Miss August

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Miss August ISBN # 1-4199-0723-9 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Miss August Copyright© 2006 Madison Hayes Edited by Pamela Campbell. Cover art by Willo. Electronic book Publication: August 2006

This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 443103502. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

Warning: The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. This story has been rated E–rotic by a minimum of three independent reviewers. Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (Erotic), and X (X-treme). S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination. E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. In addition, some E-rated titles might contain fantasy material that some readers find objectionable, such as bondage, submission, same sex encounters, forced seductions, and so forth. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry; it is common, for instance, for an author to use words such as “fucking”, “cock”, “pussy”, and such within their work of literature. X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Unlike E-rated titles, stories designated with the letter X tend to contain controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

CALENDAR GIRLS:

MISS AUGUST

Madison Hayes

Trademarks Acknowledgement The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Playboy: Playboy Enterprises International, Inc.

Miss August

Chapter One Rob hadn’t thought breasts like that existed outside of Playboy Magazine. Even though the young woman seated before him was obviously wearing a bra, her undergarment wasn’t putting up much of a fight where her nipples were concerned. The bold outline of her areolas pressed against the filmy blue fabric that stretched across her magnificent tits. Pulling himself together, he dragged his attention up to the woman’s face. Her foam-green eyes were lit with an accusatory fire and he averted his guilty gaze, shifting it to the deep dimple that accented her sardonic smile. “I thought you were a man,” he stated, crossing his ankles and leaning back on his desk. “Really!” she answered, lifting one dark, shapely eyebrow. Perched on a straightbacked chair in front of his desk, she shifted as she recrossed her legs. “Where’d you get that idea?” He flicked his gaze to the papers in his hand. “Your resume. August is a man’s name.” “That’s true enough,” she answered, “however, Shelley is a woman’s name.” He nodded fractionally, lifting an eyebrow in dispute as he glanced again at the resume. “Your resume states that your name is August Shelley.” “That’s August comma Shelley,” she corrected him. “My name is Shelley August.” “I thought you were a man,” he insisted, feeling it needed repeating. “Yes, well,” she offered, “I think we’ve pretty well established that’s not the case.” “No!” he agreed. “That’s definitely not the case! But I was looking for a male secretary.” “Do you have something against women?” Rob shook his head. “Not at all! It’s not that. It’s just that…I’m a private man.”

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“I’m very good at keeping secrets,” she immediately countered. He frowned at her resume, muttering, “Well, that would make you a first.” “Mr. Brooks?” “That would make you the first woman I’ve ever met who could keep a secret.” When he opened his mouth to continue, the persistent young woman cut in quickly. “Please, Mr. Brooks. I need this job. I like to work and I type fast. I’m sure you’d be satisfied with me if you’d just give me a chance.” Rob tilted his head, trying not to smirk at her choice of words while at the same time trying to ignore her breasts. Which was hard to do. They were…huge. Beautiful and bouncy and huge. Christ. “You have no references,” he pointed out severely. Swiftly, she nodded. “That’s why I need this job. After five years at my previous position, I have nothing to show for it. Essentially, I’m starting over.” He slapped the resume against his left palm. “Excuse me for sounding cynical, but if you’re such a hard worker and you type so fast, then why have you nothing to show after five years of employment, Miss August?” She didn’t answer right away and he used the time to explore her face. When he’d met her at the front door, he hadn’t thought she was particularly attractive—despite her very obvious attributes. Now as he gazed at her feminine features, he wondered how that could have changed in all of five minutes. She still had longish black hair pulled back into an efficient ponytail. Her nose was still spattered with dark freckles. She was still a tall woman, voluptuous and then some, with wide hips beneath a colorful, calflength dress. But along with all that, she had an unexpected fire and…brash confidence. Rob pushed out a condescending sigh. “Can I contact your previous employer?” “I wouldn’t suggest it,” she muttered. He questioned her with an arched eyebrow. “I was fired.” “Why did you lose your last job?”

