Curves Just Wanna Have Fun - a BBW romance bundle

Excerpt - Deep Deep Donuts

Chapter 1 – Tamara

“Hi there, what can I get you?” I ask, smiling at the freckle-faced boy as he dumps a fistful of coins on the tiny counter of my donut van. He squints up at me.

“I dunno. What can I buy?” He gestures to the money, and I do a quick count.

“You can get one glazed or two cinnamon.”

“Hmm.” He taps his chin in thought. “I’m thinkin’ two cinnamon.”

“Great choice,” I say with a smile as I scoop up the change and drop it in the till. “They’re fresh off the fryer so they’re nice and hot.”

“Yum!” His eyes light up and he licks his lips.

“Here you go, buddy,” I say once I’ve bagged the donuts and handed them over to him.

“Thanks, miss.” He pauses to inhale the sweet-smelling goodness in his bag. “One day when I grow up, I’m gonna marry a lady just like you. Then I can eat all the donuts I want for free.”

“Those are some great aspirations you’ve got there.” I laugh. “But don’t you wanna marry someone for love?” The kid looks about nine or ten years old, and he thinks on this a moment.

“Well, I really love donuts,” he explains. “So, it’s kinda the same thing.”

“I guess you’re right,” I say, chuckling to myself as the boy runs off and I get to serve my next customer. Of which there are plenty. Business has been booming lately, and it's all thanks to the donut truck.

Previous to this, I had an ice cream truck that I would drive around to local parks and sporting venues outside school hours and on the weekends. I was doing OK like that, but the winter months were never kind. I had to hope that I made enough money selling ice cream throughout the warmer months to get me through the cold ones. And that wasn't always the case. Especially when my trusty ice cream van decided to go kaput and the only thing I could get in my price range was this donut van.

In the beginning, the plan had been to transfer all the equipment from the ice cream truck into the donut van and keep going as I was. But the cost ended up being prohibitive, and since I had already organized to spend the summer with a friend at her parents’ lake house on none other than the famous Lovers Lake, I decided to try my luck at selling donuts instead. It’s the best decision I ever made. Well, except for the part where I don’t have the necessary permit to be selling donuts.

Like all responsible business owners, I got my licensing requirements sorted long before I hit the road. But they were all done when I had the old van that sold cold, pre-packaged food. Cooking and selling donuts in the back of an uninspected van isn’t what I’m licensed for. And while I do plan to get officially certified, cash flow is again impeding my abilities. So, if I can just get through the summer and put a little cash aside, I can afford to get recertified and operate within the scope of the law. Until then, I’m doing my best to avoid my yearly health inspection and steer clear of the local authorities. Namely, Officer Lee.

Officer Lee is the local bicycle cop who patrols the lake. He’s both the thorn in my side and the tingle in my panties. Coming in at six foot two, he has the build of a football player, dark hair cropped close to his head, at least two days’ worth of stubble at all times, and dark soulful eyes that would melt even the Sea Witch’s frozen heart if she ever saw him. He also looks amazing in a pair of cycling shorts, not-at-all geeky in a bicycle helmet, and when he smiles, it makes my heart and my belly do swirling flip-flops together.

Unfortunately for me, a smiling Officer Lee is something I’ve only ever witnessed from a distance. It’s his scowl I see more often.

With him being a member of law enforcement, the last thing I want to do is cross paths with him in my illegal donut van. So, while my friend, Sasha, works on her tan, she also keeps an eye out for sexy cops on push bikes and sends me a text the moment she sees him coming my way. It gives me just enough time to close the fryer and pull down the shutter before booking it out of there while Officer Lee chases me on his bicycle. Thankfully, four wheels and a motor are much faster than muscular—drools—thighs, two wheels and pedal power. We’re a month into the season, and he’s yet to catch me.

“That’ll be five-seventy, thanks,” I say, smiling at the lady buying a jelly donut for herself and her partner. He takes the box from her and sneaks a look inside while she gets out her purse.

“These are seriously the best donuts I’ve ever tasted,” he says as he licks his lips.

“Why, thank you. Be sure to tell your friends.”

The woman hands me a ten-dollar bill. “Oh, we already have. Keep the change.”

Then she’s off, and I’m just about to serve the next in line when my cell buzzes and a text saying, HOT COP! INCOMING! comes through.

“Sorry, guys! All sold out,” I say quickly, reaching up for the shutter as I’m met with a chorus of groans. “I promise to come back tomorrow.”

The groans continue while they turn and throw their hands in the air. Their reactions make me wince and cry for all the revenue I just lost, not to mention the curves I’m going to add to my already abundant figure from eating leftovers.

