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The Trip
The Trip
The Trip
Ebook46 pages24 minutes

The Trip

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On the long trip back to Toronto from an art show in Detroit, Shawna’s bus makes an unexpected stop in the middle of nowhere. When the bus is evacuated, she ends up alone with a man who’s just as dark and dominant as the heroes in her favorite books. Her desires tempt her to let her guard down—to take a chance that he might be everything she needs—but how far is she willing to go? She’s afraid to find out . . . and even more afraid not to.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateDec 10, 2013
ISBN9780987904485
The Trip

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    Book preview

    The Trip - Bianca Sommerland

    One

    Wind whishing on glass drowned out the rumble of the heavy engine, rising to an off-pitch howl as the bus swerved and picked up speed. Napping on the road—not something to be undertaken unless one was desperate or getting paid.

    Shawna angled her hip beneath her, trying to find a more comfortable position. Each spring inside the worn jacquard polyester seat jittered into her pelvis like a mini-jackhammer, sending vibrations along her bones straight up to her teeth. The fuzzy veil between sleep and wakefulness wavered. A loud laugh from a few seats back tore right through it.

    God, she hated this. Being hogtied for an hour would be preferable. She checked her watch, rubbed her eyes with her thumb and forefinger, and checked again. No way. She'd only slept for forty minutes?

    Uck! My definition of hell. This ride's gonna take forever!

    If only the gallery that had displayed all her best paintings wasn't all the way in Detroit. If only she'd braved a plane—which would have gotten her there from Toronto in an eighth of the time it had taken her on the bus . . . .

    Too late now. As usual, she'd ignored all the sage advice she'd been given. Fear trumped practicality. This is what she got for making last-minute, emotional decisions. She'd have to deal with the trip and learn from the experience the same way she learned every other lesson. The hard way.

    Less than an hour in and five more to go—there had to be a better way to pass the time than trying, unsuccessfully, to sleep. A book might help, but the one she'd started at the hotel . . . . She glanced around at the other passengers, who were all either sleeping or absorbed in their own books or in conversation. She doubted they'd notice—or care about—the image of the bound woman on the cover of her dog-eared book. And they were all sitting too far away to see the bloody stripes crossing her pale back.

    Do you really care if they notice? It's just a book.

    A voice in the logical part of her brain said, no, she didn't care. But the entire trip had worn down her social defenses, and all she could think about now was how much she hated being embarrassed. Unlike the heroines in some of her favorite books, she wasn't turned on by humiliation. At all. Ever. Actually, the thought of being humiliated made her feel a little sick.

    But boredom wasn't high on her list of favorite experiences either, and, since the batteries in her laptop and e-reader were dead, she could either read the book or watch the pretty scenery through the bus window. And, tempting as it was to observe scores of trees shrouded in darkness whip by, finishing the scene in which the blindfolded heroine strapped to the sawhorse got fucked by all

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