Summer doesn't get much hotter than this! In this first book in the Malan and Lathal romance novel series, Lathal Harvey and Malan Hamel go to work at a summer camp in Lake Worth, Texas. Lathal and Malan have secretly liked each other for a while now and liked to be romantically involved, but there are some complications. Will this be a summer of love for Malan and Lathal?
Prologue
With opening night just days away, Malan didn’t know how much more of this he could take. The sound of his name of the director’s lips made him cringe.
"Hamel!" Professor Paul Lerm was clearly as frustrated as the actors. He’d been riding them through a grueling pace of rehearsals and the cast was clearly being pushed to its limits. "No, that’s not right. Try it again," he said.
Moans and sighs reached his ears as the other theater students realized that they’d have to start the scene yet again. Stagnant and automatic, Malan’s performance was suffering because he was numb with fatigue. It seemed they’d run the scene into the ground and were all just going through the motions. The lines were blurring together after so many takes.
Once again he got into position, but this time his mind went blank, and he couldn’t recall the line. Staring at the house lights, his brow furrowed tightly with the effort to recall the simple words he’d said a dozen times in the last hour. He frowned.
Finally, Paul seemed to give up too, snapping at the cast, "Okay, people. That’s a wrap."
Relieved, the thespians poured into the dressing room to change out of their costumes and gather their belongings while the show's director sat down and made some notes about scenes they'd need to work on the next day.
Malan showered, trying to wash away the stress and fatigue associated with playing another leading role. He wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep for a month, but "the show must go on".
Going over his lines, he welcomed the warm water running over his medium frame, soothing the aches from the knots of tension and stress. Arching his neck, he closed his eyes and turned to let the droplets pummel his shoulders.
Though not particularly muscular, at five foot six inches his upper body was nicely toned with only a few extra pounds here and there. His size made him stand out a bit, and people often commented about his fresh, youthful appearance. While some might find it flattering, it was a detriment as far as he was concerned.
Everyone seemed to assume that he was younger than his nineteen years. It was sometimes a source of frustration in having to prove himself time and again to be taken seriously, even with his peers in the acting community. He worked hard at his craft, determined that people would one day notice him for his talent and skill, instead of his height.
As the dressing rooms grew quiet, he hurriedly changed into his usual jeans and polo shirt, knowing Paul was waiting to lock up. As he reached the doors at last, the professor asked, "Are you the last one?"
Running his fingers through his wet layered brown hair, Malan mumbled, "Yeah, sorry."
Paul grinned, "Don't apologize. I know how it is. Sometimes I feel like I live here."
Malan smiled; the two men left the building together and exchanged goodbyes.
His convertible was waiting where he left it, in a spot near the theater's back door. Walking toward it, he didn’t realize that someone was watching him from the darkness. Once the professor's car left the lot a voice called out to the actor, "Hamel."
Turning slowly toward the sound of his name, he couldn't make out the stranger until Kurt Blackenridge stepped into the faded glow of the overhead lights illuminating the parking lot. Though they hadn't spoken before, he recognized the man immediately and it wasn't a welcome surprise.
To be fair he really didn’t know the man and didn’t have a specific reason to dislike him, but the mere sight of him was enough to bring up a strong repulsion. He knew the type and knew that Kurt didn't care about anything or anyone. All he cared about was looks, popularity and success.
The preppy, ambitious reporter worked at the campus paper with Malan’s friend, Lathal. After watching the beauty with this lanky, blond-haired journalist for the past few months, he suspected the two had more than a working relationship. The very idea bugged him.
It never occurred to him that Lathal went for that kind of guy, and he honestly couldn't figure out what she saw in the young phony who propped himself up with the right car, attire or girl. She'd always seemed simple and down to Earth, not hung up on appearances, but then he wondered how much he really knew about her these days. They hadn't been close in a long time. Maybe she wasn't so different from every other woman on campus after all.
Mostly the fairer sex was involved with the preps, jocks and Greeks, and weren't interested in nerdy or artistic types, at least from what he’d seen and experienced. Girls didn't chase after guys like him. He'd be the last one they'd want.
The way he saw it, most women wanted men with fast cars or loads of money to keep them in the comfort and style they were accustomed, and he had neither. As far as he was concerned, he had nothing to offer.
They seemed to prefer tall, dark, and handsome and he definitely didn't fit that description. Malan knew he was short, bland and average looking. They also liked men who were confident and assertive, while he was definitely shy and very reserved. He wasn’t likely to change, and really wouldn’t want to.
