Hot and Hotter

By Daryl Devore

Some like it hot… others like it HOTTER!  Daryl Devoré has done it again, pairing two of her smoking hot romances into one smouldering book.

What could be simpler than a routine plane trip from Toronto, Canada to Caracas, Venezuela for a rookie flight attendant and a sexy R.C.M.P. officer?

But Fate had other intentions.

After leaving a disastrous marriage, Paix Allcot begins a new career as a flight attendant. First time in her dream job, she is no longer a trainee and the passengers in economy class are under her care. Especially the handsome passenger seated in 36C.

Guy Lapierre, undercover officer, is following a vicious human-trafficker. He has little time for relationships. Too many innocent lives are at stake. Stranded on a tropical island, he is forced to work with Paix to survive until he makes a relationship destroying discovery.

Can a pink bra and a hot night on the side of a volcano save the relationship and their lives?

What's a woman to do when a voice follows her home and makes mad, passionate love to her?

 

Corporate businesswoman, Capricious Gray, is dragged to a sex toy convention by her best friend. After a mysterious disembodied voice helps her with her purchases, it follows her home. Passion ensues, leaving Capri torn between lust for her fantasy lover and the desperate need for reality in her life.

 

Thall, son of one of the Fates, harbours the irrepressible need to be with the woman he's desired from afar for years. In order to make her his, once and for all, he must help Capri get past her fears, including the fear of what he represents - a fantasy.

Can fantasy become a reality for these two lovers?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daryl Devore
• Release date: May 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201820930

Daryl Devore

Autrice di narrativa erotica, Daryl Devore ama creare personaggi forti, indipendenti e affascinanti. I suoi cattivi ragazzi ispirano ogni volta un mondo di storie avvincenti.

Book preview

Brace for Impact

Chapter 1

Lori gagged on the bile rising in the back of her throat. She inhaled sharply to calm her stomach. If I'm going to die, it's not going to be with vomit all over my uniform.

A distant whimper caught her ear. She lifted her head and opened her eyes. The lady in 37D rocked back and forth in her seat. Lori fought the urge to run to her. Her flight attendant training told her to stay seated. The Captain had called, Brace for impact.

Hang on, 37D. Just a bit longer. I understand how you feel. Isolated way back here in no-man's land at the back of the plane. No one's hand to hold for comfort. Alone. Scared. Me too.

The gentleman in seat 36C stood, then pulled open the overhead bin.

Lori sat up taller. Sir! The Captain said, brace for impact. Get back in your seat. Please.

He turned his head, glancing at her. Lori blinked. She'd noticed him as she did her rounds of economy class. Sexy tousled hair. An unshaven chin. Gorgeous smile. Focus on your job. Sir. Please. Sit. Down.

He grabbed a bag out of the bin, slammed it shut and returned to his seat.

Her heart raced as she shouted out the words she'd practiced in flight attendant school a hundred times and prayed she'd never have to use. Head down. Brace. Brace. She hoped the sound of her voice could offer a moment's relief to the terrified passengers in economy. They were her passengers. If she could hold each of their hands, she would. Head down. Brace. Brac—

The plane dropped and shuddered.

Lori's professional calm shattered. The passengers under her care were going to die. She was going to die. The sensation of utter loneliness swamped her. She clenched her fists until her short nails dug into the palms of her hands. Pressure built in her ears. She tried all the tricks she knew, but the pressure wouldn't release. We're dropping too fast.

Wonder what dying is going to feel like? Will it hurt? Mom. Trembling as her mother's smiling face popped into her mind, she swallowed back a wail of grief at the thought of her mother's pain when she heard the news of the plane crash.

What's taking so long? Maybe— A ray of light shone down on the darkness of her despair. Maybe the captain was landing the plane. Captain Fraser was one of the best. He could save everyone.

The plane jerked. Metal shrieked in complaint. Fear rang loud in the screams of the passengers. Lori's pulse pounded in her chest. Her breaths came in short pants. She swiped at the sweat on her upper lip. Her stomach knotted, then boiled. It was close. The end. Whatever the end was. She squeezed her eyelids shut and whispered, Mom. I love you.

The plane smacked on something. It wasn't the familiar and comforting feel of tires on tarmac. It was more like a crunch, like on a gravel road. The plane rose. Lori's stomach heaved. A nearby passenger wretched. The foul smell floated in the air. Lori gagged and pressed her face against her sleeve, trying to block the stench.

