She Likes It Rough Read online

  She Likes It Rough

  GVR Corcillo

  Cover Art by Annicka Rietveld

  brosephiine.artworkfolio.com

  Cover Design

  by Winterheart Design

  winterheart.com

  Copyright © 2013 Corcillo Literary Trust

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in any information storage and retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, without written permission from the author, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 United States Copyright Act, or successor statute, without either the prior written permission of the Publisher, or authorization through payment of the appropriate per-copy fee to the Copyright Clearance Center, Inc., 222 Rosewood Drive, Danvers, MA 01923, (978) 750-8400 or on the Web at www.copyright.com.

  First Kindle Edition

  First Printing 2013

  Distributed by Createspace

  An Amazon Company

  Printed in the United States of America

  She Likes It Rough

  by GVR Corcillo

  Blackbird Press, LLC

  Post Office Box 4433

  Greenville, DE 19807-4433

  USA

  http://www.gvrcorcillo.com

  http://becominggvr.blogspot.com/

  This book is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, places, situations, events,

  incidents and locations are

  products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  Any similarity to actual events or locales or

  persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  FAIR USE NOTICE

  This novel contains copyrighted and trademarked material, the use of which has not been specifically authorized by the respective copyright or trademark owners.

  Neither the Publisher nor the Author makes any claim to the ownership of any such intellectual property. Such intellectual property remains the property of their respective owners.

  We are using this intellectual property in a limited capacity for the artistic and literary purpose of evoking the character’s stream of consciousness. We believe that: (1) this use does not dilute or otherwise infringe on such intellectual property, (2) constitutes a 'fair use' of such copyrighted material as provided for in section 107 of the 1976 United States Copyright Act or a ‘nominative fair use’ of such trademarks and (3) is permissible under the First Amendment. The use of these copyrights and trademarks is not intended to suggest sponsorship or endorsement by the various copyright or trademark owners of this work or the Author.

  As the author of She Likes It Rough,

  I, GVR Corcillo, hereby assert generally all droit moral rights,

  including the right of attribution

  and the right to the integrity of the work,

  in Canada, the French Republic,

  the Federal Republic of Germany,

  and in all other jurisdictions

  which recognize similar copyright laws.

  As the author of She Likes It Rough,

  I, GVR Corcillo, hereby assert generally

  my moral right to be identified as the author,

  whenever it is commercially published in the

  United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland

  and, likewise, in all other jurisdictions

  which recognize similar copyright laws.

  Library of Congress

  Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Corcillo, GVR

  She Likes It Rough

  By GVR Corcillo

  1st Edition

  ISBN-13: 978-1-62678-000-2

  ISBN-10: 1-62678-000-5

  Fiction I. Corcillo, GVR

  Author’s Writing Awards

  Winner

  Romancing the Novel Contest

  Second Place

  Foot in the Door Contest

  Second Place

  East Valley Author's Query Contest

  Finalist

  Orange Rose Contest

  *Some of these awards were won by the author as Geralyn Ruane

  Other Works By This Author

  Screenwriter

  The Coroner (1999)

  Feature Length Motion Picture

  Contributing Author

  New York Times Bestselling anthology

  Marlo Thomas’s

  The Right Words at the Right Time

  Volume 2: Your Turn!

  Published by Atria Books

  An Imprint of Simon & Schuster

  A Unit of CBS Corporation

  “Jane Austen Meets the New York Giants”

  as Geralyn Ruane

  “All Summer on a Date”

  in the online anthology

  Romancing the Pages

  Queen of the Universe

  expected publication

  by Blackbird Press

  2014

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you:

  Leonard W. Kingsley,

  the greatest literary manager

  on the planet and in my heart;

  Marlo Thomas,

  for giving me my first big break;

  Matt Wheeler, for everything;

  OCC, for making me believe I could do it;

  Debra Holland and Kitty Bucholtz,

  for lighting my way;

  all my friends and family,

  especially

  The Ruane Family

  of Chinchilla, Pennsylvania:

  Pat, Gloria,

  Marianne, Mike, Marice,

  Grady, and Pepsi.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  For Ron and Doug

  CHAPTER 1

  Six months ago I woke up rich, famous, and thin. Every woman’s dream, right?

  Believe me, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Not by a long shot. If it were, I wouldn’t be speed hiking up a mountain in what’s left of my Dolce and Gabbana power suit. Chasing a man I don’t know, no less.

  I wish he would slow down! What was I thinking, following Jack Hawkins into the woods?

  I'm charging after him through endless trees and shrubbery, clawing leaves and sticks out of my face as I go. What kind of hike is this, anyway? I didn’t bring a machete, let alone hiking boots. I am not prepared for this.

  I should stop.

