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

  Hungry for Touch

  Copyright © 2012 by Angelita Gill

  ISBN: 978-1-61333-179-8

  Cover art by LFD Designs

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

  Look for us online at:

  www.decadentpublishing.com

  Also by Angelita Gill

  A Demon’s Lure

  A 1Night Stand Story

  Hungry for Touch

  A 1Night Stand Story

  by

  Angelita Gill

  ~DEDICATION~

  To the heroic soldiers I know and to those that I don't.

  I'm thankful for you all.

  Chapter One

  A girl could get used to this.

  Kimber Dawson emerged from the resort pool and made a lazy walk to her reserved deck chair. The description on the hotel’s website had sounded absolutely divine, but once she’d arrived, she’d found the Castillo Oceanside Resort even more impressive. From the inviting design of the lobby and the brick courtyard to the surrounding indigenous palmetto trees Hilton Head Island, South Carolina was a little slice of paradise on the East Coast. Everything sparked temptation, especially the award-winning spa the front desk clerk had mentioned when she’d arrived.

  But she’d needed sun more than she needed a massage or facial. As a mediator for a small law firm in Atlanta all of her daytime hours were spent indoors with dark walls and somber furniture. So she’d headed downstairs to the pool to enjoy a few hours of sunbathing before she primped for her date.

  Well, not exactly a date. Not when both parties’ intentions centered on sex.

  She arched her back on the cushioned chaise and sighed. That wasn’t entirely true. She crossed her fingers it would be a little more than twisting sheets and clawing fingernails. Not that she hoped for a relationship—oh please, she wasn’t that young and naïve—but she hoped the experience would help…fix her. She didn’t know what else to call her inability to connect with a man on an emotional or sexual level, other than an “accidental disorder.”

  Five years before, she had been in a car accident that had left her in a coma for two days. She’d come out okay with no permanent brain injuries, but her personality, at least according to her friends and family, had changed somehow. Sure, once she had recovered, her intelligence and strong sense of loyalty remained, still the caring young woman they knew and loved, but…something—they had insisted—was missing.

  Kimber didn’t know what the something could be, or how to get it back, because all she knew was how she thought and behaved now.

  Everyone, including men she dated, expected some kind of emotional response from her. Whatever she gave didn’t seem to be enough.

  Others made it look easy, such as the woman across the pool who held hands with her handsome companion while he gazed into her eyes and chattered on. Then he kissed her hand, staring at her as if they were the only two people left in the world.

  Kimber’s mouth quirked. What did it feel like? Men never looked at her like that. Maybe because she didn’t do the same. Sighing, she ceased her rude observation of the happy couple and reached for her half-empty daiquiri.

  She didn’t get it.

  She’d done everything she could think of to “fix” it. Counseling. Self-improvement books. Seminars. Even taking a spiritual retreat to get in touch with her feelings. Nothing resonated with her.

  Another thing she didn’t get, and a paramount justification why she’d contacted 1Night Stand: her inability to orgasm. With any luck, tonight would change that particular dysfunction. Funny how everything that had happened led her to a discreet matchmaking service that promised extraordinary results.

  A few weeks ago at a yuppie bar downtown, she had told her best friend she’d given up on finding satisfaction, in her bed or in her heart. When Simone had stepped away to buy them more drinks, Kimber had turned at a tap on her shoulder to see an attractive, older, Chanel-wearing woman with kind eyes. In a soft drawl, she said she’d overheard her complaint. Before Kimber could say a word, the woman had plucked a crisp, white business card from her clutch bag, told her she would be wise to contact Madame Evangeline, then disappeared into the crowd.

  A one-night stand matched by a world-renowned expert? Was this the solution to her problem? She wanted to prove to herself she had it in her to connect with another, on any level, and her desperation to try anything compelled her to give the service a chance.

  A week later, jackpot. A jackpot named Nate. Not just good-looking, according to Madame, but possessing the bedroom expertise she’d asked for.

  All she had to do was show up—and hope for the best.

  The alarm on her cell phone went off. Time to get ready for her date. Climbing off the chaise, she took a deep breath and tried one final time to calm her nerves. She had a good two hours before their arranged meeting time, and she needed every minute of it.

  1Night Stand was her last ditch effort.

  If she didn’t feel connected, if her mind and body didn’t respond to the ultimate lover selected especially for her, then she wasn’t meant to feel at all.

  Chapter Two

  “Enjoy your stay with us, sir.” The front desk clerk handed Sergeant First Class Nate Brennan a map of the hotel and a key.

  He gave a short nod and a quick smile. “Thank you. One more thing. Has the…other guest checked in yet?”

  A quick glance at the computer screen and a few seconds of typing then the clerk nodded. “Yes, the lady checked in earlier this afternoon.”

