One Night Stand (New Yorker III)

ONE NIGHT STAND

The New Yorker
3

M.O. Kenyan

Erotic Romance

Secret Cravings
Publishing

www.secretcravingspublishing.com

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A
Secret Cravings Publishing Book

Erotic Romance

One Night Stand

Copyright ©
2014
 
M.O
. Kenyan

E-book ISBN: 978-1-63105-315-3

First E-book Publication:
 
September 2014
   

Cover design by
Dawné
Dominique

Edited by Judah
Raine

Proofread by Renee
Waring

All cover art and logo copyright ©
2014 by Secret Cravings Publishing

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All characters and events in this
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PUBLISHER

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Dedication

Don’t
ever get tired of waiting for love...

I would like to thank Judah,
Dawne
and the SCP team for sticking with me.

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*
Trouble With a Cowboy
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18 wheels had her heart until one hard-up cowboy found her
kickin
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to Vegas.

Jacie
Hawkins drives big wheelers for a
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'. Something not a lot of women do. Littleton Oklahoma
is just a dry stopover for a few hours of rest and relaxation at the nearest
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**
Blood Kisses
(Nightwalkers 1)
, paranormal erotic romance:

Ashleigh
Brown, the author of the popular Nightwalkers series, lives a quiet life free
of the limelight.
 
She keeps her
real identity secret by writing under the pen name, Victoria Allure.
 
She soon finds herself in a bind when
she's kidnapped by a group of handsome vampires seeking Victoria.
 
She then agrees to meet their Master,
who's a huge fan of her books.
 
But
instead of meeting him, she accidentally crosses paths with her rock star
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He is the sexy muse behind
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anything to meet him but little does she know her crush has a secret...

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ONE
NIGHT STAND

M.O. Kenyan

Copyright © 2014

Prologue

“What
do you mean?” A warm tear rolled down her cheek. She wanted to wipe it off, to
show how strong she was, but there was no room for pretense—not now when she
was about to lose everything.

She was
standing in the middle of the living room, in a home she had made with the man
she loved. And even though she looked at him, saw his dark curly hair, his
amber, honey eyes, and that crooked
smile,
she still
couldn’t believe it was him. “In sickness and in health, through good and bad
times, till death do us part,” she mumbled.

“Well,
Cat, it seems like you’re almost there,” he barked out. And as soon as the
words left his lips she could see the regret in his eyes. He combed his fingers
through his hair, as he always did when he was frustrated. Ever since she got
sick, she realized this simple act had grown habitual.

“I love
you,” she whispered choosing to disregard his last statement

“And I
love you—”

“But
not as much as you used to.” She finished the sentence for him—it sounded less
painful coming from her than it did from him. Cat let another tear roll down
her cheek as she fought for control and to keep her breathing in check. “So
what do you want to do?”

“We
can’t be together,” he mumbled as he shook his head. “Eighteen was too young to
get married. We should have listened to your parents.”

“Michael.”
A bitter laugh rolled through her. “You aren’t leaving because we got married
young and you don't love me anymore. You’re leaving because you’re tired of
this
,” she yelled as she pulled off the
scarf that covered her bald head. She then pulled the corner of her shirt down
to show the chemotherapy port next to her armpit. “You’re leaving because you’re
sick and tired of me being sick.” Her words labored as she said each one with a
huff.

“That’s
not it,” he shouted then repeated it, exasperated: “That’s not it. I want
kids.”

Cat
stumbled back, the weight of his accusation hitting her in the chest like a ton
of bricks. “You decided not to freeze my eggs. It’s your fault that we can’t
have any kids. The doctor told you the chemotherapy, the radiation and whatever
juice they had me on would fry my eggs.”

“Can we
just not argue about this anymore?” Michael waved his hand in a dismissive,
exasperated gesture and turned his back on her. He headed to their bedroom, and
when he returned he had his bags with him. “My lawyer will call you. I don’t
want to drag this out. You can have anything you want. I will also help with
the medical bills.”

“I
don’t want anything,” Cat mumbled as she sank into the chair beside her.
“Please leave. I don’t want to see you ever again.”