  In fact, I should’ve stopped chasing Jack twenty minutes ago. That’s when he veered off the trail and disappeared into the forest. But I didn’t stop. I kept after Jack. I pulled into the lot just in time to see him lope off the path and vanish into the green mess of a mountain. Without stopping to consider for even a second, I put my car in park, popped the trunk, grabbed my workout bag, and jammed on my running shoes. Then I stripped off my jacket and followed Jack into the wild.

  How could I have been so desperately impulsive? Into the Wild is the name of his company, for Pete'
s sake!

  Everyone at USC talks about how he spends half his life in the great outdoors testing his designs. And I thought I’d be able to keep up with him? Big surprise, ab workouts in front of my TV haven’t transformed me into a game mountaineer. My calves feel like pool balls and I’m huffing like an asthmatic Snuffleupagus. Jack must hear me following him. So why doesn’t he just let me catch up?

  I hate him.

  God, I wish I could be more like him. So capable, so focused, so in control. It’s like whatever he does is no big deal because he knows it’ll turn out awesome. I can barely stand to look at the guy.

  Wait—where is he? All I can see is wilderness. And no Jack. But I need him!

  I pump my legs harder, ignoring all the branches snagging at me. I have to find him. Jack Hawkins is the key to everything. It’s time to seize the moment. I can’t be scared anymore. I just can’t. I have to catch him and make him listen. Not to mention, I’ll never find my way back to the car without him.

  I lurch forward so fast that I stumble. And there he is! Jack Hawkins, a few hundred feet ahead of me. I haven’t lost him. I’ll get the chance to tell him my plan.

  He has to agree. He just has to. It makes perfect sense.

  Doesn’t it?

  Maybe not. But I got this feeling in class this morning that I had to talk to him. Talk to him right now, today, or I would lose my nerve forever.

  Uh-oh. Uber-Hiker has slowed down to about the speed limit. But I’m not ready to see him yet.

  I pull back, keeping him in my sights through all the leaves and bark. He reaches under his windbreaker—he’s also wearing these windbreakery pants that look intensely comfortable—and takes something out of the pack strapped around his waist. He quickly bends up each leg at the knee and slips something onto each shoe. He looks at his watch, slips the things off, zips them back into his pack, and runs back toward me.

  Oh! I duck, but he isn’t looking my way. He stops, turns, races back to the same spot, and repeats the entire process. He came all the way up here to test some shoe-thing? Good. Now I'll have time to catch my breath and think about what to say to him.

  How can I present my idea so that he can see how much sense it makes? Then again, maybe it makes sense only to me. I have been spending a lot of time alone since I got out of the hospital. Is it possible that my wits haven't fully recovered since the coma? Or maybe I just need to think before I crash ahead with an idea. But then again, I've been doing nothing but thinking for thirty-four years, and that's been no great shakes.

  Oh, damn! He’s gone! Jack just disappeared before my very eyes! Wait… he must have crested a hill.

  I dash forward, frantic not to lose him. My legs throb and my feet lose traction as I push up an incline, but I keep going. Up and up and—it’s not a hill. It’s a cliff!

  A CLIFF!

  I teeter on the brink like Wile E. Coyote. Then gravity yanks me over.

  CHAPTER 2

  He keeps looking at me. Jack Hawkins is settling me onto a patch of loose dirt at the bottom of the jagged slope, but he could do this without looking at me, couldn’t he? It’s all so embarrassing. I mean, we’ve never even spoken to one another, and I just fell on him.

  I try to remember that I’m a rich and famous survivor who’s a lot skinnier than I used to be, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. Seriously, what good are all the millions from the settlement if I’ve got no sense to go with them? And the fame is no better. I thought all the Media attention was some sort of cruel anomaly that wasn’t my fault, but here I am, voluntarily getting myself into one train wreck of a fix. And sure, I’m six sizes smaller than I used to be, if I go by numbers and not actual sizes, but I’m not nearly as in shape as I thought.

  I look back up the cliff. From down here it doesn’t look so high. Eight feet maybe. And not that steep. Or jagged. But it looked A LOT scarier from up top. I really thought I was plummeting to my demise until Jack caught me. Well, body-checked me, really. But as titanium-tough as he’s supposed to be, my momentum still sent us tumbling. And if that weren’t mortifying enough, there was that awful yelp I made as we collided. Not an athletic Oof! or a ladylike Ah! or even a witty Hey there! Instead, I gulped down a gasp, sounding like a cat fighting to hack up a hairball.

  I was half on top of him when we finally rolled to a stop, so I scrambled to get off him.

  “Ach!” he grunted.

  I shifted my knee out of his gut.