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The woman shifted in her chair, her shoulders stiffening. “My employer and I had…a personal difference.” “A personal difference shouldn’t have affected your position at the company,” he pointed out. “You won’t get any argument from me on that score,” she agreed with a dose of dry sarcasm. “Miss August?” “We had a personal difference,” she repeated. “Personally, I didn’t like him enough to have sex with him. And that turned out to be the difference between keeping my job and losing it.” Turning away from her to hide his wry smile, Rob gazed at the ocean view captured within the wide rectangle of his window. He could see that the wind was up, roughening the dark water. His eyes refocused on his reflection on the window’s glass surface. He needed a haircut—bad. Haircuts were just one of the many things he could never find time for. He raked a hand back through his straight hair but the black strands fanned out again over his forehead. When he frowned, his blue eyes burned back at him from the dark, shadowy reflection. He really wanted a male secretary. But Jesus she smelled good. Was that…oranges? Turning back to her, he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Miss August. But I don’t think you’d enjoy the working conditions here. You see, I keep very late hours.” “I’ll tell my mother she needn’t wait up for me.” “You live with your mother?” he asked with mild curiosity. “Well, I am unemployed. I had to give up my apartment last month. I’m staying with my parents…for now.” He dropped her two-page resume beside him on the desk. “Yes. Well. That’s not the point, exactly. You see, I keep very late hours. I’m a…writer. Sometimes I wake up in

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the middle of the night, ready to go. Ready to write,” he corrected himself. “I need someone who can stay here. Who can live here, in my house.” She got to her feet slowly. “I understand,” she said, extending her hand to shake his. “I’m sorry for taking up your time, Mr. Brooks.” He took her hand without shaking it. “I need someone who doesn’t mind getting up at three in the morning,” he explained apologetically. “I need someone who can be available—night and day—without being a distraction.” With her warm, dry palm in his, he rubbed the thick pad of his thumb over her fingers. In the ensuing silence, he followed her downcast gaze to the pale hand captured in his dark, rough grip. When he realized he was stroking her fingers, he released her hand with a jolt. “Would you like to see the room?” he asked abruptly. “Room?” “Would you like to see the living arrangements I’ve made for my secretary?” Lifting her gaze, she gave him a cautious glance. “I’d like that,” she told him. “I sprained my wrist playing racquetball,” he explained, waving his tightly wrapped wrist as he led her out of his office and down a long hall. “That’s why I need a secretary. Normally I do my own typing.” “Have you considered voice recognition software?” Rob stopped in the middle of his huge, sunlit living room. “Do you want this job or not, Miss August?” “I…sir?” “I don’t have the patience to train software. In fact, you’ll find that I don’t have the patience for a lot of things, including stupid questions.” She tilted her head as her eyes narrowed to glowing green slits. “That shouldn’t be a problem then since I only ask intelligent questions.”

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His jaw clenched as a sharp retort sprang to his lips. He bit it back. “Good,” he clipped out, striding from the living room into another long corridor. “How soon can you start?” “What?” Rob paced down the hall ahead of her. “If you think the living arrangements are suitable, how soon can you start?” “How does today sound?” He nodded without answering. She was tall, he told himself, wondering why he cared. She moved with a sexy, careless grace. Her calf-length dress was sprinkled with small bunches of blue and purple violets. It slid around her hips as she walked. And why the hell was he thinking about that? Why had he even noticed? Rob fought the urge to turn around. He knew if he did, his gaze would target her pussy like a cruise missile. Her voice sounded from behind him, jerking him out of his thoughts. “What have you written?” she queried. “I…nothing of note. But I have something new I’m working on. It’s a suspense novel along the lines of the old Bentley and Ford series. I just need to get it moving.” He stopped before a door and cracked it open. “No,” he muttered. “That won’t do.” Farther down the hall, he squeaked another door open, glanced inside then threw the door wide. “What do you think?” he asked, stepping into the bedroom ahead of her. He glanced around the room, suddenly aware of the dusty bureau, wondering when he’d last run the vacuum cleaner. His guest glanced around the room and cut him an accusing smile. “You don’t have a housekeeper?” “I’m a private man,” he shot back at her.

