Red Hot Mama
Chapter One

by Belle
copyright ©2006

Note: This is not a complete story. For the entire story, please join our website here.

The steel drum band's calypso beat entranced Pamela Daniels while she lay on her lounge chair in the shade, equidistant from the resort's pool and the aquamarine ocean. Sand white as sugar reflected the sun's rays. She'd used SPF 45, so her fair skin should be safe. Adjusting her Wayfarer sunglasses, she wiggled a little deeper into her chair and sighed to feel the kiss of the warm breeze.

New Hampshire winters stunk. If it weren't for her two weeks in tropical paradise every February, she'd go bananas. Once she had enough years in her pension to retire, she was moving to the Keys permanently, and hurricanes be damned. Jimmy Buffett and the parrotheads knew what they were talking about: margaritas and conch chowder and a red hibiscus in her hair—now, that was living. But she'd have to put in at least twenty more years at the factory to take early retirement.

The men here were delicious to look at, too. Just watching the hunky, shirtless bartender wield the shaker stirred funny feelings in her tummy. Too bad most of the men weren't available, one way or the other, either married or gay. She certainly wasn't looking for a fling with a guy who had a tan line on his left ring finger. But she'd yet to find the one who could keep her happy. New-age, sensitive guys weren't for her, but she didn't want a grunting brute, either. She'd been searching for a serious relationship for so long that, at 32, she was ready to consider a tropical fling. The baking heat was stirring her in ways she didn't like to admit.

Oh, the hell with it, Pamela thought while rolling onto her stomach. Perhaps her thong suit would attract someone interesting. Her butt was her best feature, thanks to her devotion to her fitness center’s StairMaster, and she was tired of waiting for Mr. Right. She'd settle for Mr. Right Now, as long as he was hot-looking and single.

The sound of a loudly-cleared throat caught her attention. She raised her head to peer at the man standing next to her. Hmmm, he looked pretty good. She decided she'd speak to him.

"Yes?" She slid her sunglasses down her nose and looked over them at him. His golden chest and well-muscled legs nearly had her panting.

Show a little attitude, Pammy, to indicate you're not a desperate pushover.

"Ma'am, this is not a clothing-optional resort."

She stared at him a little harder. "And your point is . . . ?"

"You need to cover up."

Incredulous, she glared into his admittedly sexy eyes, eyes that were the same color as a pricey walnut desk. "Cover up? This is the Keys, and the last I saw, thong suits and string bikinis were not only legal, they're the unwritten law. Who the hell are you, anyway, and what business is it of yours what I wear?"

"I'm the man who's going to marry you. And no wife of mine is going to show her naked bottom in public unless she's willing to show a naked red bottom."

Pamela felt his gaze rake her top to toe. For the first time, she felt uncomfortable in her blue sparkle, G-string bikini. Her front was covered by three small patches of fabric, and the back was composed of nothing but strings. One good sneeze and she'd be arrestible.

Still, she liked feeling the sun and wind on her bare skin, and she'd be darned if some, some man would tell her what she could and couldn't wear, especially after enduring a bikini wax job.

She stood, spoiling for a tussle. "Go to hell," she snapped, flipping him off for good measure. "The man who's going to marry me, indeed. As if I'd submit to someone who told me what I could and couldn't wear."

"Oh, you'll submit, all right. The first time I take you over my knee, you'll be mine, body, heart, and soul. And that time will be soon, judging from your language and obscene hand gesture. You need discipline."

"Like I'd ever let any man spank me," she growled, unwilling to concede the aroused heat low in her belly when she contemplated going across this man's lap. "You're creeping me out. Get out of here now, before I yell for Teddy." Hard on the heels of her statement, the bartender called over to her.

"That man bothering you, Pammy?"

"Yes, Teddy, he is."

She stepped aside as the bartender and stranger took each other's measure, fists tightening.

"Leave the lady alone. Beat it, bub." Teddy planted his feet and crossed his arms, six and a half feet of fight. "Unless you'd like to be bounced out of here?"

"I don't think you should do that," the man said, smiling, but with menace in his voice as he pulled his waterproof ID case from his shorts. "Take a look at this."