Sure, I could just toss them out, but I am seriously excellent at making donuts, and delicious delicacies such as these should not be abandoned in the trash. Therefore, my current diet consists of donuts, coffee, and little else. I may or may not be riding a sugar high from dusk till dawn—hashtag blessed.

While I can joke about my predicament, I can’t help but wonder how much better business would be if I could just stay in the one place all day long. But beggars can’t be choosers, and if I want to stay in business at all, I need to bolt to avoid getting shut down and fined.

“Miss!” The hottie bike cop’s voice filters in through my side window as I jump into the driver’s seat, and I gasp, thinking he’s right on top of me.

Turning toward the sound, I start the engine, locking eyes with the gorgeous officer, throwing a ‘sorry’ his way as I speed out of the parking lot.

As usual, the man chases me. And as usual, I drive like a madwoman in order to get away—within the road rules, of course. I don’t need him taking down my plate and sending me a fine for speeding, but I do need to get up to speed faster than he can so I can take a couple of corners, double back then disappear the other way. It’s a well-practiced maneuver and one that I’m now rather proficient performing, which just means I feel comfortable risking him gaining a little ground so I can take an extra-long peek in the side mirror.

While I wait at the stop sign, I pick up a strawberry glazed donut and take a bite as I watch those muscular thighs work rhythmically, mesmerizingly, tantalizingly up and down. Yum. And we both know I’m not talking about the donut.

Beeeeeep!

The car behind me honks, snapping me out of my too-long, too-risky snack break. And a good thing too because Officer Lee is now right on my tail. Tossing my donut out the window for the birds, I lick the sweetness off my fingers then place both hands on the wheel, gripping it tight. Let’s do this.

***

Chapter 2 – Wes

The moment that donut goes sailing out the window, my heart sinks and my stomach rumbles. I could’ve eaten that donut. Now, it’s no better than roadkill. It’s like she’s taunting me, and honestly, I don’t understand why. I mean, what’d I ever do to her?

My peddling becomes halfhearted as the donut truck rounds the corner and I slow to a stop at the road sign, looking at the strawberry glazed donut in the gutter. It’s covered in dirt and leafy debris and is already being fought over by seagulls.

“Enjoying that?” I ask a particularly noisy one as he scoffs the sticky chunk of fried dough down his skinny neck. It creates a bulge because he doesn’t bother chewing, and when it hits his stomach, he lets out a shriek, squabbling with the other seagulls over the remaining crumbs before flying away. “Yeah. Strawberry glazed is my favorite too.”

Releasing a sigh, I turn my bike toward the lake so I can get back to my rounds before my lunch break is over. A lunch that once again, doesn’t consist of a delicious donut.

And is that too much to ask? For the last six weeks, I’ve spent my days cycling around the perimeter of the lake, keeping the peace between fun-seeking travelers and noise-affected locals. All while keeping my cool on ninety-plus-degree days. I don’t think I need to spell out the fact that bicycle cops don’t get a heck of a lot of respect. So, couple the frustration of that with the fact that I can't get a goddamn donut when I want one and it’s driving me fucking mad.

Every single day I barely get within a whiff of that van before it shuts up shop and takes off down the street. The folks milling about say the owner—a cute and curvy blonde—announces she’s sold out each time. So since my timing is obviously super sucky, I’ve taken to trying to chase her down to try to put in an order for the next day. But she never, ever stops. At this point, I’m willing to pay triple the price just to satisfy the craving that delicious, deep-fried dough and warm sugar scent has teased me with for weeks. I mean, what’s a guy got to do to get his hands on one of those things? Customers rave about them, and they’re willing to search the lake and line up all day for the chance to purchase one. But since she never sets up in the same place two days in a row, it’s like trying to find a floating island in the mist. And after today, I’m starting to wonder if it’s me she’s got a problem with. Because if she can throw a donut out the window, she can’t be sold out, can she?

“Is the donut lady in trouble, officer?” a young boy asks upon my dejected return, cinnamon sugar dusting the corners of his lips.

“No, buddy. I was just hungry, but she got away before I could buy something,” I say, scrubbing my hand over the top of his head. “Looks like you got some, though.”

He grins. “Sure did. I’d ‘ave saved you one if I’d known, but they were too tasty so I ate ‘em right away.”

“It’s OK,” I say with a wink. “Reckon I’d have done the same thing.”

“Did you run her plates?” he asks as I start to wheel my bike away. “Maybe you can find out where she lives and ask for donuts there.”

I laugh before I pause and turn back to face him. “I actually tried that. But those plates are registered to a retired woman in Dallas. She says she sold it to a young woman, who I’m guessing is the woman we keep seeing.”