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Shelley nodded as her gaze took in the large bedroom. It was furnished simply with square furniture of Scandinavian design. A king-sized bed, muffled beneath a dark plaid quilt, dominated the room. Two large dressers sat against the wall, one a narrow tallboy, the other a low-slung chest with a full-length mirror rising above it. Large windows on two sides of the room allowed a stark wash of light into the room. A door on one wall led from the bedroom into a private bathroom. From where she was standing, Shelley could just catch a glimpse of black and white tile on the bathroom floor. It was a nice enough room although it lacked…personality. Or perhaps it was just a feminine presence that was missing. The bureau tops were motel-room bare, the walls a blank stretch of antique white. In fact, the only item that revealed anything about the homeowner was the wide, low bookcase beneath the windows. Here the shelves were stuffed tight with yellowed paperbacks in loose covers. From romance to sci-fi, just about all the genres were represented on the packed shelves. Several books spilled out onto the floor from the bottom shelf and an unsteady stack threatened to collapse into the dust that blanketed the top of the bookcase. It appeared as though it had been a while since anyone had used the room…or dusted it. But it was three times the size of the guest room in her parents’ house. With a few personal items and her sunny yellow comforter, Shelley thought she might feel quite at home here. If she could find his vacuum cleaner. “What do you think?” His voice was edgy as he glared around at the dusty furniture. “I think your secretary will be very happy here,” she told him. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “And you can start today?” “Are you offering me the position?” she countered primly. His diamond blue eyes narrowed to slivers as he tilted his head to one side. Several strands of black hair fell over his left eye and he flicked his head to move the dark locks out of his face. “I thought you only asked intelligent questions,” he minced out. 10

Miss August

“I’m sorry, Mr. Brooks, but we haven’t discussed wages.” “I thought you were desperate,” he growled. “How did we go from ‘I need this job, Mr. Brooks’ to ‘how much are you paying, Mr. Brooks’?” Motioning her out of the room, he pulled the door closed behind him. Shelley laughed and was relieved when the stark blue fire in his eyes cooled to a warm, tide-pool shade of cerulean. “I won’t work for less than sixteen dollars an hour,” she announced as he trailed her down the hall. “You’re out of luck then,” he answered, “because I won’t pay you less than twenty.” She halted just inside the living room, glancing back at him before she moved across the tight scrub of the beige Berber rug. “You drive a hard bargain,” she teased him. He shook his head as he prowled into the room behind her. “I drive a Jaguar, Miss August.” Shelley laughed again, relieved to discover the man had something that might pass for a sense of humor beneath his tight, edgy exterior. Intensely aware of his dynamic presence, she tried to focus on her surroundings. The long living room was decorated in muted shades of warm whites and subtle tans. Here and there, on the walls, counters and stitched into small throw pillows, were vibrant splashes of color. Small, artful pieces of Indian pottery sat alongside beaded moccasins, all obviously authentic and terribly ancient. On the wall hung several framed examples of Indian flatwork, ranging in size from small, intricately quilled squares to full-sized blankets with geometric patterns. Silent but vitally present, her host stood off to her right, his keen gaze burning into her like hot glass. The man made her nervous. It wasn’t only that she was sharply aware of him. For some reason she was more aware of herself. It was as though she was suddenly alert to every cell and nerve ending in her body. And every single one of them