A second time the plane's belly flopped onto the surface.

Lori tilted her head. Water landing? At night. We overshot Caracas? She checked over her shoulders at the emergency exits on her right and left. Running over the procedure gave her calmness; something solid she could grasp. Hope.

The plane shivered, then released a hideous metallic scream. The sounds from the galley behind her resembled a bottle containing stones being violently shaken. An explosive snap made her flinch as the plane groaned in agony. The force jerked Lori to the left. She smashed her shoulder and the side of her face on the bulkhead. Pain tore through her head. Stars filled her eyes. She blinked, then shook her head. She couldn't pass out. She had to get her passengers out of the plane. A fresh sea breeze brushed across her sweat covered face. Something cool touched her foot. She glanced down. Water puddled around her feet. Frowning, she lifted her legs, removing her shoes from the wetness. A newspaper floated by and pressed up against the lavatory door.

Her thigh muscles protested at being held for so long. She lowered her feet. The cold water spilled over the tops of her shoes. Darkness engulfed the plane as the lights failed. The emergency lights flickered on, then off. Then on. Lori heaved a sigh of relief. The lights faded and went out. Damn! Fear oozed out of its hole and seeped into her veins.

She unclicked her seatbelt and pressed her hand on the bulkhead behind her. She stood, blindly feeling her way along the wall. Flashlight. Where is it? Should be right here. Her fingers wrapped around a long plastic cylinder. She tugged at the clasp, and it released from the wall. The water was up to her ankles. Sobs filled her ears. She snapped her head up. They had to get off the plane before it sank.

She clicked the ON switch and waved it about. Evacuate. Evacuate. This way. See my light. The beam danced across horrified faces framed in bloated, yellow life jackets. This way. See my...

A hiss built in volume behind her. It sounded like a massive snake. There weren't any snakes on this plane. She shuddered. What a scary movie that was. The hiss grew. The woman from 37D stood facing Lori. Her mouth open. Her eyes wide with terror. She pointed, releasing a piercing scream.

Something nudged the back of Lori's leg. A shiver of dread filled her. Could there actually be a snake? She'd heard rumours of bizarre things being stowed away on international flights. She turned. Blinked. Gasped.

Time slowed. Lori watched with disbelief at the ridiculous occurrence unfolding before her. Inch by inch, the evacuation slide expanded inside the confined area of the aft galley. The door was still closed. She shone the light on it. Yes, the latch was in the locked position. Why was the chute deploying? Inside.

She bolted across the plane to the opposite door and released the hatch. Water gushed in. She pushed against it to open the door wide enough to let her passengers escape. It wouldn't budge. With a loud grunt, she heaved with all her strength.

36C stood next to her. He leaned his shoulder against the door and slammed his weight against it. It wouldn't move.

Everybody. Forward to the wings. Walk calmly. Don't push. She held the flashlight high so they could stumble through the darkness with a bit of light showing them the way.

Pop.

She turned. The edge of the evacuation chute slid off the lavatory door and spat outward.

The horror of the situation flashed through Lori's mind. Move. Move now!

The length of time for a message to go from a brain to a person's feet was less time than it takes for an evacuation chute to smack someone in the chest.

The air ripped from Lori's lungs. Her feet slipped out from underneath her. The cool Caribbean water covered her face, filling her eyes, nose and mouth. She needed air. She tried to inhale. Only water filled her mouth. The weight of the chute pressed against her, pinning her under the water.

This is it. I'm dead. Lights swirled in her head. Her lungs convulsed, trying to drag in air. Tremors ripped through her muscles. Her brain screamed for her to breathe. Black swarmed through her.

Chapter 2

Guy gripped his fingers around the flight attendant's upper arm and pulled with all his strength. The damn evacuation chute pinned her. He knelt and tucked his hand under her head, lifting her face above the seawater. Water streamed down her cheeks. He brushed it away. Her name tag attached to the lanyard floated on the surface. He held it close to his face and peered at it in the darkness. Lori.

She coughed. Good. Still alive. Then she vomited seawater. He leaned back and tugged at her. God damn security rules. If I had a knife... He peered through the inky blackness toward the aft galley, then shook his head. He'd have to let her head submerge if he was going to search for anything sharp to slice through the thick material.

