Sloan Parker – Breathe.pdf - MM - renee2010

Breathe

Sloan Parker

www.loose-id.com

Breathe

ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any

printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.

Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in

violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

eISBN 978-1-60737-890-7

Editor: Antonia Pearce

Cover Artist: Valerie Tibbs

Printed in the United States of America

Published by

Loose Id LLC

PO Box 425960

San Francisco CA 94142-5960

www.loose-id.com

This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical

events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either

the product of the author‟s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any

resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or

locales is entirely coincidental.

Warning

This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be

considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id LLC‟s e-books are for sale to adults

ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase.

Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

* * *

DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that

might be found in our BDSM/fetish titles without the guidance of an experienced

practitioner. Neither Loose Id LLC nor its authors will be responsible for any loss,

harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its

titles.

Dedication

To Mom and Dad. Thank you for all the love and support.

Acknowledgement

My sincerest thanks to Antonia, Treva, and everyone at Loose Id for giving this

story a chance and for the wonderful words of advice and support.

Special thanks to my critique partner, Connie, for helping polish this story. And

thank you to all of my local RWA chapter mates, especially the B-I-C gang and all

the brainstormers for sharing your knowledge, as well as the wonderful

encouragement you’ve offered this past year.

Thank you to the readers and other writers who have connected with me on

Twitter, Facebook, my blog, and other places. I appreciate your comments, laughs,

and cheers.

Lastly, but certainly not least, thank you to my Rosie for…well, everything.

Chapter One

Hope you found some peace in jail. You never will again.

Lincoln McCaw read the note one last time and crushed the paper in his fist.

The bus jerked forward as it came to a stop. No need to check. He was home. The

smell of hog manure from the surrounding farmlands and the burning steel of his

hometown‟s only manufacturing plant filtered in through the crack in the window

one seat over. Funny how he couldn‟t feel the coolness of the winter air hissing in

through that crack.

Maybe he never would again.

He stuffed the wadded-up note into his duffel bag, stood, and headed to the

front of the bus. The jail wasn‟t far from Edgefield, but he hadn‟t wanted Nancy

waiting for him outside. Who knew what sort of people lurked outside a jailhouse.

He laughed at that. Who was he afraid of? Men like him?

Six months in the county jail. His fellow inmates and the deputies probably

thought he was the worst of the lot. He‟d spent more days there than most of the

guys who came and went. Some spent less time at the state pen.

But the jail was behind him now. It was over. Wasn‟t it?

Not according to the latest “love letter” he had tucked in his bag.

He stepped off the bus. The driver shut the door and pulled away as soon as

Lincoln‟s boots hit the pavement. Not surprising. Most didn‟t want to stick around

the three-stoplight town. But Lincoln did. He had a lot of reasons to be there. A lot

of reasons he‟d never leave.

Clear plastic walls surrounded the bus stop bench, cracked on all three sides

and coated in a slime no amount of scrubbing with the industrial strength cleaner

they‟d used at the jail would remove. No one would wait inside the enclosure, no

matter how desperate they were for a bus out of Edgefield.

He checked anyway. Splinters covered the faded wood of the bench. If anyone

sat there, they‟d get an ass full of tiny wooden daggers. Not the best way to ride the

bus. Edgefield was so damn inconsequential nobody at the Metro Transit Authority

probably gave a shit about the upkeep on the small-town stop that made up the

farthest point of the outlying community bus route.

Home sweet home.

“Lincoln!” Nancy crossed the parking lot behind the bench, waving her arms

through the air, a smile spread across her face. She quickened her stride. He did the

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