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was attendant to Robert Brooks—focused on the volcanic charisma he exuded with every gesture, every movement. “You have a beautiful home,” she told him, taking a deep breath as she turned to face him. “When will I meet your wife?” A small smile of conceit graced the hard line of his mouth. Evidently he took her question as an attempt to ferret out his marital status. “I’m not married,” he told her. That was a surprise. Instantly, Shelley was suspicious. “Yes you are.” A deep ridge formed between his dark brows. “What?” “You’re married to Bobbi Brooks.” “I’m…how do you know about Bobbi?” “I’m a great fan of hers. I’ve read all her books. Everyone knows she’s a…recluse. But I recognized the home as soon as I drove up. I’ve seen pictures of this house in celebrity magazines. This is Bobbi Brooks’ home.” With an expression both guilty and strained, he acknowledged this fact with a nod. For several moments he was silent. When he finally started talking, he sounded bitter. “Yes,” he gritted out as though Shelley had stabbed him. “Bobbi paid for this house and everything in it. Despite the fact that she writes…” Shelley watched his jaw work. “Well, you know what she writes,” he finished brusquely. “You’ve read her.” Shelley smiled sympathetically. “Well, as a man, you might not appreciate romance.” He blew out a short, cynical snort. “As a man, I don’t believe in romance.” And that was another surprise—that Bobbi Brooks’ husband didn’t believe in romance. How could you be married to the nation’s foremost erotic romance writer and not have a great marriage? Shelley was confused to say the least—intrigued to say a little bit more. First Robert Brooks claimed to be single, which she knew damn well wasn’t true. Then when she called him on it, his reaction to the mention of his wife’s name was positively hostile.

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Shelley might have found his behavior reason enough to dislike the man…except for that last cynical statement, which tugged a bit at her heartstrings. Despite herself, she couldn’t help but wonder what on earth kind of relationship Robert Brooks had with his wife. It would be pretty damn ironic if Rob were in a loveless marriage with a famous romance author. “So when will I be meeting your wife?” Shelley persisted. A muscle jumped in the lean curve of his jaw. “She’s on a cruise,” he finally stated with great, dragging recalcitrance. “Of the Mediterranean. She’ll be gone several months.” Several months. That seemed like an awful damn convenient stretch of time for a man who obviously didn’t love his wife and was looking for a live-in secretary. “Long cruise,” Shelley observed dryly. He raised his arctic gaze to her face. “I told you I was looking for a male secretary. If you’re not comfortable with the idea of working here, Miss August…” Shelley hesitated only a moment. She didn’t know what was going on between Robert Brooks and his wife, but she figured she could handle herself in a pinch, and handle Mr. Brooks in a clinch, if it came to that. “I’ll take the job,” she answered firmly. “Fine,” he muttered as though it wasn’t fine at all. “In return,” he gritted, his tone positively caustic, “I’ll do my damnedest to resist your obvious charms and keep my hands to myself.” A sharp bite of anger flashed over Shelley’s skin as a wash of pink heat climbed her neck and burned in her cheeks. “Sir?” “You heard me, Miss August. If the comment offended you, you might as well let yourself out right now. I won’t pretend that I’m not hard to get along with. And that’s the good news. The bad news is that I often work through the night. Do you still want the job at twenty…three dollars an hour?” Shelley hesitated. “When were you going to tell me about your wife?”

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“I wasn’t going to mention Bobbi. It…didn’t seem necessary. This is a temporary position. My wrist will be healed before she comes back.” His expression darkened. “If she comes back.” As though he’d suddenly reached the limits of his patience, he ripped his hands back through his midnight hair. “Listen. Maybe we should just forget—” Shelley spoke up quickly. “I’ll be back in three hours with my things.” He glowered at her. “Make it two hours. And be ready to work.” “I’ll be back in two hours,” she assured him, striding toward the front door.

