Scorched Satisfaction

By Mary Nova

Nicoletta Clark and Zavier Soto suit each other perfectly - in their flaws. Their inner demons stoke each other like hell and fire; the girl with abandonment issues, the man with commitment issues. And if they want to be together, they’ll need to adapt and overcome their imperfections.

But why bother?

For Nicoletta the answer is simple, in Zavier she sees what she’s been looking for: something real, a love that will last. Zavier is smart, funny, and se-xy. Having overcome his heartbreaking past, he’s revealed his true heart; tender, giving loving.

For Zavier the answer is equally simple; life without his Nico is absolutely unthinkable. Time spent apart from her has been an unbearable ache. Nicoletta Clark has become the very heart of him and his chances for happiness won’t be worth a curdled damn if he keeps pushing her away.

In each other, they’ve found their person, the one true love that’s worth battling any differences that have kept them apart. But love conquers all is easier said than done. Can they really avoid falling into old patterns; repeating old mistakes?

Maybe. But, even if they can, a new obstacle looms. And it may be their most daunting yet...Zavier’s mother.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mary Nova
• Release date: Nov 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311179869

Mary Nova

Welcome to Mary Nova's Author page!MARY NOVA writes in a variety of genres.Romance: The Scorched Series.Women's Lit: Polly Ticks.Fantasy: The Bag: Believe. It wants to belong to you...Mary is a native Mid-Westerner, currently ensconced in Rochester, MN. She’s a die-hard, bleed-purple Vikings fan, and spends the untenable Minnesota winters watching football and playing Texas Hold ‘em...when she’s not writing.​But what really roots Mary in Minnesota are friends, family, and lively conversations with lots of laughter and a nice glass of wine.​Mary invites you to write her at [e-mail] because it’s you, whether a one-time-reader or a superfan, who keeps her going. It also warms her frigid winters!

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Scorched Satisfaction is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, products, corporations, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2016 by Mary Nova

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Cover Design: Mary Nova

To my parents, who inspire me, motivate me, and make me laugh.

To my mother and her spirit of joy and wonder.

To my father and his cautious optimism.

To new friends and colleagues, women I’ve met through the Midwest Fiction Writers Group,

especially my Thursday Thriller Three. Your input and support is invaluable.

To my gifted nephew, Tony Holz, who designed my website and taught me to manage it,

and played photographer for my author photos.

SCORCHED SATISFACTION

PROLOGUE

I turn the glass door handles, exiting my home to the backyard. I leave the French doors open to the summer breeze and cross the dark wood deck. I smile, wincing simultaneously, cringing at the piercing squeals of my two girls as their older brother splashes them in our private cove on Lake Minnetonka.

My husband swoops toward them with a roar, and my seven-year-old son’s squeals join his little sisters’ as they scramble through the water escaping the sea monster.

Laughing, I watch my youngest swish around, her escape hampered greatly by the plastic duck donut encircling her tiny waist. She shrieks as my husband lunges for her, but laughs happily as he abruptly veers off, scooping up our son, playfully munching on his stomach as he wriggles from the tickling.

I take the stairs to the lawn and, turning my face to the July sun, walk toward water’s edge. I remove my light skirt revealing a black bikini and settle in a lounge chair on the beach. I watch my family’s raucous play as my mind wanders.

I bought this land with its private beach, and built the magnificent house behind me ten years ago. I muse about how different my life was then. And inevitably, I think of Zavier.

Zavier Soto. My first love.

Our relationship was tumultuous, full of insecurities, but it was also passionate and intensely profound…as first love usually is.

As I watch my husband with our children, I can’t help but compare how different this man is from that first love. And I think how things might have worked out with Zavier if we could’ve put aside those insecurities and committed to each other with confidence.

But that kind of confidence isn’t meant for young romance. Early romance comes with angst that sometimes destroys. If only I’d known. But when I reunited with Zavier I was in a swirling sex haze…heaven. I had no idea of the trouble heading my way. I told myself I had no doubts.

I sigh with regret.

My husband roars again, lunging for the children as they scream with feigned terror, and I chuckle.

Despite the regrets I have about Zavier, I look at my family, my dear husband, my three cherished children, and I wouldn’t change a thing.

I rise from the lounge chair, and run to the water.

Let’s get the monster, I yell to the children as we chase and splash their father. Get him!

CHAPTER ONE

THE BITTERSWEET PAST: TEN YEARS AGO

I’m in heaven. My head swirls with brilliant colors, millions of neon dots and particles floating behind my eyes in an after-sex glow. I’m vaguely aware of Zavier getting off the mahogany bed beside me.