The bartender paled under his tan when he inspected the name next to the photo. "Sorry, Mr. Cassidy. I didn't know it was you. I thought you weren't arriving until tomorrow."

"No problem, Teddy. Go on back to the bar and bring me a Fog Cutter. Would you like something, Pammy? Come to think of it, bring her a diet soda. I'll not allow my future wife to drink anything stronger than that."

Pamela whipped her head back and forth between the two men, one grinning in triumph, one scurrying to do the other's bidding. What had just happened?

"Permit me to introduce myself. I'm the new owner of Parrot Palace, soon to be named Cassidy's Key Hideaway. I make the rules. And I've decided that you'll go back to your room to don a more modest suit. Unless, of course, you'd like to join me in my suite for an old-fashioned strapping. I'll have an assistant witness it if you're concerned about taking such a compromising position with me. I understand that you don't know me yet."

Huffing angrily, she stomped her foot. "You, you, arrgghh! I've been coming to Parrot Palace for ten years and I'm not going to put up with your crap. I'll wear what I damn well please and drink myself under the table if I wish. I'm not staying another night if you're the new owner. Check me out of here."

His grin grew wider. "Oh, and where do you plan to stay, sweetie? Everything in the Keys is booked tighter than your bathing suit. I'll tell you what: if you can find another place to stay within thirty miles of here, or if you choose to fly home, I'll refund the cost of your entire stay. If not, you'll finish out your vacation here and have dinner with me tonight. And, of course, you'll wear more clothing in public until you leave. As my future wife, I have standards you're expected to maintain. Now, get moving, or I'll drag you by the ear up to my suite and warm your bottom properly."

As if to emphasize his words, he grasped her upper arm, dragging her behind a nearby partition for privacy. She couldn’t believe how much heat his hand was creating on her arm. Tingles were running from his fingers straight down to—.

A thunderclap combined with a fierce, hot sting on her bare bottom's left cheek had Pamela jumping six inches into the air. She gasped and rubbed the burning spot, unable to believe the man had just slapped her behind. What century was this guy living in?

She jerked her arm out of his grip, huffing, "I'm out of here, you bastard, and once I'm checked into another hotel, I'm going to have you arrested for assault. In the future, keep your hands off my ass."

"My, my, such talk. Cursing is something else I spank for. I guess I've got my work cut out for me. Besides, we’re behind this little wall. No witnesses. What assault?"

Pamela couldn't stand his grin another minute. She stalked off, still rubbing the burning area he'd left on her hindquarters. Damn, but it stung. She never wanted to feel anything like it ever again.

She was out of here just as fast as she could pack. Then she'd go see the chief of police about arresting Mr. Cassidy.

Jere Cassidy couldn't stop admiring the way Pamela's charming backside bounced with her every angry step. The pink spot he'd left on her cheek only enhanced its loveliness.

He accepted his drink from Teddy, tipping him a twenty. While sipping it, Jere wondered what had come over him. He'd been checking out his newest property, intending to remain anonymous a little longer, when he'd seen her lying there, wavy red hair pinned up, soft curves bursting from her string bikini. Suddenly, he knew she was for him. He still couldn't explain to himself why he was certain she was the woman he was meant to marry.

What was wrong with him, saying all that stuff about a wife and marriage? Hell, he didn't want to marry anyone, period. And yet—he felt compelled to have her. Not staring at her chest had nearly killed him. What a shape, what a woman. And she'd be his before her vacation was up. If she weren't, it wouldn't be for lack of trying on his part.

He flipped open his cell phone to call the resort down the road, owned by his cousin.

"Hey, it's Jere. You'll probably receive a phone call shortly from a Pamela who is staying here. No, I don't know her last name. But she'll be willing to pay any price to stay somewhere else. Do me a favor? Spread the word to all the other owners within fifty miles that I'll pay them triple for whatever she offers for a room, just to make sure she doesn’t leave Parrot Palace. Don't bother with the B&Bs. This gal likes resorts."

He listened for a moment before chuckling. "Why? Let's just say she and I have a score to settle. Thanks, cuz."

