Hurts So Good

Hurts So Good

by

Mallory Rush

Bestselling, Award-winning Author

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ISBN: 978-1-61417-422-6

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Copyright 1992, 2013, 2014 by Olivia Rupprecht. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

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Special thanks go to Mr. Homer Brown,

professional saxophonist and a

gentleman, first class.

Sayonara Binbo, Homer—

From one of the Six Pack at El Chapultepec

Author's Note

"Where do you get your ideas?" is a question often asked of a writer, and the answer is an elusive one. A picture, song or dream, a personal experience, an overheard conversation between strangers—all make fine fodder for the imagination.

And yet, no matter how riveting or original the plot, the hallmark of memorable stories is the strength of compelling characters. To deny them the right to speak for themselves is to be guilty of author intrusion.

Why am I telling you this? Because you're about to meet some special people who speak a dialect that is vibrant, unique, rich. Forget the Queen's English. We's in N'awlins, y'all. A city that's divinely decadent, a world set apart by its zest for life and colorful inhabitants.

Lou and Liza, and to a lesser extent Neil, are part of a community I bow to in honor of its societal contributions. So please do not construe my effort at portrayal of these characters as an exercise in prejudice when it is my wish to salute the various cultures that give our country dimension.

Chapter 1

There was a gentle cruelty about his mouth. Perhaps it was in the hard yet pliable fullness of his lips. Or the way they sensuously parted for his tongue to stroke them and leave a light sheen of moisture before curling into a sneer.

His mouth descended, then paused before claiming the instrument of his desire. At first touch Andrea's own mouth quivered in response, then the low croon of a saxophone seduced her ears.

The clink of ice to glass was Neil Grey's only accompaniment in the smoky bar—that, and the quick scratch of pen to paper. As Andrea Post glanced up from her table at the front, she stopped in mid-scribble.

Neil's hazel eyes connected with hers. He raised a single brow in acknowledgment, then dismissed her presence as he went about making love to the saxophone with his trademark pucker and blow.

Once again she succumbed to the spell he wove in a performance as uniquely his as his coveted compositions. The smooth swivel of his hips eased into a sexy gyration, and then, in a show of his mastery of the stage, he hoofed, crouched, lunged, and waltzed. He was an outrageous flirt, a naughty lover and a James Dean tough who pouted and winked, then stroked his sax between his legs while tossing out a "beat it or eat it" grin.