Spicy Secrets: The Write Spice Anthologies, #2

Spice Guide

This collection begins with sweet and ends with heat. Choose your spice level according to your mood. We hope you read and enjoy them all.

Spice Level 1 – Sweet with a hint of spice – kissing, but no sex

Spice Level 2 – Sweet and spice – sex is behind a closed door

Spice Level 3 – Spice is nice – open door sex

Spice Level 4 – Spicy – explicit and open door

Spice Level 5 – Five alarm spice, trigger warnings likely-several explicit scenes

Stories & Spice Levels

Spice Level 1 - No Leg to Stand On ~ Caragh Leon

A dare and a scorching hot kiss. Why are these two just friends?

Spice Level 1 - The Secret to Forever ~ Gianna M. Rose

While catering a client’s fiftieth-anniversary party, a chef ponders the existence of a secret ingredient that will keep the sizzle in her marriage. 

Spice Level 2 - Secret Vibes ~ Trixie Travis

Attempting to revive her business and her love life, 51-year-old Iris lands on the floor of a new bridal shop and meets an attractive man while secretly product testing vibrating panties from her family-owned sex toy store.

Spice Level 3 - Magic Ink ~ Linda Bleser

Can a bottle of magic ink make Emma’s writer’s dreams come true?

Spice Level 4 - Drive Me Crazy ~ Heather E. Andrews

When the inconvenience of taking a bus to work every day turns into pursuing Max, a sexy bus driver, Macy struggles to keep her secret crush hidden and avoid embarrassment. Can Macy overcome her bumbling shyness and connect with the man of her dreams?

Spice Level 4 – Christmas Melody ~ Heather E. Andrews

After breaking free from an abusive relationship, Violet is desperate for forgiveness from the one person she's always loved. Billy has earned his fortune as the bassist for a famous singer, but what is missing in his life unexpectedly appears when he steps in as Santa at his record label's Christmas party.

Spice Level 4 - Magically Mated ~ Charley

An Alpha wolf-shifter confronts his own biases against witches when he falls in love with one who is battling her own demons that threaten to consume her with dark magic. Can they overcome the internal forces that threaten their love or will the secrets that plague them be their demise?

Spice Level 5 – Fated Solstice ~ Charley

Ryn, the Alpha she-wolf, and her Lycan mates, Tris and Tru, have planned a magical solstice wedding on a secluded island. Yet, a dark secret from the past emerges, putting their union and the harmony of their pack at risk. Part of the Spicy Secrets Anthology and the Fates and Mates series, this tale of passion and loyalty will captivate your heart.

No Leg to Stand On

By Caragh Leon

Flower shop owner Fletcher Eaton secretly loves the woman who kissed him on a dare, but Harper Mills has kept him squarely in the friend zone. Will he help another man pursue her with flowers and poetry, or will he take the chance and see if love can blossom between them?

Chapter One

You need to get laid.

Harper Mills narrowed her eyes at her friends and wondered, not for the first time this evening, when she had become so stodgy. Maisie and Amaryllis, the latter wearing a pink sash with gold lettering stating Same Penis Forever—and wasn’t that embarrassing—behaved the same as they had on their first day of college when they’d all met in the dorm. 

But they weren’t eighteen anymore. They were thirty! Amaryllis was getting married in a month, and Maisie was moving overseas. When Harper had invited them to her hometown of Ebony Springs, Indiana, for a bachelorette weekend, she’d envisioned a forty-eight hour pajama party. In her mind, they’d cook and invent specialty cocktails and talk into the wee hours, catching up. 

She’d gotten the cocktail part correct. But the drinks came from a bartender. Friday night, they closed Rye’s bar. On Saturday, Maisie and Amaryllis spent half the day sleeping and the rest getting dressed as if Rye’s was a big city nightclub instead of a small-town bar. Harper wasn’t comfortable wearing the green belted tank dress with the low-hanging cowl neck in front of half the town, most of whom were her customers. 

But complaining had only resulted in Maisie and Amaryllis discussing her sex life.

How long has it been? Maisie asked, twirling her finger at the bartender to get his attention before pointing to the empty margarita pitcher.

I am not discussing my sex—

Or lack of, interjected Maisie.

—life in this bar where anyone could overhear. I live in this town!

Hmm. Amaryllis sucked on one of the penis straws she’d passed around the table. I’ve never seen so many buff men in one town. It’s like being at the NFL Pro Bowl. Tell us again about this Hawkstone company that hires ex-military.

They opened a rehabilitation and training center in the old coal mining headquarters. Their employees and clients helped revitalize Ebony Springs. Harper gave the party line, refusing to discuss Hawkstone in depth. As a town council member, she’d signed a confidentiality agreement. Even if she hadn’t, these two had already proved they couldn’t be trusted with sensitive information.