For the moment, his upcoming lunch meeting with the current managers removed thoughts of spanking Pamela. But with any luck, he'd be turning her fanny properly crimson before the day was done. Once he'd enjoyed blistering her ass a time or two, he knew he could talk her into doing the horizontal mambo with him till her vacation ended. She'd clearly liked his looks. But as soon as she flew back to the mainland, that would be that. Jere Cassidy did not do relationships. And he usually couldn't bring himself even to think the M word, let alone say it out loud. To a female.

Before he entered the private dining room for his meeting, he slapped himself on the forehead. Marriage? What the hell had he been thinking?

"Why can't you arrest him?" Pamela fumed.

"Ma'am, he hasn't committed any crime," the officer said.

"He assaulted me!"

"How, ma'am?" The lawman eyed her.

"He, he," she stuttered. The words were harder to say than she thought they would be. "Uh, he spanked me."

"Spanked you. Huh. Do you have any witnesses? Any marks we can take photos of?"

She realized she'd have to reveal her backside to the legal system, and for what? The pink had faded by the time she'd finished calling hotels—without any luck, damn it. And he’d made sure there were no witnesses, by taking her behind the partition before whacking her. She was stuck and out of luck, as her mother used to say.

"Never mind." Pamela stalked out of the police station, back into the blazing sun. Her desire to have Cassidy arrested was going nowhere. She needed time to think, so she stopped at a bar to order a Cosmopolitan. Absent-mindedly she rubbed her punished cheek and wondered how she could get the bastard back.

It came to her while she was sipping the last of the drink. Her smile was not nice.

She hurried back to Parrot Palace, eager to put her plan into practice. She saw Cassidy talking with the front desk clerk when she waltzed up.

"Well, hi there, Jere." She batted her lashes as if she were trying to create wind power. Wetting her lips, she leaned over the counter, giving him a full shot of her cleavage.

"What about that dinner tonight?" she cooed.

She forced herself not to shrink from his aggressive stare.

"What's with Little Miss Honeybuns here? You decide to play by my rules after all? Or," he said, his voice lowering to husky, "does the idea of a spanking turn you on as much as it does me? I'm ready any time you are."

Her hand itched to slap his face. Instead, she let her fingernails play in the golden chest hair sticking out of the v-shaped opening of the tropical-print shirt he’d donned since she’d seen him last.

"No one's going to spank me, not ever. Now, darling, dinner?" She noticed his skin shivering under her teasing touch, and smiled.

"Meet me in the dining room at seven. And mind your manners, young lady," he said.

In response, she whirled, her skirt floating just high enough to provide a split-second view of her panties, if she'd been wearing any. When she stopped, she grinned at the bald shock on his face.

"Seven in the dining room it is, sweetie," she said, sauntering away.

Damn. Just seeing that woman made him sweat. Her little twirl had nearly given him a heart attack.

He couldn't be positive, but he thought he'd seen nakedness where underwear ought to be.

"Mr. Cassidy?"

He blinked. "Huh?"

"Mr. Cassidy, do you have anything else you want me to do right now?" the desk clerk asked.

"Oh. Jordan. No, not right now. You're doing fine," Jere said to his young employee. "Take care of the guests heading this way, and remember what I told you."

"Yes, sir."

Thank God some folks arrived so that I can escape, he thought. Walking away as quickly as he could, he glanced behind him once. Yes, Jordan would work out well. He was doing everything he'd been told to do.

On to the problem at hand, namely, what in the blue hell was up with Pamela? Obviously she's as smart as he figured she was, maybe smarter.

On the way to his office, he strode through the resort's indoor mini-rainforest. "Cutie pie, cutie pie," one of bright blue-and-red parrots squawked as he passed. He didn't notice.

Men moving boxes were hustling in and out of the CEO’s office. He flagged down the crew's foreman.

"Hey, Ed, please stack the rest of my files outside the door. I'll move them myself later. I have business to attend to."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Cassidy."

Jere shut the heavy cherrywood door. Alone, finally alone, with time to puzzle out Pamela's angle. The leather chair squeaked as he leaned back, his fingers laced behind his head.

He didn't believe that she'd suddenly fallen for him. So what was her angle? Money? No, he couldn't see how she benefited. Sex? She could probably have any man she wanted.

Come to think of it, the way she looked at Teddy . . .