Desperation clouded his thoughts. What should he do? He wouldn't let her die. He'd seen enough senseless deaths. He hoisted her as high out of the water as he could, then snaked his arm around her and grabbed. Boob? Will have to remember to apologize later.

He leaned against the chute and pushed into it. It gave a little. She moved a smidge. Encouraged, he shoved forward and tugged at her. She stayed. The plane rocked. His feet slipped. His ribs crushed against the armrest of the aisle seat.

Merde. He pushed to standing and braced himself.

You hold her. I'll push.

Guy peered toward the sound of the voice. The man who'd sat two rows ahead worked his way past him. He was the size of an NFL linebacker. Ready?

Ready. Struggling around the bulk of the life vest, Guy wrapped his arms around the flight attendant's upper body.

Pull! The man grunted as he heaved into the chute. He stumbled back. Damn. Ready?

Yup. Guy tightened his grip and leaned back, lifting the flight attendant's face higher from the sloshing water.

Pull! Move. Dammit.

Guy's jaw clenched as he tugged, trying to release Lori from the death grip of the chute.

Argh! His strained voice filled the aft of the cabin.

When Guy felt the pressure ease, he hauled back with all his force. Lori popped out like a newborn baby. Her weight threw him off balance, and he landed flat on his backpack, splashing through the chair deep seawater. She floated up.

A hand gripped his shirt, jerking him upward. I gotcha. Ain't losing her after I just rescued her. The man's breathing was laboured.

Spitting out water, Guy got his feet under him. Thanks, man. I got her. You get out of here. He shifted his backpack, then lifted Lori over his shoulder. Not lady like, but efficient in a narrow aisle. He sloshed through the water, stretching one hand from seat back to seat back, leading himself out of the plane.

The plane shuttered. The tail dropped. The man before him stumbled back, grabbed at a seat, missed and tumbled down, taking Guy and flight attendant with him.

Water filled Guy's eyes and mouth. His heart pounded in his throat. He kicked against the man and freed his leg. Struggling with the weight of the attendant, he stood, flipped her over his shoulder and reached down to help his rescuer. He tugged at the man's collar. The man bobbed on the water. Guy frowned. He hauled the man upright and leaned him against a chair. The water rose to his mid-chest. I'll be right back.

Stumbling, Guy worked his way around the man and to the aft wing emergency exit.

Give her here, a voice called out. Guy slipped Lori off his shoulder and handed her to a flight attendant at the exit. He turned. The man grabbed his arm. No. Don't go back. She's gonna sink. Any second. Get yourself out.

No. There's a man... back there. He pulled me out of the water. Guy half swam, half walked back through the dark.

Holding on to the armrests and chair backs with his left hand, he swung his right hand out before him, searching for his rescuer. His hand touched a cold cheek. He flinched. No. Don't be dead. He knelt next to the man, placed a hand on his neck and waited. No pulse. Tabarnac.

He tugged at the body, unwedging it from between the seats. It floated. He gripped the collar and led it down the aisle. At the exit, the attendant stared past Guy. Is he..?

Guy nodded. I think so. But I'm not a doctor.

Leave him here. There's a doctor looking after the... injured.  I'll see to—

The earsplitting screech of metal being ripped filled the cabin. A wave sloshed water into the plane. Guy swung his backpack to his chest, wrapped his arms around it and jumped on the evacuation chute.

The rough seas swallowed him. He bobbed to the surface, grabbed the life vest's inflation nozzle and inhaled. A few deep breaths inflated his lifejacket. He kicked away from the chute. Through the inky dark of the night, he could make out nothing, but in the distance, he heard calls and cries.

Hitching his backpack around his neck, he kicked his legs and swung his arms. The lifejacket hampered a smooth swimming stroke. Where was he headed? He had no clue. He prayed it wasn't further out to sea. Instinct directed him, and he followed it.

With no sense of where he was or any sensation of momentum, Guy pushed onward, telling his aching arms to keep driving forward. Forward there was hope. Floating in the middle of the ocean was certain death. He didn't want to die. He had a job to finish first. A wrong to cleanse off the world. He swung his arms, trying to propel himself away from the plane and closer to safety. Water splashed into his face. The salt stung his eyes. He spit out mouthfuls of seawater. Every time he tried to inhale, a wave slapped him in the face.

