The Bikini Diaries
While on business at Florida’s gorgeous Emerald Coast, Wendy Carnes spots a woman who unknowingly changes her life. “White Bikini Babe” is the personification of sex, clearly ready for action—and watching her makes Wendy wonder: If she put on a sexy bikini and got a new attitude, could she get a hot beach guy of her own? Could she really indulge in casual sex for the mere sport of it?
Armed with a daring new bikini and a new attitude—along with the journal in which she records her secret thoughts on the whole adventure—Wendy soon finds herself engaging in a wild and very naughty affair with her perfect fantasy man, who pushes her to new sexual extremes she’s never even imagined. But at what point does the game become reality? When does the person you pretend to be become the person you really are? And worse, what happens when your private diary falls into the wrong hands?
“Another smoldering, erotic tale from Alexander - this latest combines engaging characters and the fiery heat of sexual passion. The sensual heat index between this couple is completely off the charts. But the story contains enough realism to ensure that even the most cynical of readers will find satisfaction with the plotline.” ~Keitha Hart, Romantic Times Bookclub, 4 ½ STARS
“Hot, sizzling, and sexy! Lacey Alexander definitely will scorch your senses with THE BIKINI DIARIES! Daring Wendy and lusty Brandon tear up the sheets and touch the heart in this erotic love story. Lacey Alexander is a must-buy for every erotic romance reader!” ~ Sarah, Romance Junkies, 5 BLUE RIBBONS
“With intriguing characters, fast paced storyline, and tight writing, plus a host of naughty sexual adventures, Ms. Alexander delivers a powerful story (that will) keep you hooked from start to finish.” ~ Dawn, Love Romances and More, 4 ½ HEARTS
“I was completely swept up in Wendy's journey. We can all learn a lesson from this character. Bold, sexy and romantic, THE BIKINI DIARIES is the kind of novel that turns the heat way up and inspires some new fantasies for readers. Lacey Alexander is certainly the queen of what I fondly call 'romantic kink'!” ~Jennifer Ray, Wild on Books, 5 BOOKMARKS
“I loved this book. Each sexual act was well written and done extremely well.” ~Night Owl Romance, 5 OUT OF 5 – LIFETIME KEEPER
“This heated erotic romance star two likable characters who meet when "she wore an itsy bitsy teeny weenie … bikini". The plot is … fun as fans will enjoy … the heroine going from gun shy to gun sly while her champion struggles with telling her how much he cares about the whole Wendy.” ~Harriet Klausner
“Lacey Alexander gives her readers a relatable and empowering heroine in Wendy, appealing to the deep desire we all have to throw caution to the wind. Ms. Alexander sweeps away her readers in a sinfully erotic, yet surprisingly non-gratuitous manner.” ~Jenna Scancarello, The Sacramento Book Review
“Truly a phenomenal book. Lacey Alexander is a remarkably gifted author who writes exactly what I want to read, pushing boundaries with titillating sexuality, but never going beyond what's tasteful. Her characters are intelligent and likeable, her plots are tight, and the sex is beyond fantastic. The chemistry between Wendy and Brandon is delicious. Do yourself a huge favor and buy everything Lacey Alexander has ever written. You won't regret it.” ~Lindy, TwoLips Reviews, 5 LIPS and a RECOMMENDED READ
“The Bikini Diaries is just about the sexiest and most erotic book I have read. Lacey Alexander has written a no-holds-barred romp of sexual delights. Sizzling hot love scenes with steamy and risqué elements are what made The Bikini Diaries such a profound book. Lacey Alexander puts the ‘e’ in erotic.” ~Talia Ricci, Joyfully Reviewed, RECOMMENDED READ
Warning: This excerpt may feature sexually explicit material not appropriate for young readers. By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age.
If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to stop reading here.
You always see those girls at the beach – the ones who somehow make you feel inferior even when you’re usually a fairly confident person, happy with who you are.Killer tan, killer boobs, and those long, silky to-die-for legs, all strapped into some sinfully tiny bikini that has Fuck Me written all over it.
I’m watching one of those sex goddess types approach even as I write this.God, she’s beautiful.I kind of hate her – for making every other woman on this beach look so dreadfully normal, for making married men and dads stop talking with their wives or building sand castles with their kids in order to stare.
What is it like to be her?