Nico. Nico…

His voice calls from a foggy distance.

Nicoletta, my love, he says. I’m getting some water. Do you want anything?

I manage an unintelligible mutter.

I’ll bring wine and water, he says.

He’s the perfect man.

I glance around his bedroom, mahogany furniture, and steel gray walls with matching blinds, closed to the floor-to-ceiling windows. I kick aside the tangled blue and black sheets and roll onto my side, clutching his pillow to my face. Heady, intoxicating.

I love his smell. People don’t fall in love with their hearts. They fall in love with their senses. And Zavier fills all of mine. The sight of him, his gorgeous face, his gold-flecked brown eyes. The sound of his voice, deep-timbered, his laugh. My vagina weighs in with an aching throb…his touch, the feel of him inside. The clean creamy taste of him. I breathe deeply of his pillow. His smell, manly, fresh sweat with a hint of his coriander and peppercorn cologne. Mmmm. God, I could get lost in my sense of him.

I did get lost in him. And it was almost justifiable. Almost.

I squirm on the bed as I recall my patience with his skittish heart and the excuses I made for his dismissive treatment of me.

I was blinded by him from the start. He had that just new smell. And my excuses for him piled up. I’d been so easy.

I huff.

But the excuses ran out, the blinders came off, and the just new smell began to reek with my shriveled heart. I broke off our…whatever that was, determined not to settle any more. In the months following our break-up I’d done some soul searching and I’d come to the conclusion that I’d been accepting stingy love all my life.

It’s over now. No more settling. No more stingy love for me.

Zavier had done some soul searching of his own. He assured me that he’d put the damage of his past relationship behind him, that he loved me.

He loves me.

Lying in his bed, groggy from the scorching hot sex we shared, I have no doubts. I relax on the sex-damp sheets waiting for the wine and water, and my besotted brain concludes: he may not be perfect, but he’s perfect for me.

Zavier returns with the promised refreshments, naked but for boxer briefs.

He’s got a banging body.

His strong shoulders round to the definition of his biceps, triceps, and sinewy forearms. His hands are strong, capable, long-fingered. His smooth chest is deeply muscled, his pectorals giving way to the ridges of his eight-pack abdomen. His obliques, bulging at the hips, create a pathway in the center, leading the eye downward.

The waistband of his boxer briefs cuts off the pathway.

Thwarted! Right where it gets interesting.

My swirling head has no chance to fully appreciate him before he reaches me. I scoot and wobble to a semi-erect position, accepting the glass he hands me. I sip, swirling the delicious wine, savoring the rich sweetness of it.

Riesling, he says.

Yes. It’s good.

Zavier joins me on the king size bed. He lies on his side, curled next to me, brushing his fingernails up and down my thigh.

What do you want to do tomorrow? he asks. I’m taking another long weekend.

It’s Tuesday.

I’m taking a really long weekend.

Really? Slacker.

Why? Were you going to work?

I have to go to the gallery to meet with Sonja. But after that, I don’t have anything planned.

Let’s slack together.

Hmmm, I purr, snuggling against him. I want to check on the house.

We can do that. See how it’s coming along.

Months ago, I bought a large secluded lot for my dream house outside of downtown Minneapolis, where my current loft is. The land backs onto a beautiful, private cove on Lake Minnetonka. Construction began more than a month ago, and progress was zooming along.

I want to see if Keith has the drywall finished.

It’s likely. He’s working fast.

I know. I’m so excited to move in.

It’s going to be perfect timing for a summer on the lake.

I grab my wine, angling it awkwardly toward my lips in my slumped position. Some of it spills, running down my chest.

Zavier bows his head, kissing and licking the wine off my breast, continuing long after the wine is gone. He takes my nipple in his mouth, his hand sliding between my legs, caressing my clitoris with two fingers.

That feels good, babe, but I don’t think I can… I say. My vagina negates the thought, moistening with an aching throb. Oh, God… I moan.

What were you saying? Zavier teases.

Nothing, I say as Zavier’s fingers rub in rapid circles. God, you’re going to kill me.

Ah. But what a way to go, Zavier says, sliding down my body, replacing his circling fingers with tongue and lips.

My fingers run through his thick black hair, getting tangled in their waves. I reach the back of his head and lock him tightly against me, hips undulating.

∞∞∞

I return to consciousness, aromatic Mexican spices and chili peppers enticing me upright. A pot bangs in the penthouse kitchen.

Smells fantastic, I shout.

Dinner in fifteen… he calls.

He really is the perfect man.

