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Something Tangible




Genre: Contemporary/Interracial



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Brett Kingston is an acquirer, of signatures, giving ownership of properties to Midas Development, his father's company. Never has anyone distracted him from the heartless business of sealing the deal, until during a final test he meets LJ, a woman who refuses to sell to him, no matter the offer. Agreeing to an insane pact for a mere shot at securing his contract, Brett discovers there is more to life than what he's known. Lydia "LJ" Johnson learns not only is there more than meets the eye when it comes to the rich wheeler and dealer, but anything can happen.

Content below is not suitable if under 18.


"May I help you?" her curt voice asked.

What the hell caused her voice to lose warmth? Polite still, but just barely. He trailed his gaze over the smooth brown skin of her face. An urge he'd not felt in a very long time skated up his spine, catching him unawares. Desire. Lust.

"I'm here to speak to LJ."

Okay, there was no disguising the icy coating in her gaze this time. "You're from Midas Development." Disgust and venom coated her words and even though it was summer, he swore the temperature fell a few degrees.

"Brett Kingston."

He didn't offer a charming smile. He hadn't come to flirt, he wanted the signed documents and wanted out of there as quick as possible.

"I didn't ask for your name. You're wasting your time. There will be no deal with Midas Development. So take your overpriced baggage and clothes and get back to the dock, Rolo's leaving." She stepped back and slammed the door in his face.

What the hell? He turned and peered down by the dock. Rolo waved and Brett shook his head. The wind that tore through whisked away whatever the man hollered.

He faced the door again and knocked. Moments later, the door opened. Damn it all, that hitch and spine tingling thing happened again.

She looked at him briefly. "You didn't leave."

"I won't be going anywhere until I speak to Mr. LJ."

"He's not available and--"

"Until I speak with him, I'm not leaving." He spoke with steely determination.

"Too late now anyways. I hope you have a tent in those fancy bags of yours."

Tent? Why would I need a tent? "Look, why don't you just tell me where he is, so I can find a place to stay."

She crossed her arms and stared at him, still no warmth in her gaze. "You want a place to stay? Shoulda left with Rolo. Storm's coming."

Of course it was. He just wanted some sleep.

"There's an old cabin down that way." She gave a jerk with her head.

"And LJ is?"

"At neither place. Just thought you might want out of the rain that's comin'."

"When will he be back with the boat?"

"He usually comes once a week."

Rain began to fall and he looked at her. Immoveable. This woman didn't care what weather he was out in. Grinding his teeth together, he turned and headed to the cabin she'd mentioned. Surely, it would be better than standing on her porch.

He sloshed and slid as he did his best to keep his computer bag dry. Finally, he made out the edge of a small cabin. It was dark. Anger grew the closer he got. Damn her! This place was falling apart.

The front porch was rippled and broken; busted windows, and two roof beams had fallen as well. Cautiously he pushed in. He shivered; the rain-soaked clothes he wore not comfortable. Being wet and muddy didn't improve his mood.

"Hello?" he called out despite his confidence no one was here. At least he was out of the rain. Drip. Water hit his head.

You have got to be shittin' me. He moved further in. Not very big, there were only two rooms. A bedroom, where the beams had collapsed and the steady rain fell unhindered and the one he stood in.

"Just fucking great."

Darkness surrounded him and the storm's intensity seemed to increase. He withdrew his lighter--he personally didn’t smoke anymore but carried it out of habit--and found what he was looking for. An old partial wooden couch frame stood in one section and he opted to sit cautiously on an armless rocker, after changing into a dry shirt. For a fleeting moment, he thought about trekking back to her place but swiftly dissuade himself of that notion. He was better off here most likely. And where was here?

Cold and wet, sitting in a dilapidated cabin. Why? Because he'd been manipulated by the old bastard. Right now, he was too worried to do anything about it and succumbed to the mental and physical exhaustion of his body.

A mist-drizzle still fell when he awoke. Muscles stiff from sleeping how he had, Brett pushed gingerly to his feet. His stomach growled as he stepped onto the porch. His mood was anything but good; yet he paused and looked around. The beauty of this place amazed him. And he took another look.

He headed off; looking for another cabin, or the lighthouse, maybe whoever was there would help him. Obviously, that woman had no plans to. He came to an incline and began climbing up, slipping in the thick mud. Cursing her every step he added in a few for his poor footwear.

He pitched forward to stop sliding, glanced up, and froze. There, standing atop the ridge was a…oh shit…a wolf. A damn wolf!

It stared at him and he scrambled back, falling into a heap at the muddy bottom. Wary he glanced up again. Nothing. He pushed slowly to his feet. I hate it here. He stood caked with mud, wet, hungry, and in some God-forsaken place. Then fell again. Really, really hate it here.


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