Is this really who she is – a woman who’s so comfortable with her sexuality that she wants to advertise it, a hot chick looking for a good lay and that’s all?Or does she work so hard to look perfect because she secretly harbors low self-esteem and tries to cover that with physical beauty?And is it sex she wants, or is that just a trap and she’s really looking for love?
I prefer to think the former, I suppose, since even though I’m intimidated by her, I also envy her.The sexually comfortable her.The her who wants to get laid and nothing more.And even though I like myself just the way I am most days – right now, just for a moment, just a brief little second, I want to be her.
Wendy Carnes closed her journal and dropped it inside the beach bag next to her lounge chair, along with the pen. She couldn’t help resenting the fact that she wanted to be that woman, the one she’d just watched walking up the shoreline, all tan and perfect, hard nipples jutting through the two white triangles covering her breasts, long blond hair blowing behind her in the sea breeze. She couldn’t help resenting it, but she could accept it. It was only natural – everyone wanted to be beautiful and desirable.
And maybe … maybe everyone secretly wanted to know that sort of power. Because that’s what the bikini woman possessed – power. Over all the men on the beach. And some of the women, too.
Of course, she couldn’t forget to factor in pleasure. One glance had told Wendy that the blond bikini babe knew pleasure – how to give it and how to take it. Her eyes had nearly sparkled with it.
Beauty, power, and pleasure. What was there not to envy?
But then Wendy shook it off. Because she was here for business, not pleasure. In fact, she was surprised she’d let Miss Bikini Babe distract her so much. To think she’d even started writing about it in her work journal – that wasn’t like her.
Then again, her work seldom led her to places so intoxicating as the Emerald Shores Beach Resort, edging three miles of pristine white sand along Florida’s panhandle, also known as The Emerald Coast. The word emerald got tossed around a lot here with good reason – when the sun hit this particular edge of the Gulf of Mexico, the pale sand beneath turned the water a nearly electric shade of green.
No, her job usually led her to a downtown Chicago office building, where she served as administrative assistant to Walter Carlisle, a wealthy real estate investor with holdings all over the country and a genuinely pleasant guy to work for. Walter was serious and stalwart when it came to business, but he was also a fair and friendly employer who liked to go boating, play Texas Hold ‘Em, and spend time with his wife and their young grandchildren.
Wendy had been stunned when Walter asked her to go to Emerald Shores on what, in the office, they called a “scouting mission.” Even when Walter had chosen to permanently relocate his usual “scout,” Marie Hill, in Seattle to oversee his large collection of property there, Wendy had assumed he’d hire someone new for her position. And who knew – maybe he still would. But at least for now, he’d elected Wendy to take on the task of traveling to Emerald Shores to determine if Walter should sink significant money into the place.
And maybe the job wouldn’t be so daunting if Emerald Shores was your run-of-the-mill beach resort. But it was far from it – it was, in fact, an enormous up-scale self-contained community. In addition to thousands of high-rise condo units stretching both along the beach and the adjacent bay area, Emerald Shores boasted abundant shopping, nightlife, restaurants, and even a full-scale grocery and pharmacy – along with biking, golf, tennis, and a free shuttle to get you wherever you needed to go. It was a world of luxury that also came with all the conveniences of home, and that was the charm of the vast property – for vacationers, for full-time residents, and for Walter Carlisle.
When one of the resort’s largest investors had pulled out, the Emerald Shores executives had begun vigorously courting Carlisle Enterprises. As a result, Wendy found herself sitting on a pristine white beach, digging her bare toes into soft, warm sand, and … well, now, wondering what it was like to be sex on a stick.
Because even though White Bikini Babe had disappeared out of sight, she remained in Wendy’s thoughts. She’d felt both … intimidated and rebuffed by the woman’s very presence.
So why again did Wendy envy her?
Did she secretly long to be intimidating, to make other women feel bad about themselves? No – she was a nicer person than that.
But White Bikini Babe was one of the “beautiful people,” the type who had it easy in life, or at least easier than most. And Wendy couldn’t stop wondering what it was like to be an object of pure sexual desire, plain and simple.
Focus, she told herself. She wasn’t here to watch girls, or guys – she was here to check out every aspect of Emerald Shores from both a tourist and investor perspective, talk with the resort executives about what she felt needed to be changed or updated, and then, based on their response, she would share her findings with Walter when she went home next week and make a recommendation that he invest – or not.