“She’s real pretty.”

“That she is,” I say with a grin. “And one of these days, I’m gonna catch her. Just you wait and see.”

Excerpt - Sweet Ride

Cindy

“Want to grab some dinner? We can talk caseloads,” Evan
asks, poking his head inside my door.

I look up from my computer screen then survey the mess on my
desk before I let out a sigh. “Sure, why not. I need a break or my head is
going to explode from all this paperwork. I don’t know whether we should just
try to strongarm the woman or try our luck and rush this through the courts.”

“You’ve heard the rumors about Valor and missing bodies,
Cindy. No matter what you do, just be careful. I’m worried about you here.”

“I’ll be fine,” I say, sighing as I power down my computer.
“You know me, I always land on my feet.”

“Yeah, and so do people with cement boots.” He’s not joking.
His dark eyes meet mine with concern.

“It’s not like I have a choice here, Evan.”

“I know. But there're smart choices, and there’re stupid
choices. Don’t make any stupid choices.”

“I assume you’re talking about getting involved on a
personal level with a client.”

“I’m talking about the risks of being in bed with an MC club
versus actually getting into bed with the vice president of that club. I
could see the way he was looking at you, Cindy. And we both know he’s bad
news.”

“I’m a big girl, Evan. I can handle myself. I can even
resist a beautiful man.”

“I hope so, Cindy. I really fucking do.”

Standing, I collect my bag and offer him a hug. “Thank you
for caring,” I whisper. “But I promise you. I’ll be fine. Now, let’s eat. I’m
starving.”

“OK. My shout. Shirley’s doing a chicken pot pie tonight
with mashed potatoes. Said she’ll save us some.”

“Oh, she’s better to me than my own mother,” I say, smiling
away the stress that’s niggling at my insides as Evan and I lock up and head
over to the pub. There’s only one in town, and the food is a set menu based on
whatever Shirley, the owner, feels like cooking that day. She has a pretty set
rotation, but her chicken pot pie is definitely one of my favorites. And since I'm
not much of a cook, Shirley's cooking saves me from eating TV dinners warmed up
in my temperamental microwave every night. I could buy a new one, but being a
small-town lawyer means small-town fees. I’m not exactly rolling in it.

When we get across the street, I take a seat while Evan
heads up to the bar for a pitcher of beer and to order our food. Just as I pull
my cell out of my bag, I feel my stomach rumble insistently, and realize that
because of JP ‘Doc’ Stone’s insistence that I drop everything and focus on him,
I neglected to eat lunch.

“Fucking bikers,” I mutter as my thumb swipes through my
appointments for tomorrow. I’ll need to get our part-time receptionist, Nola,
to cancel them all first thing. “They think they own the goddam world.”

“Not yet, but hopefully soon,” a deep voice that promises
sex and a good time murmurs in my ear. It sends delicious shivers rolling down
my spine, and I instantly recognize it as belonging to Doc.

I can't help myself, and I smile. I have to admit that I caught
glimpses of the man beneath the mean biker persona during our meeting. I saw a
man who cares so much about his kid that he’s willing to do whatever it takes
to keep him safe and give him a good life. I have to admire that about him. It
doesn’t change that he’s a biker and an outlaw, but it does make him more human
to me. “God help us all.”

“Nah. He’s not gonna save you. Gotta save yourself in this
world.” He pulls a chair from the table he was sharing with Blade and two
others, setting it beside me and straddling it backward, his forearms leaning
over the back of the chair displaying some impressive tattoos of skulls and
busty women on bikes or holding guns. Classy.

“So I hear.”

He reaches behind him and holds a hand out. One of his men fills
a glass from the pitcher of beer on their table and hands it to him.

“I said no to a drink.”

He grins, his blue eyes crinkling at the sides and sparkling
in the dull light of the smoky bar. He takes a sip from his beer, then smiles
at me as he licks the foam off his lips. I’ve gotta admit it’s kinda hot. “I
didn't ask you this time.”

“Because you don't ask, do you? You tell and you take.”

“That's about how it works. Nice to see you're catching on.”
He gives me a wink, and as Evan returns to the table, he says a brief hello,
then spins back around to sit with his men, leaving Evan and I on our own to
talk about our upcoming schedules and how he’s going to take on my caseload
while I work out this custody issue. My focus isn’t the best. I'm acutely aware
of the tall, muscular biker sitting near me and sneaking glances my way.

Doc oozes sex appeal. Even in a crowded and noisy bar, I can
feel him. I feel him when he moves. I'm aware of him when he speaks. I wonder
if I threw caution to the wind and broke the rules just once, would it be
everything the tension between us promises? Or is he just playing with me?