Lathal was his idea of perfection. She was soft, warm, intelligent, passionate, gorgeous, and ambitious. It was such a shame that she could only see him as a friend. Personally, if he had anything to say about it, she'd be much more than that. Why couldn't she just see that he was her Mr. Rightwhen he was standing right in front of her?
He couldn't stand to think of her with another man, especially Kurt. How could her heart belong to him?
Clenching his fists, he wished he knew some way to make her realize that they were meant to be together. If he were more like his pal Billy, he’d just chase this loser away, but then, that really wasn’t going to solve anything. Lathal might find another just like him. What then? Would he have to spend all his free time chasing away suitors until she noticed him?
"What do you want, Blackenridge?" he asked annoyed. He was too tired to deal with this now.
"You think you're some sort of hot shot, don't you?" Kurt retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Sighing, he leaned against his car door, causing it to shut. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," he said evenly, "And I'd appreciate it if you'd stop stalking me. If I see you at rehearsal one more time, I'm calling the cops."
"It's my job to cover the theater," the young journalist said with an air of importance. "You're not as big a star as you seem to think. You can't pick and choose who writes stories about these shows. The Review only sends the best to do a job like this, and that's me."
Anger flashed across Malan's brown eyes at the snob. Unlike this man, he never rubbed his success or fame in anyone's face, and he never used it get popularity. He laughed at the pompous fool, "If that was the case they'd send Lathal. She's a lot better than you." Her beautiful smiling face flashed in his mind and he could feel his cheeks and ears grow warm with the very thought of her.
As the actor turned back toward his car, the other man pointed a finger at him, saying, "You leave her out of this."
"Whatever." Malan dismissed the reporter with a wave of his hand, and reached to open his door again.
As the young actor turned away, Kurt acted swiftly. Closing the distance between them, he drove his clenched fist into Malan's side.
Wincing as a sharp pain radiated through the right side of his body; it took him a moment to recover his breath and composure.
Glaring at him, Malan thought the young man looked pretty stupid dancing around like he was some professional boxer. Although the two men had the same builds, at six foot Kurt towered over him. Still Malan felt pretty confident he could handle the man, but he really didn’t want to fight. The fact was, with his military training and his innate dislike of this guy, he could do some serious damage, and being so fatigued he was afraid he might lose his usual control.
His fists poised in front of his face, the reporter goaded, "Come on, Hamel. Show me what you got."
Malan eyed his attacker with contempt, a slight sneer on his face. "No thanks." He turned away, in no mood or condition to fight, but then Kurt rushed at him, catching him off balance, and knocked him to the ground. A flurry of blows rained on Malan's face as he attempted to protect himself with his hands and arms. He winced as a fist found a hole in his shield and slammed into his right eye, making him gasp in pain.
That did it. His hand-to-hand combat training came to the fore, and Malan instinctively locked his hands together as he thrust them upward into the young journalist's nose.
"Ooh." Reeling, his competitor covered his nose and mouth. "You broke my nose!"
"Serves you right," he muttered, shoving the lanky blond off him. Part of him wanted to just pound into the guy, to release all of the frustrations that had been weighing on him, but he’d regained his control and calmly stood up.
"You're going to pay for this," Kurt warned as he brushed himself off and then veered off on a southern path that led into the darkness.
With his eye constantly tearing, Malan was having trouble seeing. He knew he couldn't drive home like that. He had to do something.
An ice pack would take care of the problem, but the only place they had them was at the student clinic and it wasn't open at this time of night. So that left him only one place to turn.
Despite the blur, he managed to creep to the dorms at the end of the street. On the corner stood Carnie Hall where his friends, Lathal Harvey and Tanya Smith lived. His hands gripped the banister as he climbed to the fifth floor. He felt his way to the end of the hall to their room and softly rapped on their door.
The bolt slid back as Lathal opened it, though the chain kept it from opening completely. Peering through the crack, her worried expression turned to one of surprise. "Malan, what are you doing here? Do you have any idea what time it?"
He flushed in embarrassment. "I know it's late, but it's kind of an emergency."
After removing the chain, she ushered him inside. His gaze swept across their small living quarters that consisted of two beds on opposite sides, a small refrigerator, a couple of dressers and night stands, lamps, a closet and a bathroom. Based on the books and papers he saw scattered around her small personal computer, he assumed she was writing an essay for a class. It was a shame that she was in the dorms studying on a Friday night.
