Books by Jane May
DOGGY STYLE
HOOKED
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
Hooked
Jane May
KENSINGTON BOOKS
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
Ilan, my darling son, this one is for you!
Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, much gratitude to the brothers Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm for writing “The Fisherman and his Wife,” the original fairy tale upon which Hooked is based.
I’d also like to acknowledge (with much flourish) the following people:
Joel, the number one man in my life (aside from my dog, Miles) for his choice lines, guy advice and incredible patience; Ted Okie, “nautical” editor, wooden boat master craftsman and my son’s sometime drinking partner; the talented Dianna Craig; Marc Lawrence; Derek Cohen; Captain Jim O’Neil; Mabel Miller (never give up the fight!); Mara Maunder (you’re such an inspiration to me!); Steve Schustack (owner and operator of www.fort-lauderdale-marine-directory.com); Sean Murphy, comedian and another of my son’s drinking partners (check out his website at www.seanmurphy.org); the ever informative Peter Matthews (president of the Sonar Association on the Isle of Wight, UK); Marilyn Horowitz; Dr. Alan Creed; Dr. Bill Sharfman; my terrific webmaster, Jack Passarella; Melissa and Rene Diaz for hiring a certain Romanian assistant at their salon; Steve Haas and Eddy Ramos of the China Grill, Miami; my dear cuz, Howard Harrison (thanks for the “bread” and board!); Dr. Alice Dibenedetto (for keeping me centered); Kim and Frank; Anne and Harry Schnell; Dorothy Most; Andy Watkins (whoa—two books, who would of thunk?); Ariel Morejon; Vera “Snowbird” Chatz; Lillibet Warner of Caldwell Banker in Key Biscayne; Ilioara Diaconu; Ernie Ku; John Loche; Robert Tronz; Terry Peters and the Isle of View; Tony Walker of The Coral Reef Yacht Club of Coconut Grove; the squash courts of The SportsClub/ LA (sweaty Eddie, you’re my hero!) and my ever-indulgent squash partners: Leslie, Paula, Heather, Ellen and Janine; Carl Hiaasen (my idol and inspiration); my ever-patient editor, John Scognamiglio; Kristine Mills-Noble of Kensington for her terrific cover design, as well as everybody else involved; and lastly, my delicious agent, Evan Marshall. What would I do without you?? Flip veggie burgers? Tons of kisses to my parents and my daughter, Ris.
The following sources were also invaluable: Time Out Miami, Ocean Drive, Vanity Fair, Woodenboat Magazine, www.askmen.com, www.edmunds.com and The K.I.S.S. Guide to Sailing by Steve Sleight.
P.S. This is a work of fiction and the characters (despite some similarities to those aimlessly wandering the earth) are well, you know, fictitious. Except for Mr. Donald Trump who I hope will indulge me for putting words (of wisdom, of course) into his mouth.
“You must know the sea and know that you know it and not forget it was made to be sailed on.”
—Captain Joshua Slocum
Sailing Alone Around the World
Prologue
Once upon a time in a faraway kingdom bursting with strip malls, luxury high-rises and enough bling to stretch across the Atlantic Ocean and back, Raymond Prince prepared to anoint a royal consort in the backseat of a cobalt blue Mercedes sedan.
With a full moon as his guide, Raymond unhooked the frontloading brassiere of his target market and chuckled to himself. Damn, if those tan-lined double Ds didn’t remind him of the headlights of an eighteen-wheeler!
“Nothing like the feel of genuine nappa leather seats against bare skin,” he said to the redhead whose name he’d forgotten after the second round of drinks. “So luxuriously sensual and soft, eh, babe?”
“Oh, yes,” she replied, giggling. “But, Prince, you’re, you’re so, so…”
“Ready to drive a hard bargain, perhaps?”
Raymond sucked in his gut and had just unbuttoned his jeans when the echo of footsteps—specifically, high heels walking in a slow, determined gait—caused his gear shift to malfunction and his heart to sputter like a waterlogged engine.
The cause for his alarm was well founded. At this hour, the dealership had long since been locked and blocked. Nobody was permitted on the lot except for his security guard, Jorge, and he sure as hell didn’t own any stilettos.
“What was that?” whispered the redhead, failing miserably to cover her breasts with the palms of her hands.
“Probably nothing, babe, but let the Prince here check it out.”
Raymond slowly opened the car door, slinked out the side and peeked over the hood.
The news was not good. In fact, when he discovered the identity of the mystery guest, he clenched his perfectly veneered teeth with such force he nearly cracked his left bicuspid. He tried to duck for cover, but alas, it was too late.
“RAYMOND!” shrieked Sandy, his wife of twenty years.
Despite her petite stature, Sandy possessed the demeanor of a heavy-weight wrestler with the vocal chords to match.
“YOU LOUSY SON OF A BITCH BASTARD!”
“It’s not what you think, honey. I was closing a deal here.”
“With your fly open? Who the hell do you think you’re kidding?”
And just like that, Raymond Prince, the successful owner/ operator of a string of used car dealerships throughout Broward and Miami–Dade counties, saw his bank accounts go up in flames.
No more private lap dances at five hundred bucks a pop. Ka-ching!
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