Daisy Prescott [Prescott - Wanderlust

Advance Praise for Wanderlust

Five romantic, exotic, and erotic stars. The Book Enthusiast

Funny, sexy, and super-entertaining! Vilmas Book Blog

Brilliant, magnificent, Best Book of 2014!!!! Reading Selahs story made me realize age is just a number. Books and Beyond Fifty Shades

" a captivating story about life, love, supernova hot sex, and an exciting and unintentional quest for self-discovery." Nestled in a Book

Engaging, pulled me right in I loved the twists the sex scenes are layered with passion, lust, and ultimately love. Shh Moms Reading

Felt like taking a fabulously sexy vacation. Ficwishes

Wanderlust

Daisy Prescott

Copyright Daisy Prescott 2017, All rights reserved.

ebook edition

This book was originally released under the title Missionary Position.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Please do not feed the pirates.

ISBN: 978-0-9894387-9-7

First Digital Edition June 2014

Second Digital Edition December 2015

Third Digital Edition February 2017

Cover Design by:

Sarah Hansen at Okay Creations

Front Cover Photo:

Kheng Guan Toh/123RF

Back Cover Photo:

Yuri/iStockp

Editors:

Melissa Ringstead at There for You Editing;

Jenny Sims at Editing4Indies

Contents

To the Doers of Deeds

Love never loses its way home.

~Proverb

You should meet my brother.

I had been picked up many times in airport bars, but a brother set up was a first. Not that I expected the woman sitting next to mewith her glass of Pinot Grigioto be the type to hit on strange women, but this was JFK. A crossroads of world travelers meant anything was possible. Wed been sitting silently next to each other at a sushi bar, poking away at our phones when our identical orders of spicy tuna hand-rolls were placed in front of us. She initiated a conversation and we fell into an animated discussion about the delicious merits of quality sushi.

Married? Never. Her? Divorced

Kids? No way. Her? A thirteen-year-old daughter.

From? Portland. Her? Chicago. Her accent told me she wasnt born there. I guessed someplace like Scandinavia where they bred supermodels.

The typical questions of where we were headed and sharing our woes of travel followed. I liked her.

Is your brother in Dubai? I asked. Anita had shared her excitement over her upcoming week there. I admitted it sounded glamorous and far more luxe than my travel plans.

No, Dubai is for business and a little fun. My brothers in Amsterdam, where Im from. You did say youre going to Amsterdam, didnt you?

Dutch. I was close. Must be all the cheese. Or chocolate.

Oh, right. Ill be there for a week before my work takes me to Ghana.

Are you a missionary? the athletic blonde asked me.

A missionary in Amsterdam? Is anyone that much of a masochist? Im not even a fan of the missionary position.

She spit out her wine. Wiping her chin with a napkin, she gathered her composure. I thought perhaps you planned to visit Amsterdam to sin a little before doing the good work in Africa. Isnt that what most Americans do there? Meddle with the best intentions in the name of a church?

I blinked at my bar mate. Not a fan of religion?

I grew up in the Netherlands. Churches are for tourists in most towns.

I laughed. I think Ill fit right in there. To answer your question, Im a professor. My sabbatical is taking me to Amsterdam, and then on to Accra to study the female form in Ashanti sculptures.

You study naked women?

Not only women. Im an equal opportunity nudist. I mean I study the human form across cultures. Nothing against the penis, but its hard to represent one in all its glory without it seeming silly or grotesque. I giggled, and Anita did, too. I prefer female bodies in art with all the beautiful variation.

She blatantly swept her gaze over my body, from my messy, dark bob down to my overnight flight outfit of an open cardigan over exposed, but tasteful, cleavage, down to my yoga pants and comfortable but not fashionable flats. Maybe she was hitting on me. I straightened the scarf around my neck.

You really should look up my brother. She tapped her phone, bringing it to life. Ill give you his information. Text him. Hell be perfect company while youre in Amsterdam. Out of her designer bag, she pulled a business card and an expensive looking pen, which she used to scrawl a name and number on the back of her card.

Your brothers name is Gerhard? I failed to fully stifle my snort. Get hard. Gerrharrd. Gerhard would make the perfect name for a scoundrel pirate. Id have to remember it for my next pirotica novel.

I know. Isnt it the most uptight name? I wish I could say it doesnt suit him, but he can be a complete prat sometimes.

The garbled voice of a boarding announcement broke over the speakers. She glanced down at her watch.

Oh, my flights boarding. Call Gerhard. I think youd have fun with him.

Didnt you just say he was a prat?

Sometimes, but women seem to love the bad boys, dont they? She gathered her things and left a sizable tip on the bar. Great to meet you, Selah. Best of luck with your sabbatical.

I smiled at my new supermodel friend. If her brother shared her genes, maybe I would look him up when I arrived. Bye, Anita.

Say hi to Gerhard for me. With a sparkling white smile and a wave, she disappeared into the crowd of travelers.

What an odd, yet friendly, woman.

I spun her card on the bar. Anita Hendriks, management consultant. She had the same last name; the brother part could be legit. Gerhard, though. Get harder. I giggled and finished the last of my saketini. Scrolling through my mental file of lovers, aka The United Nations of Peen, I realized Id never slept with a Dutchman. Maybe Gerhard could check off an item on my fuck-it list.

Being a professor might sound glamorous and interesting to some, but for me it meant having to fly coach on international flights. A window seat earned me a place in a slightly higher level of hell than a middle seat or the row right next to the bathrooms where the seats didnt recline. Still, it was hell nonetheless.

The crush of summer tourists filled the flight to capacity. College backpackers, stoners, and shifty-eyed men populated the plane. I doubted they would be seeing any Van Goghs or Rembrandts.

I wanted a cigarette. Damn quitting. Stupid aging and health. I reached into my bag for a piece of nicotine gum. Over the past three months, Id managed to wean myself off cigarettes, deliciously comforting, soothing, invigorating, cancer-causing cigarettes. After smoking for decades, I missed the habit of it. At least flights were smoke-free these days. Otherwise, I might have been tempted to stand in the smoking section and acquire a contact nicotine hit.