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  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Synopsis

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Other Books by Karin Kallmaker

  Dedication

  Special Thanks To...

  About the Author

  References to Characters from Other Novels

  Act I

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Act II

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Act III

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Act IV

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Epilogue

  Bella Books

  Synopsis

  The world is at Jennifer Lamont’s feet—right where she wants it. She has made breaking hearts a blood sport, and the cool, calculated use of other people’s backs has led to the stardom she has craved from the first time she heard applause. Lust or fear is all she has ever believed she could see in the eyes of others.

  Suzanne Mason has built the enviable life she was always told smart geeks could never have. Fortune, fame and the beautiful girls usually reserved for captains of football teams are all hers. She has everything she ever wanted, except the one woman who is no one’s trophy.

  Expert combatants in the games of life know there can only be one winner. Regardless of the scorching attraction between them, the game of love is no different, is it?

  Copyright © 2016 by Karin Kallmaker

  Bella Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 10543

  Tallahassee, FL 32302

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  First Bella Books Edition 2016

  eBook released 2016

  Editor: Katherine V. Forrest

  Cover Designer: Linda Callaghan

  ISBN: 978-1-59493-491-9

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Other Bella Books by Karin Kallmaker

  Romance:

  Love by the Numbers

  Roller Coaster

  Above Temptation

  Stepping Stone

  Warming Trend

  The Kiss that Counted

  Night Vision/The Dawning

  Christabel

  Finders Keepers

  Just Like That

  Sugar

  One Degree of Separation

  Maybe Next Time

  Substitute for Love

  Frosting on the Cake I and II

  Unforgettable

  Watermark

  Making Up for Lost Time

  Embrace in Motion

  Wild Things

  Painted Moon

  Car Pool

  Paperback Romance

  Touchwood

  In Every Port

  Erotica:

  In Deep Waters: Cruising the Seas

  18th and Castro

  All the Wrong Places

  Tall in the Saddle: New Exploits of Western Lesbians

  Stake through the Heart: New Exploits of Twilight Lesbians

  Bell, Book and Dyke: New Exploits of Magical Lesbians

  Once Upon a Dyke: New Exploits of Fairy Tale Lesbians

  Dedication

  The late Suzanne Corson of Boadecia’s Books and all independent booksellers and reading advocates who put books in the hands of readers, one story at a time.

  Twenty-seven, at last.

  Seven alien civilizations, 792 large cups of coffee, 8 cans of Pringles, innumerable Goldfish crackers, bits of chocolate and 1,283 hours of ambient music were consumed during the writing of this book. No pictures of Della Street were harmed.

  Special thanks to…

  Kay Carney for her generous donation to the Golden Crown Literary Society (GCLS) and her inspired names “Laverne and Shirley” for Jennifer Lamont’s formidable Girls.

  Ann de Mooij for her generosity to GCLS and even more so for her patience.

  KG MacGregor, Melissa Brayden, MJ Lowe, Polly Robinson and Erica Abbott for their support by both example and direct kick-in-the-pants. Polly (again) and Toni Whitaker for their Lego-based inspirations.

  Katherine V. Forrest and Bella Books, who continue to make me better than I am.

  About the Author

  Karin Kallmaker has been exclusively devoted to lesbian fiction since the publication of her first novel in 1989. As an author published by the storied Naiad Press, she worked with Barbara Grier and Donna McBride, and has been fortunate to be mentored by a number of editors, including Katherine V. Forrest.

  In addition to multiple Lambda Literary Awards, she has been featured as a Stonewall Library and Archives Distinguished Author. Other accolades include the Ann Bannon Popular Choice and other awards for her writing, as well as the selection as a Trailblazer by the Golden Crown Literary Society. She is best known for novels such as Painted Moon, Substitute for Love, Touchwood, Maybe Next Time and The Kiss that Counted.

  The California native is the mother of two and blogs at Romance and Chocolate. Write to her at [email protected] or visit at Facebook or @kallmaker on Twitter. More about books and writing at kallmaker.com.

  A complete list of books by this author available from Bella Books: http://www.bellabooks.com/
Author-Karin-Kallmaker-cat.html

  When you purchase from the publisher more of your dollars reach the women who write and produce the books you love. Karin thanks you for your support of books for and about lesbians!