  She’s here. The information spurred his already growing anticipation. With a quick thanks, he picked up his duffel bag and headed for the row of house phones lined on the wall. Since he’d arrived a bit earlier than planned, he’d call the room and let her know, in case she didn’t like surprises. He sure as hell didn’t.

  Punching in the room number, he waited while it rang. No answer.

  She could be in the shower or somewhere in the resort killing time until he arrived. In any case, he’d head up to the room and drop off his belongings. If she was getting ready or wasn’t in the room, he’d come down to the lounge and wait. He hung up the phone and resumed his walk to the elevators.

  Nice place. Not bad, though a little high-end for his taste. But he had agreed to whatever location Madame Eve chose, and she had selected this five-star resort on Hilton Head Island.

  Not too long ago he’d been stationed in Afghanistan. Instead of lush, green plants and glossy marble, he’d been surrounded by throat-choking dust and armed maniacs. And not all of them were terrorists. Still having difficulty adjusting to life back in the States, he found it uncomfortable to see so many smiling faces and listen to mindless chitchat, when somewhere overseas shit was going down. Men and women he knew and respected were risking their lives on patrol and in the air.
But with just over a year until retirement, the military wouldn’t be sending him back.

  He was done. In more ways than he could count.

  He’d never expected to come home alive—and in one piece. His destiny would not end in the battlefields of the Middle East. Whether or not he accepted that was something else.

  Right after he left to fight for his country, his girlfriend broke up with him, via snail mail. It hurt that she hadn’t even given them a chance to make it work while he was deployed, but all in all, he couldn’t blame her. Though he loved his job and the Army treated him well, other aspects of his life suffered. When his comrades had received packages and cards in the mail, Nate had subsisted on their leftover pity, candy bars, and antibacterial wipes. Good for them, though. His men needed the support more than he—something of a lone wolf—did. Nevertheless, after months at war, saturated by death, frustration, and heat, he found himself wanting a little slice of heaven to come home to.

  All he’d planned to do when he got back to Atlanta was get rip-roaring drunk and maybe think about buying that boat he’d been dreaming of for the past six years. There was nothing to look forward to with any real enthusiasm, other than the obvious fact he’d be home on American soil.

  Then, a month before his unit was scheduled to fly home, he’d gotten a surprise in the mail.

  No return address.

  An all-occasion greeting card featuring a magnificent, flaming sunset. When he opened it, a business card flew down to his dusty boots. He read the single, handwritten line. Nate, for once, do something for yourself. Baffled, he bent down for the small rectangle.

  A name. A website. An email address. Nothing more.

  Nate disliked mystery. He preferred directness and clear, concise messages. Whoever had sent it would know there stood a big chance he’d throw both cards away and think nothing of it.

  But he hadn’t.

  Roasting inside a windy tent in the stifling heat, he’d laughed and rolled his eyes. He didn’t need some service to find him a woman willing to go home with him for a roll in the sack.

  But then he thought about how nice it would be knowing. Without having to play games at the bars or deal with annoying mutual friend set-ups doomed to fail, he would be meeting a sure thing. A woman matched to his desires, waiting for him, who wanted no commitment, no promises. The kind of lady interested in a man who’d gone too long without sensual touch, without sex. He wanted to feel something soft in his arms, instead of an assault rifle.

  In the middle of the night, unable to sleep, he’d logged on and emailed Madame Evangeline. She had replied, stating many women would love to welcome a dedicated soldier home. She understood his needs and desires with little input from him, almost as if she could read his thoughts. Days later, he had a name and a contract.

  Nate had sent it back with a fast, Do it.

  With no family or girlfriend eager to welcome him home after his final deployment, Nate felt more disconnected from the civilian world than ever. His cynicism and bitterness had leaked through and even his comrades kept their distance. At least a few good Army buddies had met him at the airport to slap him on the back and buy him a beer.

  He went through out-processing for his leave, and now he was on Hilton Head Island.

  Turning the corner, he came to the elevators. He tapped the button and waited.

  Seconds later, a woman came through the doors to his left wearing a white string bikini on her petite frame, a sarong tied to her hip revealing one long, tanned leg as she walked. Her shoulder-length, dark blonde hair appeared damp from a swim and tousled from a run-through with a hand.

  He swallowed on a dry throat.

  Her attention on tightening the knot on her sarong, her lashes lifted and their eyes met. He snapped attention straight ahead, then rocked back on his heels.

  Caught staring. How juvenile.

  Nevertheless, it didn’t seem to bother her as she waited beside him, the scent of tropical oil tickling his nose.

  “The elevators here are slow,” she remarked.

  He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “So I see. I should take the stairs anyway, good exercise.” Lame! Kermit the Frog could’ve come up with a better line than that.

  “Trust me, whenever there is a free ride, take it. Climbing stairs is overrated. Especially when you're on vacation.” She paused. “Are you on vacation?”

