had to come first. She tugged herself away from his photogenic charm, knowing that his handsome face would be there upon her return.
Briefly, she stopped to right herself in front of a darkening mirror at the exit door of the hot oven‑like room she was working in. Her long hair ‑‑ a bit stringy from the dampness, but soft and usually appealing ‑‑ clung to the nape of her slender neck. Even the golden tan she had struggled to get over the summer did not help the matted appearance she cast at this moment. Brushing back her bangs with her fingers and blowing air from her mouth in abhorrence of her appearance, she shrugged and walked towards the smartly decorated small shop front.
Her father continually reminded her that the little dry cleaning business, with all its frills and thrills, would be hers one day. That thought, now a reality, positively sickened her. If she had her way . . . well, there was no sense thinking about that, was there? She really could not hurt her father. The dilemma needed further study, for sure.
She wondered what Sally wanted, more than a little annoyed that there was so much work to be done in the back and now an impending intrusion of front shop politics as well would probably need addressing.
Walking into the main shop, Tracy, relieved by the rush of cold conditioned air striking her face from the front room, was forced to take her breath in sharply. She couldn't believe her eyes! Swallowing hard, she stared directly at the man from the photograph she'd just found.
He stood stately and self‑assured on the other side of the counter, talking to Sally. His tall, athletic physique gave him the appearance of instant authority; and the expensive sports coat worn with tightly creased trousers only emphasized that special commanding aura. Standing there, boldly intimidating, his brows drew together in an angry expression; and his blue eyes seemed to spout the flame of a thousand fires. With raised voice now, he scolded Sally.
Tracy unconsciously licked her lips and pulled her blonde hair back, grimacing at the wetness of it. Oh, how she looked! She was unduly aware of her damp t‑shirt, clinging to her bare breasts in a very distasteful and distinctive fashion. And the white shorts, so perfectly pressed this morning, wore the wrinkles of a tiring and hot day. Makeup long since smeared and sweated off did not boost her courage.
The man of my dreams walks right into my shop and I'm a total mess! The situation brought to mind still another of her father's endlessly boring lessons come true: Always expect the unexpected and be prepared for the worst -- or the best.
Noticing Tracy finally, Sally, whose appearance was as fresh and cool as the air conditioned room she worked in, gladly shifted her attention from the young man who was abusing her verbally.
"Oh, Tracy," she said, her voice sounding thankful. "This is Mr. Bradley Davis. He brought in a few suits to be cleaned, and . . . well . . . he thinks he left some photos in the pocket of his grey suit coat."
Sally was obviously as unnerved by the man's cool good looks as she was and was fighting hard not to stammer. Her face was flushed and her eyes wide as a startled doe.
Tracy dismissed the twinge of jealousy, felt because Sally's crisp appearance maximized her own disheveled image. It was obvious that the girl's limited professionalism could not withstand the candor of this particular customer; and disheveled or not, Tracy was the boss!
"I tried to explain to him that we always check clothing for such things before cleaning." Sally's eyes pleaded with Tracy to take over the complaint.
Before Tracy could say anything, however, the man stepped closer to the counter in a threatening manner. Sally stepped back.
"I want to speak to someone in charge," he demanded, his blue eyes glaring at both women. "I'm certain I left those pictures in that suit, and I intend to have them back!"
Tracy, now fully renewed by the coolness of the air conditioned shop, was no longer intimidated by the man and his alluring good looks. She was mad! Who was he talking to, anyway? Handsome or not, he was not going to brow‑beat one of her employees! She was in charge! Her father had made that very clear!
"Are you finished reprimanding us, sir?" she asked, stunning herself with the frosty tone of her voice.
His icy eyes took in her strawberry blonde hair, and very slowly continued to sweep over her body.
Tracy watched his eyes study her, alternately angered and pleased by the attention. Rich velvet glances traveled down to the faded t‑shirt with the saying "I LOVE MY GERMAN SHEPARD" written boldly on the front, accenting her small but firm breasts. She watched his face with matched defiance, determined not to allow this attractive but offensive man to get the best of her. She would not lower her eyes, nor would she blush. She hoped.
His scrutinizing eyes had stopped and were now lingering on her well proportioned breasts; and from the look on his face, Tracy knew that he secretly wished she were wearing something even a bit more revealing than she was. She thanked the heavens she was not, though still feeling the discomfort of knowing that visible body parts were prominent through t-shirt material!
Sally, was becoming uncomfortable with the lapse of time it was taking for him to survey Tracy's body. She cleared her throat and Tracy glanced over to her with a shrug that said: how boring.