  References to Characters from Other Novels

  Selena Ryan and Gail Welles - Stepping Stone

  Helen Baynor and Laura Izmani - Roller Coaster

  Syrah Ardani and Toni Blanchard - Just Like That

  Reyna Putnam and “the mathematician” (Holly Markham) - Substitute for Love

  Leah Beck and Jackie Frakes - Painted Moon

  Sydney Van Allen and Faith Fitzgerald - Wild Things

  ACT I

  Chapter One

  The twinkling party lights woven into the hedges and trees brightened the amber glow of the chardonnay that was no longer in Jennifer Lamont’s glass. Droplets of wine shimmered in an arc away from her, and in each Jennifer fancied she could see snapshots from the A-list soiree that surrounded her.

  In the nearest drop was the face of her ex, cuddling with the new love. The next reflected the swathed sculpture up for auction. The ribbon of shimmering wine just leaving the fluted mouth of her glass gleamed with a hundred eyes that had turned from their vivacious conversations toward her crescendoing cry of alarm.

  There were at least seventy Beautiful People gathered in the expansive cliffside backyard of some Southern California Internet tycoon, and all of them were eager to talk about women in politics while they showed their support for breast cancer screening and research. All of them were now witnessing La Lamont falling off her five-inch Jimmy Choo heels.

  A producer had bought the coveted, high-priced tickets for the opportunity to rub shoulders with some of the wealthiest and most famous women in the country. Jennifer had agreed to be arm candy because of the auction of the new Leah Beck sculpture. Even though it was midweek and she had a five a.m. makeup call in Los Angeles, she’d passed up sleep and gotten herself A-list dressed in a Michael Kors off-the-shoulder cocktail sheath. When her date—name to be forever cursed—had canceled at the last minute, Jennifer had demanded the address and made the drive to La Jolla on her own.

  In the small pool of wine left in her glass, Jennifer thought she saw the white flare of at least one cell phone flash. Then the glass followed the wine arc across the terra-cotta patio and she had one final split-second choice: fall hard, fast, and then roll her face away from most of the probable witnesses and cameras, or windmill, flail, and try to stay upright. Which one would make the worst picture on SLY or Buzztastic? Which one would she prefer to explain on talk shows? Which one would look more like she had caught her heel between the flagstones—the truth—and less like she was drunk—the likely headline?

  All the while the clay tiles rushed toward her nose and an increasingly urgent part of her brain screamed, “Protect your face!”

  She twisted to take the impact on her side, threw her arms around her head.

  Later, pictures confirmed that the back of her skull was a scant inch above the tiles. Not that most people looked at that part of the tableau. Instead, all eyes were on the wardrobe malfunction of the year—of two years, more accurately.

  To her credit, her rescuer glanced only briefly at Laverne and Shirley in all their glory, then met Jennifer’s panicked gaze. With one eyebrow arched she asked, “You get regularly scheduled mammograms, right?”

  Jennifer scarcely heard the laughter from the partygoers near enough to have heard the question. White flashes from cameras didn’t blot out the face of the woman who had caught her.

  She knew the sardonic edge, the light blue eyes. She knew the strong arms lifting her. Not again, she thought helplessly. Not again.

  Chapter Two

  Twenty Years Earlier

  Eighteen, nineteen, twenty.

  The elevator’s faint ping coincided with the doors easing open to reveal concrete floors, exposed steel beams and tall, broad windows lightly frosted with snow. A red carpet runner led across the foyer to ceiling-high wooden double doors that stood open. Two of the other women in the lift let out a unison “ooh” at the sight of Central Park, and, across the treetops, the roof line of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

  But nobody moved until Jennifer stepped forward. A show runway or an entrance into a high-end society party—Jennifer Lamont walked and people watched her. Picking up the rhythm of a jazzed up “Holly Jolly Christmas” that poured through the doors, she strode along the red runner in a cloud of Shalimar. Her agent said she wasn’t old enough to carry off the cologne, but tonight’s designer hadn’t specified scent or footwear, so she had chosen what she wanted.

  Her client’s Stormy Nights line of nightclub dresses and lingerie had led to the indigo hair color that had teens in New York draining salons dry of similar shades. She was pleased that her stunning lion’s mane hairstyle had led to a new nickname. She’d already been Baby Jennifer, Sweetheart Jen, Luscious Lamont. Now she was Hurricane Jennifer and she liked it. She liked it a lot.