Her kind and gentle gaze was riveted to the reddening area around his right eye. She asked, "What happened?"
He glanced at her. Apparently she wasn't expecting anyone because she was dressed in more comfortable attire. She had on a faded white tank top, gray shorts, and black flip-flops. Her golden hair was worn back in a ponytail.
She seemed unaware of her beauty. Her casual, relaxed appearance turned him on. He licked his lips as he noticed her piqued nipples poking the fabric and he wondered if she was wearing a bra; he was tempted to find out.
Just thinking about ripping off her clothing and making her hot and bothered excited him. He imagined her moaning, writhing beneath him as he showered her with hot, wet kisses and caressed every inch of her milky white skin until she was begging him to make love to her.
While he wanted to be romantically involved with her, there was always something that seemed to stand in their way, whether it was his inhibitions or hers. They'd had many chances and he kept waiting for some sign, but the right moment just hadn't presented itself yet.
This wasn’t the time. He regretted not knowing what could have been between them, but once again circumstances were complicating matters to the point that friendship was the only option. This just wasn’t the time to deal with his feelings or what might have been. His injury at present was his only concern, for now.
Trying to force a smile, he sank down on the edge of her bed. "I got into a fight."
"Do I want to know with whom?" Even though his remark had sparked her curiosity and journalistic instinct, she didn't expect him to answer. "Let me get some ice for that."
Lathal moved over to the small refrigerator sitting in a dark far corner of the room and emptied cubes from the ice tray into a plastic baggie.
Having him sitting in her room reawakened those old familiar pains that came with the knowledge that he'd never see her as a woman or a love interest. He turned to her whenever he was in trouble, wanted help with his studies or needed a friend. She wanted more than a friendship, but he wasn't interested in her in that way.
How could he be?
He was dating Cassandra. Curvaceous and stunning, she was not only the head cheerleader and homecoming queen, but she was one of the most popular sorority sisters on the North Central Texas University campus.
How could she compete with that? There was nothing special about Lathal Harvey. Her hair, nails and makeup paled in comparison to the vivacious vixen that probably spent tons of money and several hours every week at the beauty parlor, to enhance her features. Not to mention the rich girl's clothing came straight out of a fashion catalog and she had to buy hers on sale in local discount stores.
She always made an effort to appear professional and presentable, even when she was casually dressed, but fashion wasn't exactly her forte and she was so far from the level of glamour of someone like Miss Cassandra LaBrie. Even now, dressed in her usual bedclothes, she felt unkempt and beneath the level of sophistication other women seemed to portray.
How could he possibly see her as someone worthy of being on his arm when she was so plain?
Sighing, she knew she shouldn't feel sorry for herself because it wouldn't change anything. She never was going to be a beauty queen.
The only thing that she had going for her was her personality and smarts. Aside from Cassandra’s wealth and beauty, she didn't understand what he saw in her, but it seemed every guy on campus wanted her on his arm. In fact, he was probably fighting with someone over her.
Part of her thought that half of the guys on campus were a bunch of Neanderthals constantly fighting for rank and position, and for the right to have some bubbly tart hang on their arms like a status symbol. It served them all right if they got their butts kicked once in awhile. Maybe a couple of bumps to the head might knock some sense into them and they’d see what they were doing to themselves fighting over someone who couldn’t see past her own reflection.
Her attention back to her patient, she pressed the bag to his eye. He flinched and breathed out with the pain, and she realized she probably pushed too hard. Pulling her hand back, she demurely looked away to hide her guilt. "Sorry."
She’d looked at him with such kindness and it had warmed his heart. Then his mind went back to the jerk he’d just fought with. Kurt would probably come to her for the same comforting before the night was over, and no doubt she’d lavish much more attention on him, and take greater care not to add to the pain as she’d just done with him.
He snatched the cold compress from her. "I'll do it myself. Thank you."
It was his fault for being too nice. He should have laid into the guy, but then she’d probably hate him for causing her love interest such pain. By morning she would find out the damage he’d done to the reporter and she was going to hate him. She’d been kind of chilly to him lately, soon enough she’d be furious with him.
Kurt was probably in the emergency room at that very minute. Any second now she’d get the call to come to him. Oh, why did he come? It pained him to know she’d probably never talk to him again.
"Fine," she said backing away. Lathal felt bad for him and worse for having added to the injury. She had to resist the urge to kiss it better; he obviously didn’t want her so close, and anyway, making that kind of overture would surely make him avoid her like the plague.