I’d say they’ve revitalized a few things. Amaryllis licked her lips at the two men passing their table. They’ve reawakened some of my lady parts.

Harper sunk lower into her chair. Stop doing that. You’re about to get married.

Both women laughed.

She isn’t dead, Maisie said. This town is full of hotties, both male and female. What happened to you? You were once the Dare Queen! How did you become such a fuddy-duddy? This is Amaryllis’ bachelorette party. Why aren’t we watching strippers and tucking dollar bills in their G-strings? I knew we should’ve gone to Vegas.

Harper winced. She’d vetoed Vegas. Because moving home and keeping her automotive shop financially afloat had taken a toll. She hadn’t time to fly halfway across the country for a weekend. God, Maisie was right. Harper had turned into a fuddy-duddy, and she was bringing down the mood. 

She picked up the pitcher the bartender had brought and refilled their glasses. Okay, she said. Dare me.

Really? You mean it? Amaryllis straightened in her chair and grinned. 

Harper knew she’d regret this tomorrow and probably have to apologize to the entire town, but she nodded. Then she ran her tongue up the penis straw, wrapped her lips around it, and sucked some of the icy concoction in her glass.

Both girls clapped enthusiastically, and Harper grinned. Why not resurrect the Dare Queen for one night? Relive her college youth when she’d take any dare if it didn’t cross her boundaries. She’d always won. 

Go on, Harper said. I’m waiting.

Me, me! I get to pick. It’s my bachelorette party. Amaryllis dug into her purse. She pulled out a fifty-dollar bill and shook it before Harper.

Okay, so some things had changed since college. 

Maisie glanced around the bar. She needs to get laid.

I’m not going home with someone on a dare.

We remember the rules. Amaryllis laid the bill in the middle of the table. But if we dare you to kiss a guy, who knows where it might lead?

Maybe to another bachelorette party! Maisie laughed. Imagine if this dare leads you to find your soul mate? Go on, Amaryllis, pick someone.

The big guy in the corner. The one built like an NFL linebacker.

That’s Grayson Hawke, Harper said, No way. He’s the CEO of Hawkstone.

And the guy with him? asked Amaryllis.

Wyn Ivers. He works with Hawke. Nope. I’m not kissing either.

She’s right. It can’t be someone Harper knows, said Maisie. What about the guy with his back against the wall?

Where? Harper turned in her chair. Two tables over, a dark-haired man in a T-shirt sat alone, drinking a beer.  

He fills out that T-shirt well, Amaryllis sighed. 

Do you know him? Maisie asked Harper.

No. She shook her head.

I don’t see a ring. Maisie bounced in her chair. 

Not all men wear rings, Amaryllis clarified.

Then she can ask him, said Maisie. It’s a perfect conversation starter.

Agreed. Amaryllis tapped the fifty-dollar bill and grinned at Harper. This is yours if you dare. If not, well, you know the rules. You’ll owe me double. She grinned. I dare you, Harper Mills, to walk over to that table, straddle that man’s lap, and kiss the hell out of him! Do you accept?

A familiar adrenaline rush warmed Harper from head to toe. Her heart picked up its rhythm, and anticipation coursed through her veins. Ah, the Dare Queen hadn’t died. She’d just taken a hiatus. She finished her margarita, dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, and stood. Running a hand over the silky material of her dress, Harper squared her shoulders and smiled at her two friends.

You bet your sweet ass I accept!

Chapter Two

Fletcher Eaton was celebrating. It’d taken him fourteen years in the Marines and losing his left leg below the knee, but an hour ago, he’d finalized the last hurdle of a childhood dream. He was now the owner of Floral Essence. With elbow grease and the flowers currently growing in his two greenhouses, he’d open the shop doors in a month. 

He bet his father was rolling over in his grave. 

Corporal Charlie Eaton had endured Fletcher’s mother’s little hobby. But he had not supported his only son leaving the military to pursue a degree in horticulture with an eye toward floral design. He believed Eaton men joined the army and remained until compelled to leave. 

Fletcher was 0-2. His first defiance was entering the Marines instead of the Army. The second was losing a limb and quitting. 

After the surgery removing Fletcher’s leg, his father greeted him at Walter Reed Medical Center. There’d been no hug or gratitude for his son being alive. Only platitudes.

Eaton’s aren’t quitters, he’d said, his gaze falling on the bandages wrapping Fletcher’s stump. You’ll remount the horse, even if you’re only half the man.

Fletcher thought it was a good thing the corporal had already died because this purchase would’ve killed him.