  Beyond the open doors she could see the chilly glass and steel of a lavish Upper East Side corner loft. Her gait deliberately long, she strode through the open doors, not deviating from her runway strut for another six strides. She paused, quarter-turned, treated the nearest server bearing a tray of champagne flutes to a long look and was pleased when he scurried over to offer one. Flashes popped.

  Ninety percent of her job was done.

  Her client, whose designs didn’t live up to his ego, was the next to scurry in her direction. She dropped about half of her runway bearing, returned the air-cheek kisses and shifted to become his literal arm candy.

  “You look divine!”

  “How could I look anything else in your gorgeous clothes, Lucius?” The shadow they cast together in the long, last light of the setting December sun only magnified her height advantage, turning her additional eight inches into several feet.

  They sipped champagne and began a circuit of the party. In spite of the bright holiday dresses and scattering of Santa hats on the guests, the room was sterile and cold compared to the old, tiny East Village apartment she lived in. This loft, mostly concrete and steel with an open-plan brushed stainless steel kitchen in the middle, lacked for personality until she saw that an enormous mural replica of Starry Night was painted on the ceiling. The real Van Gogh was one of her favorite paintings to visit at MOMA. The view across Central Park was indeed stunning and Jennifer would have liked to have lingered and picked out more landmarks, but she was being paid to be part of the scenery.

  Halfway around the loft, after dozens of air kisses, her repetition of how wonderful it was to be wearing Lucius’s divinely retro princess-cut cocktail dress with lavish rhinestone trim, along with darling lace ankle boots she “just grabbed out of the closet,” was sounding only slightly tired to her own ears.

  She was diverted from a tedious Lucius monologue by a server hovering in her line of sight, offering canapés and cheese. He was cute enough—a twenty-something scrubby-shaved New York aspiring actor currently playing the role of waiter. She met his eager gaze, lifted an eyebrow at his outstretched tray and then deliberately looked down at the sewn-to-fit gown that molded her 38-24-32 silhouette.

  He gulped and hurried away.

  “Well done. Not a clue why he thought you ever ate anything,” someone with a husky voice said in her ear.

  “Oh, I eat.” She didn’t bother to turn around. “Every third Tuesday.”

  “Aren’t you a little young for the champagne?”

  That made her turn.

  At five-seven, she was not used to having to look up at other women, especially when she was wearing four-inch heels. But the woman who had spoken to her was still an inch or two taller and a quick glance confirmed she was wearing flat-heeled, square-toed Steve Madden boots below a plain black custom-tailored men’s suit and James-Bond-meets-Devo narrow tie. Light blue eyes stood out against a smooth tan that was the product of time in sunlight, not a salon booth. Sun was also resp
onsible for the slight bleaching at the very tips of the short-cropped hair.

  She wasn’t going to admit she didn’t like champagne. “A mentor told me that three months in Manhattan equaled a year in the University of Life. I came here a year ago when I was nineteen.”

  The light blue eyes lit up. “Oh, a math word problem. You’re flirting with me, aren’t you?”

  The smug smile brought out a stiff one of her own as Jennifer answered with, “Do you want me to be?”

  The smile deepened. “Anyone with a heartbeat wants you to be. So you’re saying you’re twenty-three in Manhattan years?”

  “You’re making me feel like a kid trying to sit at the grown-up table.” It was not a feeling she had ever liked. After a slow, substantial swallow of more champagne she added, “It’s all on the inside.”

  “And you don’t look a day over twenty.”

  Being mocked always brought out Jennifer’s bad side, but her bitchy response was squashed by the arrival of Lucius, who oozed, “Darling, this is our host, Suzanne Mason. The CEO of Connecks.”

  “Former CEO,” Suzanne said. “Our stock was just bought out by AOL and I’m unemployed at the moment.”

  Unemployed and looking like a California surfer, Jennifer mused, and probably with millions of dollars to go with her bad-boy hair. “Everyone should be so lucky in their lack of work.”

  “Luck was a big part of it. Would you like to meet some people?” Long fingers lightly touched her free elbow.

  Just like that, Jennifer found herself extricated from Lucius’s grasp and blithely introduced to several pop singers, two Broadway rising stars and a cluster of aides to the mayor.

  “Stop talking politics,” Suzanne warned them, while Jennifer made a point of telling one of the Broadway divas how much she’d enjoyed her small but notable part in the revival of Chicago.

  Just as she was about to ask if the starlet had a theatrical agent, Suzanne gestured at the prominent Christmas tree. “Who wants prezzies?”