  “Yes.” Leave, vacation…one-night stand. All those things.

  He dared another glimpse at her.

  Her beauty, natural and understated without a trace of makeup, hair undone, held him captive, and he didn’t want to tear his eyes away.

  She smiled up at him with a twinkle in her eye. “You look like you’ve already gotten some sun.”

  “That wasn't exactly a vacation,” he said in a wry tone.

  “Oh?”

  “I work outdoors a lot.” For some reason, maybe because he’d been around a lot of ball-breaking soldiers for the past year, he tried to keep the conversation going. “Recommend anything around here?”

  “The lounge is nice,” she commented. “At night there’s a band. Island music, I think. If you’re into that sort of thing.”

  I would be if you were there. “Reggae music can be fun. Doesn’t require a lot of coordination or style around the dance floor. Just a Hawaiian shirt and flip flops.”

  “And pants,” she added and they both laughed.

  A chime sounded, the doors parted. Nate held his hand out for her to precede him. She smiled and stepped in. He followed, grateful no one else joined them.

  “What floor?” she asked.

  “Eleventh.”

  “Oh. Me, too.” She selected their floor and the doors closed.

  He stood on one side, as she moved to the back.

  He tried not to notice the air-conditioned interior had hardened her nipples through the thin material of her bikini, showing perfect little peaks. His grip tightened on the handle of his duffel bag, his dick twitching in reaction. Get a grip, man.

  “Speaking of bands, I dated a musician once,” she mused. “It didn’t last, of course; he was too moody for me. But I had a great time being his groupie for a while. I was a freshman in college, by the way. Don’t judge.”

  He chuckled, charmed, wanting to ask her name, her phone number. God, when he got hungry, he got greedy. “Those musician guys get all the pretty girls.”

  Her eyes, a soft brown, sparkled in amusement. “You think I’m pretty.”

  She said it as a statement, rather than a question. He liked that. “I do.”

  Abruptly, the elevator jerked and screeched. The woman lurched forward with a gasp and Nate caught her with his free hand, the hot feel of her smooth skin doing crazy things to the rest of his body parts. He released her. Frowning, he dropped his duffel bag to the floor and listened.

  “We’ve stopped,” he said.

  “You’re kidding.” When he pointed to the digital counter above the doors, locked on the fifth floor she made a face. “Ugh, you’re right. We’re stuck. Unbelievable.”

  He tapped a few buttons on the control panel. None of them lit up. With a sigh, he used his knuckle to hit Call Emergency. Help on the way, and it flashed green. “There’s hope.” His companion appeared quite calm, no hysterical panting or tears of panic.

  He had no problem with it either. Once he’d been crouched in a man-made, insect-infested hole for days at a time, with no way to radio for rescue while the enemy trampled above. This was cake compared to that. He shook his head to clear the fog. “Shouldn’t take long.”

  She blew out a slow breath, rubbing her neck then idly traced her fingers down her chest.

  God have mercy, the woman radiated a sensuality so strong, he didn’t know how long he could be confined with her and keep his reputation as a gentleman intact. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d seen dozens of pretty women since he came home. She was just the first one he couldn’t stop staring at.

  He snapped his ga
ze back to the emergency button and tapped it twice. Hard.

  A long buzz. “Castillo security. Is everyone in there all right?”

  “Yes, there are two of us and we’re fine,” Nate answered. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing to worry about,” the man replied. “Our maintenance team is on the way. This should only take a few minutes. Hang tight.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  He turned to look at the beauty the elevator had trapped him with.

  The woman's gaze was focused on the ceiling. “Did you ever notice in movies, whenever the hero is trapped in an elevator, he’s able to maneuver out through the ceiling? He gets a boost up and simply opens some hatch or slides away the panels and goes for help.” She met his eyes. “So every time I walked in an elevator, I used to check out the ceiling to see if I would be able to escape if I got trapped. You know what I found out, though? The hatch is usually locked from the outside and you need special tools. You can’t just climb out. What a scam.”

  His mouth quirked at her ramble. “Hollywood makes a lot of things up. Guns never run out of bullets and endings are always happy.”

  “Not all of the stories are like that. And who doesn’t like happy endings?”

  “They’re unrealistic.”

  “People don’t go to movies for realism,” she countered. “Who wants to see a film about everyday problems and pain? They’re about dreams and other lives—an escape.”

  “It’s silly.” Why was he arguing with her about something so meaningless?

  She arched a brow, her hands on her hips pulling his gaze to her toned stomach. “Well, aren’t you the grouch?”

  He frowned. “I just think people who believe in fairy tales set the bar too high for real life. That’s not how it is.”

  “Maybe your idea of a happily ever after is different from everyone else’s, but I'm sure you have one.”