Attractive divorcee, Felicia Jeffries, is turning 45 and her friends have dragged her to a male strip club to celebrate. If she had her druthers, Felicia would be hiding in a dark corner with her friends. Instead, she finds herself on stage, dirty dancing with a sexy hottie whose smoldering glances tell Felicia that he could care less about the difference in their ages. Garrett Holcomb has always liked older women. He enjoys convincing them that their bodies' natural changes are sexy, rather than the negative they perceive them to be. When Felicia slides her sexy body against his that night in the dance club, he knows they're meant to be together.
But someone else doesn't think their love is healthy. And he'll do anything to make sure they miss out on the future they want together. Including nearly murdering a man...and pinning Garrett for the attack.
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An Excerpt From: BUMP ’N’ GRIND
Copyright © SAM CHEEVER, 2011
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
Felicia pulled into the lot and parked. She stared at the low-slung brick building, chewing her bottom lip nervously. She wasn’t gonna be able to do it. It was crazy.
Bliss was nuts.
A forceful knock on her window made her jump and shriek in alarm. She turned to see Bliss’ attractive café mocha face grinning through the glass at her. “I knew you’d get cold feet, so I was waiting for you.”
Felicia climbed out of the car. “You bitch. You scared the shit out of me.”
Bliss laughed, linking her arm through Felicia’s. She looked incredible as always. Bliss was tall and well built, with huge boobs and a firm, round ass. She kept herself in fine shape and nature had been kind to her, giving her high sculpted cheekbones, gorgeous golden-brown eyes, and a wide mouth with full, sexy lips. She wore her hair in a soft, seventies-type ‘fro, and it worked for her. Her clingy, extremely short black dress looked as if it had been made for her, and only Bliss could get away with red shoes that had four-inch-high stiletto heels without looking like a hooker.
Felicia smoothed a hand nervously down the front of her Oriental-style red dress. The dress had a high neckline and cap sleeves and she knew she looked good in it but it was a little tight for her comfort level, showing every curve in her body. Even the ones she didn’t want to advertise. Compared to Bliss’ “fuck me” shoes, Felicia’s simple black heels seemed dowdy.
“You look sexy as hell, Miss Felicia.” Bliss purred. She gave Felicia’s arm a tug and all but dragged her toward the door of the club, stopping with her hand on the knob and turning to her nervous friend. “Are you ready to have your life changed?”
Felicia closed her eyes and filled her lungs with air. Stars burst in front of her eyes. “I can’t go in there, Bliss. Don’t make me.”
Bliss laughed and threw open the door. The low pulse of music throbbed from the room, the bass set so low Felicia’s jaw vibrated as she stepped over the threshold. As loud as it was, the music was occasionally eclipsed by a burst of feminine shrieking.
Felicia looked past the bar toward the long, curvy stage that split the room in half. The stage was about chest high and had chairs all around it, with a narrow ledge for the customers sitting in the chairs to set their drinks on. Connected to the drinking bar across the back, the stage was lit with colored strobe lights and had dancers on it.
Male dancers.
Scantily clad male dancers.
Felicia blushed and averted her face from Bliss, not wanting to endure the razzing she knew would follow if her friend noticed.
Bliss’ throaty laugh told her it was too late. “Come on, Polly Pureheart. The girls are saving a seat for you.”
A welcoming cheer erupted as Bliss dragged Felicia over to the edge of the stage, where all her friends were seated with nearly empty glasses in front of them.
“I see you’ve gotten a head start on me.” Felicia grinned at Elizabeth Collins, her best friend since college. Elizabeth had turned forty-five a few months earlier but didn’t look a day over thirty-five, due to some really good genes, some strategic sculpting and monthly visits to a great hairdresser.
In response to Felicia’s jab, Elizabeth pursed her lips and made a fart noise. To which every one of Felicia’s friends hooted as if she’d told the world’s best joke.
Felicia rolled her eyes. “How long have they been here?”
“I think since about five o’clock. Betty’s already met all the dancers. She has their names and phone numbers in her little notebook.”
Felicia looked down the row of her friends to the short, pudgy librarian with glasses. Betty was the oldest of her friends and didn’t try to hide it. She looked every bit of fifty years, right down to the short bob with bangs she wore her graying brown hair in. “Betty?”
Betty lifted the notebook over her head and yelled, “Oo-rah!”
They all burst into laughter again.
Beth patted the seat next to her. “Sit down, honey. We saved you a seat.”
Felicia glanced from the seat at the dancing bar toward the scantily clad young man on top. There couldn’t have been more than five feet in distance between them. She’d be close enough to catch a flying drop of sweat…or get soaked in an errant wave of pheromones.
“Why don’t we move over there?” She pointed to a dark corner that was just about as far away from the dancers as they could get.
Beth grabbed her hand and yanked her into the chair. “Not a chanch, honey,” she slurred.
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