Blinking, his eyes moved to her tiny waist and shapely hips. Part of Tracy felt thrilled to have him see her crammed so into the white cotton shorts, but another part of her cringed. She would have to see to it that, with her next pay check, she would buy shorts a little less fitted. Who knew that the glance of a handsome man would have her feeling discomfort with her style of dressing.
His eyes were now resting with approval on her long shapely legs. Thank God for gym memberships, she thought, proud of her strong leg muscles. She could see from the slight quiver of his lower lip that he had a passion for legs. Tracy tried to imagine her legs tangled around his willing body. She shivered again and snapped back to reality. Why did certain men have the ability to stir their female counterparts so? She suspected that her own power had never touched that intensity.
At that same moment, seeing her involuntary movement, he also became alert. His eyes flew back to her face and the soft sexy desire had changed back to anger.
Tracy shifted her weight from foot to foot, hand planted firmly on her curved hips. How dare he look at her like that? Handsome or now, how dare he? Of course, knowing that her firm and pointed breasts and taunt legs were her finer assets, her anger mellowed to a kind of relief that he was at least looking at her face now. Although she worried about the head of matted damp hair she wore!
Obviously unaware of his arrogant behavior, the man finally brought his gaze to rest on Tracy's uncertain gray eyes.
Goosebumps broke out on Tracy's arms, and her nipples beneath the damp cotton t‑shirt went taunt. She folded her arms to hide her embarrassment of her body’s betrayal.
"Yes, I'm done!" he responded, not missing the changes in her body. His own body appeared to be reacting and he tugged at the bottom of his jacket and then folded his strong hands in front on his body. He continued smugly, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, "Now may I see the manager? Or the owner. Someone with some authority? Please."
"She is the manager, sir," answered Sally, slightly amused by the man's reaction to Tracy. The girl no longer felt threatened now that Tracy had taken over as the main point of abuse.
"It's okay, Sally," said Tracy smoothly. Her body was now partially under control. "I'll handle things from here."
Sally nodded knowingly and quickly moved into the rear of the store as Tracy turned to the man. Now somewhat sorry for the earlier tone of her voice, and remembering her father's advice that "the customer was always right," she said to him, "Forgive the mix up ‑‑ Mr. Davis is it?"
He nodded and continued to peer at her. Tracy's skin crawled with delightful little chills. Her nipples grew rigid again. Would her body never stay calm? Despite her discomfort, though, Tracy began to gain composure. His stare was no longer menacing. He now seemed amused and, she was surprised to realize, a bit interested in her.
"Actually, I've found the photographs already. I'll go back and get them if you would kindly wait." Though she was more relaxed, Tracy still needed to get away from that probing blue stare! It seemed as if her every thought was mirrored right in his eyes for the world to see.
"Thank God! I'll go with you," he said, relief seeming to pour from his lips.
"That's not necessary, really," Tracy said rather unconvincingly. "They're not heavy." Her smile was weak.
She could not help but smile at Bradley Davis. Now that he had calmed himself, an elusive charm he projected was even more irresistible then the previous fire. She allowed herself a second or two of fantasy, drowning in his velvet eyes; and considering what it would be like to have his strong arms about her. It had been such a long time since she'd felt any genuine attraction for a man.
Almost desperately he whispered, "No, please. These pictures are very important to me. Please allow me to accompany you."
Tracy frowned, a little sorry that she had not taken the time to flip through the rest of the photographs. Why were they so important to him? And why did he appear so . . . so . . . cautious and untrusting?
She relented, even though her father had warned her that it was best not to allow the general public in the oven ‑‑ a nickname for the room where all the real work was done. All the hot work. All the disgusting work. The impression was bad for business.
"Follow me, then," she said, shrugging, forgetting her father.
Feeling his eyes at her back as they walked to the oven made Tracy very uncomfortable and more than a bit apprehensive. Why hadn't he come to the shop in the morning, when she had been fresh and clean? What would he think of her damp shirt and hanging hair? Oh, and her makeup was gone, too! She looked a sight! And not a pleasant one, either.
All she could do, however, was to keep walking and hope for the best. She allowed her hips to swing and threw her had back as she dislodged the hair from the back of her neck. There was no sense wasting a good opportunity even if she was a total mess. Maybe the back of her body could keep his eyes from the perspiring front parts. Either way, possibilities were always endless in attraction.
