Click on image to enlarge.

	Regular				Club
List Price:	$2.00				$1.70
You Pay:	$1.10				$0.94
You Save:	45%				53%

eBook Category: Erotica/Erotic Romance/Romance
eBook Description: When musician Neil Randall rolls into Caracas at three in the morning, it is with the intent to commit wanton acts of kindness until he can barely mount his motorcycle again. That the lovely and legendary singer Chelsea is in town further inflames his desires to get back at his ex for her infidelity. Yet a chance encounter in a hotel hottub with a lovely young expatriate throws Neil for a loop. Suddenly he is torn between leaving a girl in every port and leaving the port with this girl. Are Neil's feelings for the one everybody calls "Dulce" genuine, or is he fooling himself? Enjoy Caracas at three in the morning with this hot Samba by Leigh Ellwood, a pseudo-Dareville short.

eBook Publisher: Phaze/Phaze Samba, Published: 2006, 2006
Fictionwise Release Date: August 2006

7 Reader Ratings:

Great	Good	OK	Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: eReader (PDB) [65 KB] , ePub (EPUB) [73 KB] , Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [33 KB] , Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [316 KB] , Palm Doc (PDB) [36 KB] , Microsoft Reader (LIT) [69 KB] , Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [108 KB] , hiebook (KML) [104 KB] , Sony Reader (LRF) [81 KB] , iSilo (PDB) [30 KB] , Mobipocket (PRC) [38 KB] , Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [68 KB] , OEBFF Format (IMP) [51 KB]
Words: 10477
Reading time: 29-41 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Portable Document Format (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
ISBN: 1594266077

So this was Caracas at three in the morning.

The wrong side of the tracks, assuming trains chugged through Venezuela en route to deforestation elswhere. Here was a side of town Fodors had clearly missed, a neighborhood set to the soundtrack of screeching Russian-made automobiles and slurred, Spanish curses. Shattered glass sparkled on dirt avenues under yellow lamplight; the salty tang of nearby waters hung thick in the air. Here, surely, was where the kids of Spring Break banded together for safety when the money ran low, when they were too full of pride and independent spirit to call home.

Here was a place the tires of chartered tour buses never tread. One would never see this part of the otherwise glamorous city in the backdrop as Robin Leach waxed gloriously of sangria wishes and churros dreams.

Neil Randall smiled through the windscreen of his helmet at Caracas at three in the morning, thinking of how much Cal Briscoe would have loved this place. Pity that his best friend was unable to accompany him on this trip, choosing instead to do something so out of character as fall in love and get married.

Que loco. How crazy, were those the words? Crazy to fall in love and marry after decades of confirmed bachelorhood. Crazy to suggest Neil do the same, to remarry anyway. Shake off the grief and anger, sell the bike, bloom where planted and find a pretty flower to stab repeatedly with his pistil until her petals wilted.

No, those hadn't been Cal's exact words, but they had been muy loco nonetheless. All Neil could remember of his last meeting with Cal was tuning out the lecture after the fourth beer and thinking of his passport and keys, both of which pinched his skin through a back denim pocket as he rocked on his ass, eager to leave the bar for this vacation. Nod and drink, nod and drink, until Cal's wife dragged him to the dance floor, where the two joined crotches in a seductive tangle. Cal's words had glance off of him. Neil would not remarry, he decided, yet he fully intended to stab many flowers before the month was over. He would be the plant kingdom's answer to Jack the Ripper, there would be so much stabbing with his rock hard pistil on this trip.