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    Balance
    Balance
    Balance
    Ebook76 pages1 hour

    Balance

    By Georgia Beers

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook

    The first in an ongoing series by award-winning lesbian fiction writer Georgia Beers, "Balance" introduces you to Norah Ellison, who has a gift...or is it a curse? She knows nothing about the women whose names appear to her in the morning, only that she must help them, and that time is of the essence. She's spent more than a decade building a tiny team of trusted assistants, but even they can't guarantee she can figure out what needs to be done--or ensure that she'll get it done in time. (This story was originally printed in the collection "Outsiders," released by Brisk Press.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGeorgia Beers
    Release dateApr 2, 2014
    ISBN9781310787263
    Balance
    Author

    Georgia Beers

    Georgia Beers is the author of nine novels of lesbian romance, one novella, and several short stories. Her work has won the Lambda Literary Award, five Golden Crown Literary Awards, and the Foreword Book of the Year Award. Born and raised in upstate New York, she has been writing since she learned to hold a pen. She currently lives in Rochester with her partner of 19 years, their two adorable dogs, and one bossy cat, and is working hard on her next novel.

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    • 5/5
      Such a pleasant read of an asshole getting what he deserves :) I love Beer's every book, so no suprice that I like this one as well.

      1 person found this helpful

    Book preview

    Balance - Georgia Beers

    Balance

    Georgia Beers

    Copyright 2010 by Georgia Beers

    Smashwords Edition

    This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase and additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

    chapter One

    I know it’s there. I feel it the second I open my eyes, and the wave of familiar dread washes in, then recedes just as quickly. I should be used to this by now, but there is always that split second of fear before the acceptance that inevitably follows.

    I swallow and turn my head. Six-forty in the morning. What is it that makes us wake up five minutes before the alarm goes off? Next to the clock is the small piece of notepaper I’m expecting. I inhale deeply, exhale slowly. Five more minutes, and then I’ll deal with it.

    I roll onto my right side, prop my head up on my hand, and watch the rise and fall of her chest as she continues in the safety of slumber. She’ll have work to do when she wakes, just as I will, so I let her sleep, and I watch. Her dark hair is tousled and adorable, the creamy-smooth skin of her shoulder teases me, dares me to touch it with my fingertips, my lips. The heat coming off her never ceases to amaze me; I call her the Human Radiator. It’s why she sleeps naked…not that I mind. Pajamas make her overheat. As I study her, she pouts subtly in her sleep; her full lips pull down slightly at the corners, give me a glimpse of what she might have looked like as a child, and I smile.

    At 6:44, I turn the alarm off before it can sound, and I give in to that teasing shoulder, pressing my lips against it tenderly, marveling, always marveling, at the softness of her. She inhales that deep, just-about-to-wake-up breath, and her eyes flutter open, their color nearly startling me as it does every time. They’re green, not quite a sea foam, closer to the leaves of a delicate fern, and they’re ringed with black and surrounded by lush, dark lashes. I swear I can lose myself in those eyes. I have.

    Morning, gorgeous, Hayley says as she stretches her arms above her head.

    Hey, you stole my line.

    She glances at the nightstand, a habit she’s picked up from me, and sees the note. Got work to do today?

    I’m afraid so. I distract us both from the moment by nuzzling the warmth of her neck.

    Where are you off to?

    With a sigh, I peel myself away from her and reach for the note, give it a glance. North Carolina, apparently. Rebecca Cassidy.

    Rebecca Cassidy, she repeats, rolling it around in her mouth like a piece of hard candy. Good, strong name. Throwing off the covers, she gets out of bed. Better pack a bag, sweetie.

    You know, I say as she pads past me in all her unclothed glory and into the bathroom, it’s really not fair that you parade around me all naked and pretty like that when I’ve got to get up and moving.

    She responds by giving her tush a cute little shake. Hey, you had me last night. That should hold you over.

    Nothing can hold me over, I tell her, laying it on so thick that she rolls her eyes and laughs. I can never get enough of you, baby.

    Well, go take care of Miss Cassidy and then come home to me. Maybe I’ll have a present waiting for you when you get here.

    Maybe? Maybe you’ll have a present? That’s not much incentive, really.

    Pack a bag, whiner, she orders, then steps into the shower.

    I, of course, do as I’m told.

    Two hours later, she’s dropping me off at the airport, my boarding pass printout to Raleigh-Durham, North Carolina, gripped in my hot little hand. The routine has become old hat to us, as it happens two or three times a month on average, and we’ve become quite efficient. She pops the trunk, and we meet at the back of the car where she kisses me tenderly on the mouth, hugs me tightly, and tells me to call when I land. Then she’s off to the office to start on her research, and I’m off to a hotel room in the South, wondering how long it will take me to locate Rebecca Cassidy and what kind of help she needs from me.

    chapter two

    The first time it happened, I was fifteen. I woke up one morning and there was a small notebook on my nightstand that hadn’t been there when I went to bed. It was opened to a sheet of paper. In my handwriting, the note said, Janine Barber, Poughkeepsie, NY. The name was vaguely familiar, and I lived in Poughkeepsie at the time, so I was nothing more than mildly confused by my inability to remember writing it. I have learned since, that as we get older, we forget things constantly, so I suspect that’s why it began when I was young. Otherwise, I might have simply considered myself scatterbrained and never thought about Janine Barber again. As it turned out, hers is a name I will never, ever forget.

    First things first. You really need to know a few things about me. My name is Norah Ellison and I’m thirty-one years old. I grew up in Poughkeepsie and my family is, to put it bluntly, filthy stinking rich. I’m not exactly certain how my father and grandfather made their fortunes, but I suspect it wasn’t all on the up-and-up, which is a big part of why I do what I do. I am not close to my parents. My father isn’t a warm and fuzzy guy, and his acquaintances are questionable, as is the way he bends things to his will. My mother

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