Finally, they were at the small counter where she had left the photographs earlier. The room was still very hot ‑‑ at least twenty degrees higher than the sunny outdoors; and Tracy began to perspire almost immediately, the heat and nervous tension taking over her body functions.
"Here they are, Mr. Davis." she said, handing the photographs to him with a careless smile. "Good as new!
"I'm glad I found them before they were cleaned! You see, the cleaning solution would've ruined them." Stretching her neck to look at the pictures at the same time he did, she apologized, "I hope we didn't cause you too much inconvenience."
Bradley Davis pulled the photographs back from her view in an quick, abrupt movement, making Tracy step back from him. His face was angry as he flipped through them checking to see that they were all there.
"Did you look at these pictures?" he demanded, his angry glare returning and his eyes searching hers for the truth.
"Why, no. I only saw the one of you on the top." Tracy became defensive. Just what was this man hiding in those pictures? He was speaking to her as if she were on trial!
"Did anyone else see them?" His voice was demanding and cold, holding an edge of aggression that she didn’t care for.
"I assure you that if I had not been the one who found your pictures, someone else might have looked at them. That's only natural. But I, personally, am much too busy to waste valuable time on someone else's private property." Glancing toward the ceiling to make sure that she was not going to be struck by lightning for her tremendous lie, she sighed and continued, "Besides, what harm would it have been if that had happened? It surely wouldn't have been the end of the world!"
"Look Miss, granted it was my mistake for leaving them in my pocket. But that does not give you, or any of your employees, the right to go through someone's personal belongings. If that's the way you run this business, I doubt you'll be around very long!"
Tracy's patience was slipping now, despite her father’s nagging warning in her mind. This man was insufferable and she was quickly realizing that the customer was not always right! How else could a patron's property be protected if they did not check for accidental loss? It was policy in every cleaning establishment she knew of to examine clothing for any personal belongings that might be of value to the customer ‑‑ or harmful to the machines.
"Now see here, you‑‑"
"Did anyone see them?" he interrupted with force and agitation.
"No! I already told you, no!"
The tone of his voice suggested that she, or one of her employees, had deliberately invaded his precious privacy! She swallowed the fury, though, seeing suddenly something that looked like fear in his eyes. She had, after all, planned to look at them. Tracy lowered her eyes, knowing he was right, but not understanding the importance of his accuracy.
"Well," he said with relief, "I guess there's no harm done then."
No harm done. How dare he say that? Or even think it? All the nasty things he'd implied! Could she just let all that pass, even if he was right to suspect her?
Tracy knew, however, that she must allow her anger to pass. This was, after all, a job, a business, a way to take all the stimulation from her life during the daylight hours. And the customer should always be right. A slight look of, what appeared to be, fear ‑‑ or something she could not identify ‑‑ passed quickly over his face again. He offered her an apologetic smile.
Tracy sighed and relented with a shake of her head, wishing for a code of ethics among customers.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "Please accept my apology. I've been a bit rough on you. Things have been . . . well, I'm sorry, that's all."
Tracy gave a small laugh, relieved that the uncomfortable moment had passed. The pictures didn't really matter, anyway. "You know what they say!” she replied. “The customer is always right! It's true what Sally said before, though. We are supposed to check all pockets while the customer is still in the shop; but I have one school girl working for us who just can't seem to remember to do it.
"At least once a week I end up cleaning someone's ink pen or something! That can really get messy! And expensive for us."
He nodded absently and looked causally about the room, his previous temperament completely dissipated. This gave Tracy a moment to appreciate his tempting, muscular body again.
There was an air of power about him evident in the tall, straight manner in which he stood before her. His khaki slacks, neatly pressed and just the right length, fit tightly against his rugged thighs; and his navy jacket brought out the velvet in his blue eyes. A brilliant white shirt beneath the coat rested handsomely on his chest with a pinstriped tie centered down the middle, covering the buttons she so wildly wanted to undo. Devilishly handsome and self‑confident, he reminded her of everything she had once possessed but lost.
No. That was wrong. Ted could never have brought her flesh to goose bumps the way this man was now doing. Ted was an idiot.
He was dead, a closed chapter in her book of painful interludes to romance. Let him live with that trollop in the islands. For Tracy, his memory had been exorcised. She sniffed and forgot Ted in the face of this new and wonderful stranger.
"Do you do all the dry cleaning?" he finally asked, drops of moisture now clinging to his forehead and wetting his light hair from the humidity in the room.
"No. Only when the regular man is on vacation and Dad's not here to cover for him."
"Sounds like you're a jack of all trades!"