Frustration edged with fear mixed with desperation. He kicked harder. His legs flailed in the water. A cold object bumped his arm. Guy's heart raced into overdrive. A shark? He stopped moving. Splashing about, looking like a sea lion, would only intrigue a hungry predator. His heart pounded in his chest as he slowly tread water. The object bumped his shoulder. He reached out his hand.

It was metallic. Cold. Round. A can? He held it close to his eyes, then laughed. Not his brand, but a welcome sight. He stuffed the can of beer into his backpack. He'd drink it onshore. His celebration of life.

Spirit buoyed, he kicked up his feet and swam for what he hoped was a nearby shoreline. Relief swept over him when his hand hit a sandy bottom. Heart pounding, chest heaving, spitting out saltwater, he pulled up and out of the water and collapsed on the beach. The balmy night air soothed his shattered nerves. The rhythmic lull of the waves kissing the sand lulled him to sleep.

SQUAWK.

Squawk. Squawk!

Guy squeezed his eyelids tighter. "Oh, mon Dieu. How much did I drink last night?"

Squawk.

He peeled open one eyelid, then snapped it shut. The sunlight was mind-piercingly bright. Blinking, he opened his eyes and focused toward the annoying sound. A seagull pecked at his sodden backpack. He flapped a hand. Go away.

The seagull stood sideways, cocked his head and eyed him with one eye.

Yes, you. You go away. And take your friends. Guy pushed up to his hands and knees. His arms ached from the effort of last night's swim. He flipped over and settled on the sand. His gaze swept across the water. Far off to his right floated the remains of what was his flight from Toronto, Canada to Caracas, Venezuela. What the hell happened? He'd been asleep when people starting yelling. Jerked awake, he reached for his gun then remembered where he was. His gaze scoured the plane looking for the problem until he realized it wasn't someone on the plane. It was the plane.

Survival instincts and training kicked in. He helped rescue the flight attendant and got himself safely off the plane. Now he was seated on some tropical beach, somewhere in the Caribbean. He smiled. Those palm trees along the shoreline looked a lot better than the massive, dirty snow banks back home. And the sea breeze rustling his hair was like a warm embrace, not like a hard slap of the brutal Ontario winds in January.

Tropical island. A fantasy come true. Except to complete the picture; a beach chair, cold beer and beautiful woman were missing. Well, I got one of the three things. He grabbed his pack, dug through and pulled out his celebratory can of beer. He popped the tab, tilted back his head and poured the golden liquid down his throat. He grimaced at the first mouthful and spit it onto the sand. That washed the salty flavour out of his mouth and the rest of the beer was delicious and refreshing.

Belch!

Ah. C'est bon ça.

He stuffed the can into the sand and rubbed his upper lip. Being stranded on a tropical island wasn't covered in the R.C.M.P. training manual, so let's just go with the basics. SitRep. I'm alive. Good. Stranded on an island. Okay. No food. He dug through his backpack and pulled out a chocolate bar. Food. Got it. Water. Nope. Just drank my only beer. Other people? He glanced right and left. No one was visible. The smiling face of the cute flight attendant, Lori, popped into his mind. "Hope she made it out alive. SitRep analysis — merde."

Rolling up the cuffs of his jeans, Guy pulled off his shirt and dropped it next to him.  A wave kissed his feet. Tide's coming in. Time to move. He grabbed his backpack and empty beer can, then moved higher on the beach. He checked the line in the sand where the last tide washed ashore seaweed and driftwood bits, then walked about fifteen feet beyond to where the trees and shrubs grew.

He squatted on his haunches. As I see it, there are two options here. I go bat-shit crazy and pull my hair out over a hopeless situation. Or, number two, get down to business and figure shit out. Number two it is. Emptying the contents of his pack, he checked his supplies; one chocolate bar, one empty beer can, a soggy sports magazine, pack of chewing gum, passport, plane ticket, and a cellphone charger cord. He snorted, then glanced at the closest palm tree. Unless that thing is somehow wired, this is gonna be friggin' useless. Ah. He pulled out his sunglasses and slipped them on. Patting his back pockets, he pulled a drenched wallet out of one and his boarding pass out of the other. Turning his backpack over, he unzipped a sealed zipper, reached in and pull out his cellphone. Come on baby. Work. He brushed the screen. It flickered, then booted up.