“There’s
no need to—”

“Maybe
I’ll die even before the papers get here.” Cat
laughed,
the pain in it evident.

“Don’t
do anything stupid.”

“Maybe
you aren’t the only one who thinks I’m a burden. Maybe it would be easier if
the treatments and the transplant failed once again. Maybe everyone will be
able to move on with their lives without me holding them back,” she mumbled,
feeling lost all of a sudden.

“Don’t
try and guilt trip me, Cat, it won’t work,” he said.

“I
know, because you have an ice box where your heart used to be.” Cat sang it out
in tune then laughed. She slid down on the floor and rolled around, her painful
laughter filling each corner of the small apartment. The sound of the door
banging closed pulled her out of her trance. It was done. She was now
officially alone.

Cat sat
up and the loneliness crept in. She felt desperate, and all she wanted to do
was to be free of herself, and to free everyone else in turn. She had a
fifty-fifty chance of the transplant and treatment failing a second time, and a
one percent chance of ever conceiving. This gave her an equally one percent
chance to find a guy who would love her. With all the odds stacked up against
her, she wondered why she should bother with the world any longer when it
seemed to have turned its back on her already. Her tired body and mind pleaded for
release, asking her why she was struggling with a life that didn’t want her.

She
felt a slight shiver and her arms encircled her frail body. She decided on a
warm bath. And, in those few steps from the living room to the bathroom, she
was going to decide what to do with her life.

Cat
turned the tap on and sat on the side of the bath. She pulled off her clothes
and stood in front of the full length mirror. The chemo-port had left an ugly
scar above her breast. The treatment had turned her once voluptuous, luscious
body to that of a skeleton. The shine of her bald head pulled her attention to
where she once had long, thick, curly, jet black hair. Her once bronze skin was
now ashen and seemed to be peeling off.

Cat
didn’t like the way she looked, or how she felt. Michael had left her. And
although she had her family with her they were supposed to be there, had been engineered
by God to love her. The only person who had chosen to be with her had walked
out the door.

 
She pulled herself away from the frail
image in the mirror and headed for her medicine cabinet. She had a bottle of
sleeping pills—they were supposed to help her sleep when she was in pain. She
never used them because the pain reminded her that she was still alive, and
sleep was the last thing that she had ever wanted to do. The act of sleeping
seemed too close to death, so that she often didn’t want to risk closing her
eyes…just in case.

But now
she felt like she was feeling too much. She wanted to mute the voices in her
head and to numb the feelings in her weary body and her broken heart. In that
second, what people called an act of selfishness, she thought of as an act of
selflessness. Cat climbed into the bath tub with the sleeping pills in hand.
Once she was comfortable, she popped them in her mouth one at a time and waited
for the cold breeze of death to take her away.

* * *
*

He
rolled to the left side of the bed, but no one was there. His hand felt the
cold, empty space his wife had left there, and also in his heart. But it was
his fault. He couldn’t give Ava what she wanted the most. He used to be able to
command, had the entire world at his feet, but all he had now was a rat-infested
motel.

Ethan
groaned when his phone rang. But he had to look on the bright side—at least his
phone wasn’t cancelled. The old man seemed to still want to keep the
communication lines open. But when Ethan answered it wasn’t his father but his
uncle, Harry.

“Hallo?
What? What do you mean?” The questions flew out of his lips without pause,
voicing the thoughts and fears racing through him.

Ethan
jumped off the bed and hunted for the only set of clothes the building manager
at his apartment had let him take. He ran out of his motel room, only to be
reminded that he didn’t own a car any more. He ran towards the road, hoping to
catch a cab.
A cab that he wouldn’t be able to afford.
He heard someone call him from behind and, when he turned, the motel owner was
coming after him with a baseball bat.

Ethan
jumped into the first cab that pulled up and gave the driver the address. He
couldn’t think of how he was going to pay him. He could only hope Harry would
take care of it. Right now the only thing he would think about was what his
uncle had told him. Harry’s words echoed in his ears. “Your father is dead.”