"Not really. But you pick up a lot of stuff when you're around all the time. I help out here and there . . ."
"So what is it that you really would like to do, then?" He reached over and brushed a loose strand of blonde hair from her eyes.
Tracy swallowed hard and fought panic. He had touched her and her flesh was heating up from that small, inconsequential sweet contact!
"Well," she began uncertainly, "I went to college to become a paralegal, work with law ‑‑ that kind of thing. But this is my business now that my father has retired." Her breath was coming much too quickly to suit her. "Such that it is." An uncomfortable laugh followed the statement.
She glanced at him self‑consciously. Obviously feeling the immense heat of the room now, Bradley had begun to peel off his sports coat.
Tracy, watched each motion as he removed the coat, loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, as though he’d planned to stay rather than take his photos and run from the hot little shop. She had to struggle with herself to hold back the gasp that was in her throat as he gingerly rolled up his crisp white shirt sleeves to expose golden straining biceps; and she blushed warmly at the wonderful tightness of his khaki's. His body was magnificent!
Heart pounding now, Tracy cleared her throat. "By the way," she said with an unsure smile, "my name is Tracy Carey." She wiped her hand unconsciously on the butt of her shorts and held it unsteadily out for him to shake.
Looking relaxed with himself and his surroundings now, he openly surveyed her figure and shook her hand, squeezing it every so lightly. His re‑examination of her was polite this time. Stirring, but polite. Tracy tried to stay calm.
"How about dinner tonight?" he said suddenly and without any prior thought evident.
The question startled Tracy. This wonderful, good looking man had asked her to dinner! Was it possible that she had heard correctly? Could he really want to be with her, even though she could not have possibly made a good first impression in all her damp persona?
"A problem?" he asked, noticing the unusually long pause between them.
Tracy's heart fluttered and butterflies touched her stomach. "I think my schedule is free for tonight," Tracy said, recovering from the momentary lapse of speech. The truth was, she had not had a decent date in months! No one ‑‑ until now ‑‑ had compared with Ted.
"Do you like Italian," he asked, interrupting her scattered thoughts. "I know a great little place. No crowds. Soft lights. How's that sound?"
"Fine," she replied, trying to hide her excitement. She wanted him to think that this was just another routine dinner date and not the step into fantasy that she anticipated. Taking out a pad and pencil she bent down to jot an address and directions for him. She could feel his eyes roam over her body while she wrote; and from the corner of her eye, she saw his interest in her legs, which were highly visible beneath the little white shorts she wore.
His eyes then moved slowly to her breasts again and she heaved a sigh to tease him. Her nipples hardened with arousal and she became slightly embarrassed knowing that he surely noticed the change in her body. Why can’t I control that? she thought with annoyance.
Sexily shifting her hips to distract his glance away from her breasts, she brushed her strawberry locks back off her face. She had to control herself somehow! Glancing down at her tan arms she was reminded how very hard she had had to work to get them to their current golden color. Thank the Lord it seemed to be paying off because she, at least, felt more desirable at this moment than previously. After all, something about her must have attracted him enough to ask her out!
"I'll be at my parents' house," she said finally, handing him the paper and blinking her eyes at him. "It's not really hard to find, but I put the phone number down, just in case."
Tracy was very pleased with herself. Not being overly confident with men, she had more than once, failed to attract the kind of man she truly liked. But everything was going just fine this time! This man proved that Ted had really become as extinct in her heart as she’d told everyone.
"Seven‑thirty then?" he asked, picking up his coat and moving to the door.
"Fine," she said in little more than a whisper. "Oh," she added, just realizing that he had laid down his photographs as he slipped her directions into his wallet, "don't forget your pictures!"
He turned quickly and glared towards the photographs she held. In seconds he was at her side and tearing the pictures from her hand, his eyes hard and the muscles in his face rigid. His nose twitched.
Tracy recoiled. Was this the same sexy man who had asked her to dinner only moments before? What was the story behind those photographs?
She swallowed hard and remained silent.
Again, as suddenly as his anger came, the mood changed, his face becoming warm and passive. He smiled at her and tilted her chin upward. "Till tonight," he said and winked. With that, he slung his coat over his shoulder and was gone.
“Boy, has this ever been my lucky day!" Tracy mumbled to herself and tugged at her shorts. She wondered if the chills running through her were from Bradley Davis' powerful charm or from the odd feeling she had about his involvement with the mysterious photographs. Intuition was a very strange malady. She didn't know what Mr. Davis' and his strange magnetism held for her, but she intended to find out.
Tonight!