Yes! No. It registered no signal. Damn. He surveyed the island; beach, trees, bushes and a hill in the distance. Maybe up there I can catch a signal. And call who? 911? Hello, I'm stranded on an island. No, I don't know which one. Send pizza. He shook his head. Really gotta stop talking to myself.

He hid his supplies behind a bush and under two palm fronds, put his empty beer can in his pack and hoisted it over his shoulder. Checking his watch, he noted the time. Nine AM. Okay, I keep the water on my right. With cell phone in hand, he began his trek to find a cell signal.

Three hours later, his stomach protested he'd missed breakfast and his temper flared at being unable to find a cell signal. Only place that doesn't get any god damn cell coverage and I crash land there. Hell, Antarctica has cell coverage. What the...?

The ground trembled. Guy looked about. Nothing moved. Did I imagine that? Legs over tired from the swim. Yea, that's it.

The sound of a quick thud behind him spun Guy around. His gaze flicked right and left as his ears listened. His nerves tingled on high. Animal? Human? Alien? He walked back in the direction he thought the sound came from. On the path was a large green ball shaped object. He smiled. A coconut. Food. Water. He picked it up and dropped it into his backpack, then searched for more. He fit four into his pack before heading back to his base camp.

How do I get them open? A machete. Unless some long dead pirate left one, not an option. Hmm? Fire? Burn the green husk off. Possibility.

As he pondered on how to open the coconuts, Guy returned to his original spot. The incoming tide not only covered the beach, but brought debris from the plane. He waded out and retrieved a small black suitcase with the plane's logo on the side. The sunshine flickered off the edge of something. Two more beers bobbed in the water. Today is my lucky day! He unzipped the suitcase and stuffed the beers inside. When he was done collecting plane debris, he added two seat cushions to his collection and tossed one red high heel over his shoulder onto the shore, chuckling that it wasn't his size. The rest was trash, but he dragged it ashore and placed in under a palm tree.

Sitting in the shade, he opened his chocolate bar then unzipped the suitcase. After opening another beer, he began a search of the suitcase content. With a chuckled, he pulled out a pink lace bra. If only the owner were here to claim this. He then lifted out a pair of matching silk panties, a purple silk teddy, various toiletries and a bottle of wine. A cabernet. French. I like this lady. I think she had plans. Searching the front pocket, he pulled out a passport and read the name Paix Allcot. Australian. Strange. He knew her as Lori, cute flight attendant.

Allcot. Guy frowned. That was the last name of the slimy bastard he was tracking. One of the most notorious and disgusting human traffickers in the world. The guy had left a human tragedy mess not only all over the world but also in Canada, and that made the Mounties angry and now it was his job to track Allcot and help bring him to justice.

Guy stared at the passport photo. No way petite Lori could be related. He scratched the back of his neck. Then why the two different names?

He drank his beer and munched his chocolate bar while scanning the water for more and hopefully useful debris. Restlessness nudged him. He decided to try another trip to the hillside, go in the opposite direction. Maybe he could get a cell signal there. He stashed away all the things he'd collected under the palm fronds, slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed off on his second adventure of the day.

As he wandered through lush green shrubs, he kept his eyes and ears open. He’d need more fruit to survive. Finding other survivors would help too. What else grew in the tropics? Didn't pineapples grow here? How the hell does a pineapple grow? He shrugged and looked up. On a tree?

Small scurrying critters crinkled the underbrush. He glanced in the direction of the noise, but didn't spot the wildlife. A tiny lizard stood on the side of a slanted palm tree. From under its chin, a bright red balloon swelled and diminished. Guy chuckled. Sorry, dude. Not your species.

The distinct crash of a larger animal through the bushes pushed the nervous tension up two notches. He edged himself around until he faced the direction of the noise. A bush shook. Guy reached behind to grab his gun but found nothing. He sighed. His gun was in his luggage on the plane. About to sink to the bottom of the Caribbean. Damn flight restrictions. He glanced around his feet looking for a sharp stick, large rock, anything that could act as a weapon. He found sand and dried leaves.