Nah. No way. Though if she was boffing his bartender, he'd put an end to that quickly enough. He knew Teddy needed his job, because he'd made it his business to learn everything about his employees before he arrived on-site.

Was her angle marriage? After all, he'd mentioned it. Hell, he'd done more than that; he'd practically threatened her with it. Non-residents in the Keys could marry instantaneously with no waiting period, just like in Vegas. Maybe she planned to force him to live up to his promise to marry her, maybe tonight?

He could understand a money angle if they were married. He could also understand a revenge angle.

Whoa. Revenge for the way he'd treated her. Powerful motivation. And, he had to admit, he'd been an asshole to her, and she was his resort’s guest. He groaned, scrubbing his face with his palms. Cassidy Resorts had always, always put the customer first. He'd made his millions by obeying, without fail, that one simple rule.

He'd verbally chastised a paying guest, not to mention that he’d slapped her ass. A call from the local police chief told him she'd been eager to press charges, but the officer on duty had dissuaded her. For that alone, he owed the officers bottles of good champagne, or maybe a few cases of their favorite beers.

Lord, what a mess I’ve made, all of it due to my quick temper and inability to pass up a chance to spank a pretty girl. I’m a frigging idiot!

The phone interrupted his self-rebuke.

"Yeah, there's a real shellfish problem here right now."

Pamela toyed with her drink's paper umbrella before continuing her lie. The bug-eyed tourist touched her forearm.

"What do you mean, a problem?"

"You've heard of red tide?" she said. The man nodded.

"It'll kill you to eat clams contaminated with it. Not to mention the bad stuff grouper and red snapper carry."

"What do they carry?" The man ran a hand over his mostly bald head. A pang of guilt twinged in her heart for scaring the old fellow so, but she had to do this to execute her plan.

"Ciga, cigar? No, cigua-something. Another kind of poison." She lowered her voice. "If I were you, I wouldn't eat at Parrot Palace, not unless you want to get sick like the others. Try another restaurant on the island. And for God's sake, don't eat any clams or mussels, or any fish at all."

"Thank you, young lady. I'd better go tell my wife to cancel our reservations." His voice quavered, and another arrow of guilt pierced her. She'd go to Hell for scaring a nice old man, but a woman's gotta do what a woman's gotta do.

After he hurried out, another couple entered the bar and sat down a few chairs away from her.

"Hey, you folks planning to eat here tonight? I wouldn't if I were you."

She repeated her story for the new couple, scaring them into canceling their reservations at the Parrot. After a few repetitions of the lies, she relaxed in the empty bar.

I don't know if there'll be an empty dining room tonight, but I've done my best to make it so.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

A strong hand gripped her shoulder and turned her, bringing her face-to-face with Jere. His expression was filled with thunderclouds.

"Having a drink." She tossed her head, but couldn't keep the quiver of nerves out of her voice.

"One of our guests called to berate me for not publicizing our 'shellfish problem'. They were kind enough to share their entire conversation with you. As God is my witness, you're getting spanked—"

"I don't think so."

"—right now."

She dug in her heels and did her best impersonation of a mule, but he was stronger. No one paid any attention to her shrieks. She fought hard, but ended up in his office with the door closed.

"Now," he snarled, "I am going to paddle your little tush until you cry."

"Do that, and I'm heading right back to the police," she snapped.

"Just try it. The police won't bring any charges after they hear about your sabotage of my business. Would you rather I kick you out of Parrot Palace instead of spank you? I can guarantee nobody in the Keys will give you a room. All I have to do is make a few phone calls to spread word of your actions."

She thought for a moment, realizing that she should've thought this out a lot better.

He sat in an armless chair and yanked her over his lap in one smooth step.

"Don't you dare raise my skirt!"

"I have no intention of doing so. Your dress is quite thin, and as I recall, you have no panties on. My fraternity paddle will sting plenty through one little clothing layer when I lay it on."

She kicked, but that only made him throw a leg over hers. She found her nose in the carpet and her hands caught in one of his.

"You have to choose: spanking, or leave the resort?" he said.

"Oh, shit," she muttered.

"Choose, or I'll choose for you."

To Be Continued...