“Cindy?” Evan's voice interrupts my thoughts, startling me
to attention. I shake it off, almost laughing at myself for even entertaining
the idea. Getting intimate with a client is crazy, and in this case,
it’s also dangerous. No matter how beautifully manly Doc is, I need to remember
what happens to people who don’t come through for MCs. And at thirty-four, I’m
not ready to meet my maker. I need to keep my focus, get him his kid and walk
the fuck away.

“Yes?” I ask, clearing my head and focusing on the
conversation at hand.

“Eleven tomorrow? You were supposed to be at court for a divorce
settlement? I need to know if there are any special circumstances.”

“Oh, it’s all written out in my notes in the files. He
cheated on her, hid money away so she couldn’t afford to live when she kicked
him out, and now he’s trying to stiff her on alimony and child support too. His
lawyer is a snake, so you can’t budge on the details. We’ve been over it a
thousand times, but he’ll still try to sneak something through last minute.
Make sure to dot all the i's and cross the t’s.”

“OK. Got it. I’ll look over the file tonight, anyway. It’s
all on the server?”

“Yeah. I’ll transfer everything over to you as soon as I get
home.”

“Looks like I’m in for a loooong night.”

“Sorry,” I say, giving his hand a squeeze in sympathy.

“It’s fine. Just get this done as quick as you can.” He
leans in and whispers that last part so listening ears can’t hear.

I nod, and our food arrives, smelling divine as it’s placed
in front of us. I inhale deeply, allowing the scent of the creamy chicken and
vegetables with flakey pastry to travel through me. My stomach groans, and I
voraciously dig in, wondering if I’ve mistaken my hunger for food as a hunger
for a man.

“Jesus. You just inhaled that,” Evan baulks, as I wipe the
paper napkin over my mouth. I see a smear of red lipstick and figure I should
go to the ladies and freshen up.

“So? I was starving.”

“Withering away to nothing,” he mumbles under his breath as I
stand to visit the ladies.

“What did you just say?”

“Nothing.” He looks up at me, feigning innocence as he
shrugs. This is exactly why he and I have never dated. He’s fine as a friend,
but his preference for the skinny girls has him turning into an ass occasionally.
And after the stressful day I’ve just had, I’m not in the mood to find him
funny or laugh it off.

“I happen to like my curves, Evan. Just because you like
stick figures doesn't mean you can comment on what and how I eat.”

“Whoa.” He holds up his hands in acquiescence. “I was making
a joke.”

“A decidedly unfunny one,” I state, picking up my bag and
heading to the ladies, shaking my head. This is exactly why I don’t date. I'm
not planning to quit eating for him or anyone else on this planet. It took me a
long time to learn to love my curves, and a judgmental ass like my law partner
isn't going to take that away from me.

“I think your curves are sinful,” my favorite sexy voice
says in my ear, stopping me before I make it to the bathroom.

“I know you do,” I reply, looking over my shoulder with a smirk,
before I begin walk again.

He catches my hand, stopping me, a spark of energy flying up
my arm at his touch. OK, I wasn’t hungry for food.

“If you’re so sure, I might just take that drink with you sometime soon.”

“Good luck with that. I don’t think I’ll be letting you take
anything from me.”

“You don’t think I can?”

“No man can take anything he wants to keep.”

He chuckles again. “Sweets, you have some big tickets on
yourself.”

I shrug. “They go with my hips.”

With that, I tilt my hip to the side, placing my hand at the
curve and turn away. He grabs my arm again and leans in.

“Sweets, I’m gonna make it so you want me so bad you’ll be
begging me to take you.” His voice growls against my ear, low, soft and sexy. I
feel an urge to press myself up against him, and for a brief moment, I allow my
mind to really imagine what it would be like to be with him. But I shake it off.
He’s a client and bikers are notorious for the number of women they screw. I’m
not interested in being a notch on this man’s belt. I have standards.

“Good luck with
that,” I return, smiling defiantly as he pulls back and releases my arm.

“Keep talkin’ like that, sweets, and I may leave you wanting.”

“It’s the twenty-first century, JP. A woman doesn’t need a
man when she’s wanting. She can take care of…business…all on her own.”

One side of his mouth kicks up in amusement as he withdraws
his body’s closeness from mine. “Now that is something I might beg to
see,” he says before turning away and leaving me to use the ladies in peace.

Looking in the mirror when I’m done, I notice a slight pink
tone coloring my cheeks. I laugh inwardly because flirting with a beautiful
biker obviously agrees with me. Pity our worlds are so drastically different. If
he was anyone else, maybe we could have had fun. Guess we’ll both be left
wanting.