Placing a hand on the branch of a bush, he eased it aside and stepped into the empty space. Continuing this movement, he edged closer to the next bush. He dropped to one knee and pushed a leaf from his view. Two feet in front of him was a woman in a flight attendant's uniform. She hitched up her skirt, dropped her panties and squatted. Guy shook his shoulders, inhaled a deep breath and slipped into his French Canadian undercover persona. He chuckled and stood. "Bonjour, mademoiselle."

Her face snapped in his direction. Her brow pulled down. A little privacy, if you don't mind!

Chapter 3

Aflush of embarrassment was consumed by indignity as Lori glared at the man. He dropped behind the bush and shouted, " Excusez-moi. Uh. Excuse me. Sorry."

She stood, straightened her uniform and inhaled. Then it hit her. Another person. She wasn't alone on the island. Someone else had survived. Someone who could distract her from... No, you've cried enough today. Don't think about him. He's alive. He has to be.

Pushing the branches aside, she peered down at the man. 36C? You're alive?

"Ma mère calls me Guy. Rhymes with de sea. And yes, I'm h'alive." He stood and held out his hand.

Lori shook it. I'm so relieved that there's someone else. I was... was— Her voice cracked. She fought to control her trembles, as relief overwhelmed her. I was so scared that everyone was dead. And I'd be all alone. I don't know what to do. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders and cowered within her embrace.

Guy reached forward and pulled her closer. She rested her cheek on his bare, firm chest. It's okay, Lori. What a crazy day, eh?

The hint of an accent added a sexy edge to his voice. A voice that was comforting to her shattered nerves. Her cheek rose and fell with each of his breaths. Closing her eyes, the fragrance of the lush forest and salty air filled her nose. This is... insane. What am I doing? She stepped back, straightened her uniform. Excuse me. I... I— How do you know my name?

Guy blinked and lowered his arms. It was h'on your name tag. 'Ave you h’eaten or drunk, anyt'ing?

Lori licked her parched lips and shook her head. I haven't found any fresh water. I've been trying to stay out of the sun all day. But keep the ocean in view. In case a ship passes.

Come with me. I 'ave a few things. And some coconuts. If I can figure out how to h'open them. No pirates seems to 'ave left a knife to use.

At the word pirate, a chill slivered down Lori's spine. She peered through the shrubs at the water. She hadn't considered any boat out on the ocean to be anything other than trying to save the survivors.

Eh? H'are you coming? Guy waved his arm.

Watching where she stepped, Lori followed Guy. He moved with confidence through the tropical foliage. She'd tripped and fallen over the smallest of branches and crashed through like a hippopotamus. Guy moved silently. Stealthily. Like a predator tracking prey. His strong arms pushing branches out of her way. His grip comforting as he helped her over a fallen tree. When they moved from the cool shade to the bright heat of the beach, Lori placed a hand against her brow to shade her eyes. Guy tossed two seat cushions under a palm tree.

Revulsion welled up. She swallowed it down. Those are from... the plane.

Guy nodded. First class. Much nicer d’an de ones we 'ad back in cheapo seats. Sit. 'Ere. He held out a can of beer. Sorry, it’s a bit warm. All my h'ice melted.

Her hand ached to grab the beer. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. No, I couldn't. You found it. It's yours. How noble. He offers his only drink.

He placed the can in her hand. I found t'ree. I drank two. This h'one is for you.

She settled on a cushion, popped the tab, lifted the can to her lips and sipped a mouthful. The liquid slid down her throat, coating parched skin with moisture. Mmm. Best beer ever. She raised the can to her mouth, intending another proper sip, but instead, chugged the entire can. A moment later, she belched. Oh, good gracious. Excuse me.

Guy laughed. H'it's all good. I like a lady who can chug a beer. He held a large green object.

She glanced down, wiping some sand off her leg. His accent was a little difficult to understand, dropping Hs here and putting them on there. But somehow, it made him a bit sexier. As if he needed to be a bit sexier. Is that a coconut?

He nodded. "Oui. Noix de coco."

I've only ever seen them in the grocery store. Small brown round things. How do you get it open?

Guy shrugged. Beats me. No tab to pop. No press 'ere button. He scratched the back of his head. But if a monkey can h'open one— He thumped his chest. Guy Lapierre can h'open one.

She stifled a giggle. How?

Working on dat part.

Lori leaned back,