"Fine," he retorted. Malan wasn't about to sit here and let her push him away as she usually did. Even the thought of seeing a pained expression in those eyes would crush him; it was better to avoid her altogether. Wordlessly he rose and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
At that moment, Tanya returned from her date. "What was that all about?"
Sinking down on the bed, she sighed, "Malan. You know the routine."
Joining her on the bed, her roommate laid her hand on Lathal's knee. "Wanna talk about it?"
Tears welled in her eyes and she looked away. "Why should I? It never helps."
"Girl." The word rumbled in the air for a long moment. "Men don't get anything unless you spell it out for them."
Lathal's misty bluish-green eyes searched her best friend's face. "What do you mean?"
"You can't keep beating around the bush. You have to speak up," the young dancer told her matter-of-factly. "You have to tell him how you feel. If you don't you'll always wonder what could have happened."
"It's not that simple," Lathal shook her head. "I might as well become a nun or a spinster." Tears spilled down her cheeks.
Wrapping her arms around her, Tanya whispered. "It'll be alright. You'll see."
**
Sitting on a bench in the shade of a tree in Lucas Grove, the young reporter was reading "The Federalist Papers" for her American history class as she waited for Tanya.
A feeling of foreboding followed the sound of footsteps that approached and stopped a few feet away. Without looking, she’d immediately recognized the snotty, cultured tone of Cassandra LaBrie commenting, "I heard your boyfriend broke his nose."
Closing her eyes for a moment Lathal willed the woman and her entourage away. The unmistakable giggle of her clique only encouraged her as she quickly added, "I hear he fought like a girl and the frail little boy that he is, broke like a twig."
While to some a bad reputation was something to avoid, to this woman it was a source of pride. Her entire collegiate experience was little more than a source of entertainment. There she found in her fellow students an unending flow of new specimens to use as victims for torture or as a healthy stock with which to meet her base physical need for stimulation as the campus became her own private sexual playground.
The spoiled, rich Daddy’s girl had a list longer than Santa’s, and it bothered Lathal that Malan was the next conquest. If the rumors were anything to go by, though he was the favorite pet at the moment, she kept an ample supply in reserve, pulling a new one out daily like she was picking out an accessory to match the day’s outfit. She made no secret of it either.
Of all the girls on campus, he’d chosen the worst example of their entire sex. Cassandra was manipulative, stuck up and superficial.It seemed money, power, fame and success were all that mattered, in fact she often came right out and said as much.
Insulting and humiliating anyone not in her immediate social circle was like a sport; from appearance to pedigree, to majors, nothing was off limits, and it seemed to give her a great deal of pleasure. To make things worse, she wasn’t above starting vicious rumors with a few well-placed lies. In her wake lay more than a few people that had actually left school, rather than try to survive the aftermath.
Her attacks were usually scathing, and her skills were legendary on campus. Unwary freshmen to seniors, they were all victims of her insults. That venomous tongue lashed everyone equally, and neither Lathal nor Tanya had been immune to the woman’s belittling and spiteful commentary.
Though the friends never had reason to speak to her, let alone get to know her in any way, she seemed to seek them out, like now.
Carefully marking a spot with her bookmark, she glared up at Cassandra, "He’s not my boyfriend."
"Whatever!" The diva rolled her eyes, "I can’t imagine any man would choose someone as vanilla as you, but I think even Kurt could do better. A man needs a woman, not some child who thinks she can play with the big boys."
Lathal worried for a moment what she meant by it, but a quiet voice inside said, Don't listen to her. Don't let her know she has any power over you. If she knows you're affected by her words, she'll continue to antagonize you. The woman probably couldn't spell her own name; it is best to just ignore her. Refusing the give her any satisfaction with a reply, the blonde opened her book and acted oblivious that she was still there.
Snubbed, the beauty haughtily tossed a strand of her dark, well cared for hair over her shoulder and gestured for her friends to follow. As they walked away, she heard them whispering and knew they were talking about her.
"Hey, girl," Tanya called brightly as she came up the path a moment later. "Are you ready to go to lunch?" Following her friend’s gaze, as the rich girl and her clique strolled along the sidewalk, she was clearly as annoyed and frustrated. "Was she starting with you again?"
Thinking she might be about to say something to them, Lathal stopped her. "Don't worry about them," she advised. "I’m fine."
Allowing her voice to carry, the dark beauty called out, hoping they’d hear, "What goes around comes around, ya know?" Quietly adding, "Miss Thing will get hers; you best know that's a fact!"
|