He lifted his beer and drank to the bastard and then moved on, reading the text from his realtor. Mia Fields had made no secret of her interest in him, shamelessly flirting the entire week. Since celebrating was more fun with two, Fletcher had invited her to join him for dinner. 

The text said she was running late. Fletcher responded, laid down the phone, and turned his attention to the bachelorette table. The blonde he’d noticed earlier was standing and tugging at the hem of her dress as if it’d risen and exposed her. By today’s standards, the green dress was modest. It stopped above the knees but fell several inches past her shapely bottom. The garment wasn’t exactly Rye’s dress code, but Fletcher didn’t think any customers—men or women—minded. 

He was flipping through his mental file cards, trying to determine whether he’d ever met the blonde, when she spun and pinned him with a sultry stare. A sharp pang hit his chest like Cupid’s arrow had caught him in the heart. Fletcher jumped, and the beer in his glass sloshed over the rim. 

She slipped around the tables and stopped before him. Her wavy curls fell just below her unpierced ear lobes, a few of the ends tinted in blue and pink dyes. She had an oval face, a pointed chin, and eyes the color of her dress.

Hello, he said.

A peach tinge colored her pale skin. It was the perfect shade for a rose. One he’d replicate if he could hold on to this memory.

Shit. She whispered the word.

Breathe, he said.

She took his suggestion, her chest rising and falling, and when she spoke again, the words tumbled out.

Here’s the thing, she said. I nixed Vegas. I’m past those days of shots and strippers. But I invited these two into town for the weekend, and they’re not having fun. Amaryllis is getting married, and Maisie is moving to Europe. This is it! I can’t let our last girls’ weekend end with a whimper. I used to be the Dare Queen! So, I took the dare. Only now that I’m here, I’m thinking this is ridiculous. I’m thirty! Oh, God, they’re right. I am old.

Breathe, he said again.

Stop saying that. She narrowed her eyes. I am breathing. I’m talking, aren’t I?

Ah, she hadn’t been stretching the truth. There was her spunk.

What’s on the line? he asked.

For what?

The dare. Isn’t it run like a bet? They’ve dared you to do whatever involves me in exchange for something. What’s the something? 

Fifty bucks.

He whistled low, drawing out the sound, delighted to see the blush reappear. 

And if you chicken out? he asked.

I know what you’re doing. Her eyes grew steely. 

What am I doing? Fletcher raised one eyebrow.

Using reverse psychology and daring me yourself.

Am I? 

Her color changed from dusty to dark—a tint, Fletcher would say, between pink and red. It wasn’t because of embarrassment. He’d pushed her button, and she’d responded. While indignity hovered, excitement and—dare he say it—an attraction was also at the forefront.

You don’t think I’ll do it? she asked.

She cocked her hip, and Fletcher shifted his gaze to her curves. The woman rocked that dress. Green was suddenly Fletcher’s new favorite color.

What’s the dare? He gave her a wicked smile.

Are you married? she asked.

Not attached to anyone, he responded.

And if I asked you to turn your chair toward me?

He stuck out his right leg and used it as leverage to do as she asked. His jeans and shoe covered his prosthetic leg and foot, but he needn’t have worried. Her gaze remained locked, holding his own.

I promise not to hurt you.

Her breathier voice had dropped an octave, and her tongue swept across her upper lip. Damn, if his jeans weren’t suddenly tight. Fletcher shifted in his chair and laid a hand over his heart.

I doubt that, he said. But I’m willing to take the risk.

Heat flared in her gaze, and Fletcher’s heart thumped hard in his chest. He didn’t know what he’d gotten into, but whatever it was, he wanted it.

The blonde moved to stand in front of him and drew up the sides of her dress. His gaze dropped to follow the silk, spotting tiny freckles on her pale skin, like a sprinkling of cinnamon on white bread. She inched closer and slid one thigh until the inside of hers butted against the outside of his. Fletcher lent her his hand, guiding her other leg.

Straddling him, she sat. Fletcher held himself still and gave mental instructions to his dick.

Steady.

I’m Harper Mills, she said.

Fletcher Eaton.

She placed a soft hand on his cheek and laid the other on his chest. Leaning in, she stopped inches from his lips. She smelled of soap and lavender shampoo.

Hold on, Fletcher, she said, because I’m about to kiss the hell out of you.

He barely held back his groan and wondered if she could feel his racing heartbeat beneath her hand.

She fooled him, though, moving her lips, not over his mouth, but along his jawline and up to his ear, where she took a nip. Her breasts brushed against his chest. Fletcher swallowed hard and gripped her thighs to hold himself in check. She chuckled in his ear.