I hightail it to the jaw-dropping marble and chrome master bath with a deep whirlpool tub, and private sauna. Wanting a quick body shower, I adjust the multiple settings on his state-of-the-art shower to suit myself. I twist my hair up with a scrunchie, step into the caressing streams of hot water, and lather up with my Night Blooming Jasmine body wash.

I sigh. Since reuniting, it’d been a whirlwind of heady sex. The first week, Zavier and I shut out everyone and everything, barely taking time to eat.

The weather cooperated. Minnesota’s abundant snowfall in January was much more enticing to look at than to venture in, justifying our choice to stay put. As the crystal-white flakes floated-drifted-swirled, or thundered-whirled-raged, so did our passions, our bodies moving in tune with the varied conditions.

We might have stayed there, happily cocooned. Unfortunately, work intruded as an unwelcome nuisance. Despite each of us being our own boss, our jobs were demanding.

Zavier owned a billion dollar software development company. Working out of his downtown office building, Soto Lofts, he and his team recently launched their newest program, NicoRio, and Zavier needed to spend time promoting it.

He made NicoRio as a tribute to me, using his pet name for me, Nico. He had two other highly successful programs, SotoLock, a security program, and SotoRio, a search engine organizer. But NicoRio had been a labor of love for him and he presented it to me the night we got back together. The program enabled users to record everything cherished and dear about their loved ones, from favorite things to memories made together.

NicoRio was selling well, and even though Zavier’s talented team and senior staff were able to manage without much face time from him, there were meetings he couldn’t avoid.

As for me, being a professional photographer usually gives me all the freedom I could ask for. But Sonja, the gallery owner who sold my photos, had just scheduled another solo show for me. She was chomping at the bit for more photos from my recent series, Liquid. These sensual photographs, featuring people in various play and enjoyment of water, were selling like gangbusters and Sonja couldn’t get enough product.

It was very gratifying, but as I was currently swimming in more satisfying liquids, Sonja was making a pest of herself.

To fulfill our work duties, Zavier attended a marketing meeting for NicoRio while I spent several long days editing photos for Jess and Tony, my assistants, to print and deliver.

Once we dutifully concluded our business, Zavier and I holed up again, shutting out the world, and the elements.

After another delirious week of sex and snow, we were feeling cooped up. Inspiration hit Zavier and he nabbed tickets to the Super Bowl. Our beloved Vikings weren’t in the vaunted championship game, but we both loved football, and the Super Bowl was an irresistible pull.

Traveling in style, we spent a long weekend in Arizona taking in the spectacle. After the game, Zavier suggested we take a trip to Las Vegas, as another shared passion was poker, Texas Hold ‘em.

After consulting briefly, we decided to make a road trip of it, renting a gorgeous SUV for a drive to the Grand Canyon. We stopped at Haulapai Indian Reservation and the Grand Canyon Skywalk. The glass-bottomed, horseshoe-shaped overlook jutted 70 feet over the canyon rim. The view was spectacular…and vertigo inducing.

The next day, we opted to circle the Grand Canyon National Park. We spent our second night on the North Rim goggling at nature’s work.

As a photographer, I binge-shot an embarrassment of pictures, giving my camera a workout. But, it was frustrating. I was certain I wasn’t capturing the magnificence and awe before me, but I wasn’t sure how to do it. I didn’t think it was possible. Although many had done the best they could to encapsulate the wonder, there was no way to frame this. The depth, breadth, beauty, and humbling enormity of the Grand Canyon would forever defy 2D media.

I put away my camera respectfully, and just looked.

The next morning we set out for Vegas, traveling the Arizona Strip. When we pulled into glitzy Vegas, it was a jolting shift from the magnificent extravagance of nature to the magnificent extravagance of man, but I was ready for the luxury of the Bellagio.

I’m not much of a camper.

We spent a long weekend playing poker, and taking in the sights. Regrettably, the luck we’d had months ago, playing against the locals on our trip to Puerto Rico, didn’t hold.

Top Minnesota players are some of the toughest poker players in the country, but neither Zavier nor I was a top Minnesota player.

We got creamed.

Out of the shower these months later, I glance at the crystal dish on our vanity, and the $2 poker chip from the Bellagio nestled inside. A keepsake from our clobbering. I grin lopsidedly.

I leave my hair up in the scrunchie, apply an illuminating tinted moisturizer and a quick swipe of mascara. I enter the walk-in closet, choosing from the things I’ve brought to Zavier’s in the last months. I pull on a light cashmere sweater and leggings, and join Zavier in the kitchen.

Smells fantastic, I say, inhaling