After taking a sip of the frozen mango daiquiri, complete with umbrella, that a Hawaiian-shirt-clad waiter had just delivered, she lowered the drink to the sand and took up her journal and pen again – this time making notes that mattered.
Umbrella drinks – too expensive. People may be willing to pay $12 for a drink, but I’m sure they resent it. Lower the price by 25% and you still make a profit, people will likely drink more, and they won’t feel ripped off.
She’d examine later if that was actually an issue worth presenting to the Emerald Shores execs, but she’d decided to bring a journal, keep it with her as often as possible, record anything that occurred to her, and then sort through it all later.
As for why she’d written down her thoughts about White Bikini Babe – she supposed she’d been venting. And no one would ever see the journal but her, so she could use it however she wished.
It was when she abandoned the journal once more, taking another sip of her mango-and-rum concoction, that she noticed a vision in white in her peripheral vision. She looked up to see that – lo and behold – White Bikini Babe now glided back down the shoreline in the opposite direction. This time her hair blew around her face a bit, making her look more windblown-and-sexy than sleek-and-hot, but the effect remained the same. As those lithe, tan legs moved smoothly over the sand, Wendy could feel every guy in the vicinity watching – just as she was. Like before: dads, husbands; young men and old.
But this time a group of twenty-something guys that had just arrived to start tossing around a football all stopped to gape, too, and something about that got to Wendy on a deeper level. Because the guys were cute – hot, even. And now two of them had abandoned the game completely to boldly approach White Bikini, and Wendy watched as they spoke, visibly flirting. Suddenly, Wendy wanted to know how to flirt like that. Because she suddenly wanted such cute beach guys to notice her, to want her.
And as the conversation ended – maybe with plans for later? – and the white bikini sashayed on up the beach still looking enviably hot, Wendy finally understood her strange fixation with the woman. In fact, it hit her like a ton of bricks.
Wendy was thirty-four years old. And if there was a window of time in her life to ever look that good or act that way – to openly advertise herself sexually – it was probably past. And that meant she would never know what it felt like to fuck a drop-dead gorgeous guy for no other reason than pure physical pleasure.
Unless … unless she grabbed it right now.
She bit her lip, stunned at her last thought.
She wasn’t normally a sexually aggressive person – she saw herself as mild-mannered and pretty-in-an-ordinary-way and she hadn’t dated since getting her job with Carlisle Enterprises two years ago.
It hadn’t been a conscious decision, but … well, she’d been through a number of relationships with dreadfully average guys who were crazier about her than she’d been about them, and she supposed at some point she’d decided they just weren’t worth her time. Given that her job came with long hours. And that the guys she seemed to attract just weren’t very exciting to her.
Of course, at night, in bed … well, she occasionally allowed herself some pretty wild fantasies about fabulously hot guys – and in them, she was always stunningly sexy. Which, now that she analyzed it, probably meant she had desires she was shoving under the rug, bored and irritated with the offerings in her life.
And now, suddenly, for the first time ever, as she glanced at the round, tan ass of the girl moving away from her up the beach, she wondered – was it even conceivable? Could she, Wendy Carnes, ever pull off stunningly sexy? Could she wear a skimpy bikini like that one? Other sexy clothes?
She didn’t see herself as overly prim, but she generally tried to be appropriate. When she went to Myrtle Beach in South Carolina with her sister and three nieces every summer, she always wore a conservative two-piece suit – the same she wore right now. She wasn’t twenty-one anymore, nor did she have the body she’d had then. A crime that when she had been twenty-one she hadn’t the guts to wear something skimpy and would have feared sending the wrong message. Now that she wanted to wear it, wanted to send a different message than ever before – just once, just for this week – she suspected her body was probably too imperfect. A classic Catch-22.
Still, it was a pretty decent body for her age. God had blessed her with good boobs and, so far, only one small spot of cellulite on the back of her right thigh. She worked out regularly, so that helped. And she’d just gotten a new hair color which everyone said looked sexy, although that hadn’t been the goal – she’d gone from her regular medium brown to a coppery hue with a few blonde streaks.
She stared out at the ocean, pondering the unthinkable.
Except that, to her surprise, it had suddenly become thinkable.
Could she pull it off? Could she become like that woman? Could she become … someone else?