  But I couldn’t move it very far. My left foot had somehow gotten itself caught in the cuff of his pants, and we were stuck together like two dim-witted turtles. So, I twisted around, trying to extricate my running shoe from his pants. That’s when I noticed my skirt was pushed up around my waist, exposing to the world—and, more importantly, to Jack Hawkins—my now-filthy white undies and a garter belt holding up only one stocking.

  And before you think I’m one of those secret sex goddesses who wears Victoria’s Secret lingerie everyday—as if I’m that organized—let me just say that pantyhose give me a stomachache. And I’m not going to wear those thigh highs with the sticky elastic on top. Please. They will totally fall down. And over the past few months, I’ve learned a thing or two about my talent for embarrassing myself, and have adapted accordingly.

  Present situation excepted.

  I rushed to pull my skirt down over my butt. Of course, to do that, I needed the hands that were keeping me levered up off Jack. So, as soon as I made my move, I came crashing down onto him, giving him a smack in the face with my head and an even better look at my caboose.

  I shut my eyes and began muttering. “Etylf Asil. Etylf Asil. Etylf Asil.”

  I felt a jerk and shift beneath me, like the beginnings of an earthquake. But I wasn’t being transported to a parallel universe as I’d hoped. Jack was merely freeing himself from my pinning girth. In one fluid move, he stood up and set me well away from him. We became disentangled just like that. But I still hadn’t opened my eyes or stopped chanting.

  “Stop it,” he commanded. “You’re not going back to the fifth dimension. At least, not until you tell me what you’re doing. Then, I just might send you there myself.”

  I opened my eyes. “That’s not very nice.”

  I was surprised to find he was only a handful of inches taller than I am. Maybe 5’10 or 5’11. I thought he’d totally block out the sun if I ever stood this close to him.

  “Lisa Flyte,” he said, looking straight at me. “You’re a mess.”

  That’s when he brought me over here and sat me down like I needed a time-out or something.

  Man, I thought I was coming so far in my plan to straighten up my life and make it matter. The MBA program, getting in shape, dying my hair back…but now this. I’ve just completely humiliated myself on top of Jack Hawkins. The man I need so desperately.

  I close my eyes as if I could make this scene fade away. I jerk my head back as my eyes fly open. He’s trying to touch my face!

  “This would be easier,” he says in a low voice, one calmer and softer than I would expect from such a Snake Plissken-type, “if you would stay still. Your face looks pretty bad.” He catches my chin with his fingers.

  “Hey—” I’m about to slap his hand away when I realize he isn’t staring me down, trying to make me wither with shame. Instead, his grayish-blue eyes skip around, searching my face.

  As he examines my scratches, I notice that he’s not the brawny man-hero type at all. For one thing, he doesn’t scowl all the time, making a big furrow down the center of his forehead, like Hugh Jackman does when he’s Wolverine.

  And Jack’s not super huge—he’s not even as buff as stupid Rick. He’s not that much bigger than Keith, actually. At least, I don’t think Jack is super-muscular. But he’s wearing a long-sleeved windbreaker and pants, so not much of his body is exposed. Truth is, Jack Hawkins looks kind of like a normal guy.

  But I’m still scared of him up this close.

  “These cuts might get infected.” He leans ba
ck from me, resting on his heels as he gets some stuff out of the pack around his waist.

  He rips open a small packet and starts swabbing my face with one of those wipes like the ones you get when you order hot wings. But I think this one is medicated. Because IT HURTS!

  But all I make is one startled sound, as though someone just woke me up and stabbed me. Then I clench my jaw. Hard. Despite my Spartan resolve, though, tears spring to my eyes.

  But I have to give Jack credit. He works quickly and doesn’t say anything to make me feel like a big baby or like someone who’s getting what she richly deserves.

  “Hold on,” he says when he finishes.

  Like, where’m I gonna go?

  He puts down the wipe, opens a small tube, and squeezes a daub of white cream onto three fingers. “Hypericum and calendula,” he explains. “It’ll help the scratches heal.”

  I feel like such a dork just looking at him as he rubs goo into my cuts. I want to close my eyes, but that’ll make it so obvious that I feel like a dork. It’s not until he’s twisting the cap back onto the tube that I remember the Agatha Christie book where the old lady is murdered with poison administered through her ointment.

  Oh, my God.

  But wait. Even if Jack does want to kill me for being so annoying, what are the chances he hikes around carrying poison cream?

  Jack looks up from zipping the tube back into his pack and catches me staring at him. “So,” he says. “Does your face feel okay?”

  I barely even register what he said. And I’m certainly in no shape to respond. Because pretty soon, I’m going to have to tell him my plan.

  “Lisa? You okay?”

  “Uh–” I flash on a crunched up plastic water bottle I saw in his pack before he zipped it. “Do you recycle?”