He paid her back by sliding one hand under the hem of her dress. Harper drew back. Fletcher swore his heart stopped, worried he’d gone too far. But instead of retreating or halting his wandering hand, she moved hers from his cheek to sift through his hair, tugging lightly. He didn’t resist. Then she pressed her lips firmly against his mouth and kissed him. 

It was good.

Harper took her time exploring, nipping, and sucking. But when her tongue slid along his bottom lip, his control snapped. Both of his hands weaved into her wavy hair. Holding her still, he slanted his mouth to consume her. His tongue sought hers, and she gave a little moan. Harper tasted of citrus and tequila, and he drank his fill while she did the same.

All too soon, she was pulling back. Fletcher reluctantly released her. They stared at one another, sucking in air. 

A collective cheer rose from more than half the bar. Several people barked. Off to the left, someone whistled. Harper groaned, and her forehead fell onto his chest. Fletcher wrapped his arms tightly around her, hugging her. If he didn’t think he’d stumble, he’d stand with her in his arms and escape somewhere secluded.

Do this all over again.

So, Dare Queen, he said instead, what will you do with the money?

Her body shook. Fletcher realized she was laughing. He hugged her tighter and joined her, thinking about how this might be the best day of his life.

When they finally got themselves under control, and the bar patrons had returned to their drinks, Harper raised her head.

Thank you, she said.

It was my pleasure.

She blushed and awkwardly scooted backward off his lap. Her dress pulled against the denim, sliding up her thighs. Harper clamped a hand to hold it in place while Fletcher took her elbow to help her stand. She teetered off balance, her shin connecting with his prosthetic leg.

Harper paused, raising her brows in curiosity.

He lifted his jeans so she wouldn’t wonder. Her eyes widened.

Oh, my God, I didn’t know.

No reason you should’ve. He dropped his hand from her elbow.

No, but I should’ve asked. One hand hit her forehead. Or I should’ve just not ... oh, God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t hurt you, did I? Harper edged away.

It’s below the knee. You didn’t hurt a thing.

He let the denim drop and tapped his thighs. His father’s words roared in his ears. Half a man.

Good. The word came softly. She sucked in a breath, puckered her swollen lips, and blew it out. So, what day are you free next week for burgers and fries? I also imagine fifty dollars will get us shakes.

I’m sure you have something better to spend the money on. He saw no pity in her gaze, but her smile had faded.

Friends treat friends, Harper said.

Ah, so we’re friends now? His earlier euphoria faded.

We just traded spit, she said, chuckling. Here in Ebony Springs, that’s the same as pricking our fingers and becoming blood brothers. We’re definitely friends. You can’t walk away now.

He couldn’t. Harper was right. After that kiss, friends weren’t what he’d have pushed for, but he understood. Not every woman wanted half a man. But he’d take Harper; however, he got her.

Monday, he told her. I’m free on Monday.

Chapter Three

Two months later, Fletcher still hadn’t forgotten the taste of Harper or the feel of her soft body in his arms. But she’d kept him squarely in the friend zone and was now seeing Wyn Ivers. 

Who wanted Fletcher’s help in wooing Harper.

You know her best, Wyn said. He’d ambushed Fletcher this morning at the flower shop’s back door. You have a better idea of what she likes. I’ll defer to you.

Fletcher wasn’t a poet. He left the sentiments of his flower arrangements to the senders. But Wyn’s indifference bothered him. And who the hell used the word woo nowadays?

He read what he’d written. Or what Wyn had supposedly written.

Surprisingly, the words came while Fletcher created the wild and spirited arrangement with its contrasting flower and foliage shapes for Harper. Nothing overtly sweet or sappy. Just short and simple. Things he’d say if Harper belonged to him.   

Which she didn’t. 

Fletcher tucked the envelope into the ribbon tied around the calla lilies and gloriosa. Standing, he centered his balance and realized he wore his sports prosthetic and athletic wear from his run to work. It wasn’t professional, but it was too late to change. He needed to open the shop.

Damn, Wyn. 

Leaving his studio, Fletcher moved through the small shop, reminiscent of his mother’s beautiful English gardens. There were wildflowers and garden-grown florals, both cut and potted, market-style blooms for customers to mix and match, and hand-tied bouquets he’d put together earlier. He grew most of the flowers himself on his ten-acre property and in the two greenhouses he’d built, and he was open four days a week. 

The move to Ebony Springs had been the right decision.

Upon reaching the front door, he found a small group waiting. 

Morning, ladies. 

Mia entered first. She kissed his cheek and tapped the dimple in his chin with one of her long-painted nails. You need a shower, she whispered, leaving him in a cloud of her perfume as she disappeared into the shop.

Morning, Fletch. Shay Donovan, the owner of Goody Two Brews, the coffee