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Chapter Two “Call me Rob,” Shelley’s new employer instructed her as she settled into the rolling chair behind his desk. “Tell me if I’m going too fast,” he added brusquely. Shelley nodded at him from behind the wide expanse of his rectangular oak desk. He hadn’t been fooling when he’d told her to be ready to work. Meeting her at her car in the driveway, he’d carried her bags to her bedroom and told her to join him in his office. The man’s tone was cool, impersonal and cuttingly brief. Whatever dark passion she’d sensed in him earlier that afternoon was gone, dismissed from his persona as completely as though it had never existed. Shelley was both relieved and disappointed. He was a married man, she reminded herself—even if he and his famous wife might be undergoing some sort of estrangement. He was a married man. End of story. But despite this very sobering reality, Shelley couldn’t help the way her body reacted to him. He was so viciously alive—wild, hot and untempered. His image lingered in her thoughts like a sinful addiction, haunting her on the trip home as well as on her return. The way his gaze had strayed over her body, the burning hunger in those lascivious blue eyes. The way he’d held her hand, stroking the pad of his thumb over her fingers as though he couldn’t help himself. Shelley wondered what it would be like to live under the dark shelter of his love, in the demanding circle of his arms. “Miss August?” At his cool prompt, Shelley shook herself, staring at the document he’d pulled up on the desktop computer. “Call me Shelley,” she suggested politely.

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He ignored her, throwing himself into a wide leather chair across the room. He locked his hands behind his head, tilted his head back and fixed his gaze on the ceiling. “Read my final paragraph back to me.” Shelley scrolled up the page then back down again as she read: “Turning up his collar, Trace stepped out into the wet night. Almost immediately, he groped in the pockets of his jacket, searching for and finding the damp, rumpled package of cigarettes. Leaning close to the wall of a sheltering building, he dug out the smokes. He cupped his hands at his mouth as he lit a match.” Shelley glanced across the room at the dark man sprawled in the wide leather chair, his eyes distant as he stared upward. The ankle of one foot rested casually on his knee, his legs open. Shelley fought the urge to go exploring with her eyes. When he began to talk, she started typing. He talked in sentences. One sentence at a time. When he completed a paragraph or two, he asked her to read the story back, at which point he changed several words and phrases. Sometimes he spoke so swiftly that she had difficulty keeping up. At other times she sat, fingers poised over the keyboard, waiting for the next word to fall from his handsomely curving lips. Shelley sighed. Whatever artist had chiseled those lips out of his tanned face had known exactly how to put the sexiest possible pout on a man’s mouth. Although he never closed his eyes, at times it seemed that he was a world away—so much so that Shelley felt quite safe letting her gaze drift over the long, clean lines of his body as he slouched in the chair, his head tilted toward the ceiling. Black denim jeans loosely wrapped his legs. His plain white shirt was an exquisite contrast to his dark skin, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the top buttons open to reveal a smooth, hairless chest. A heavy chain of warm silver lay casually over the ridge of his collarbones. On his feet, he wore a pair of brick-colored cowboy boots embellished with black stitching. A stretchy beige bandage wrapped his right wrist several times, adding a touch of vulnerability to an otherwise powerful image.

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He was sooo singularly handsome. And so married. Shelley shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she dragged her gaze back to the monitor, staunchly fighting off a wave of arousal, trying to ignore the pulsing, warm heat that pooled between her legs. Along with the insidious warmth that heated her pussy, she was increasingly aware of her nipples, tingling inside the smooth satin cups of her tight brassiere. Checking Rob’s face, she sneaked a wrist over the tip of one breast, rubbing her nipple consolingly. In an effort to make the action look nonchalant, she reached behind her head and stretched. “Are you tired?” he asked. Shelley’s eyes cut back to Rob’s face, where she found him gazing at her quietly. “No,” she insisted quickly. She checked the time displayed in the corner of the computer monitor. “It’s only nine o’clock.” He lifted his left wrist and glanced at his watch. Silver inlaid with flat turquoise glinted against his dark skin. “We’ve been at it four hours.” “Let’s just finish up this chapter,” she suggested. Without removing his gaze from her face he nodded. “Where were we?” “He’d just been introduced to his partner.” “Right.” Rob started talking and Shelley began typing as he dictated: “Trace didn’t want a damn partner. He worked alone. The captain knew that. He’d have told the captain point blank, ‘no way and no thanks’, if his prospective partner had been a man. But the captain had teamed him up with a woman. And there was no way in hell Trace was going to say anything that would have every female on the force climbing on his back and screaming sex discrimination. Trace snorted. As though he had anything against sex.” Shelley snickered, cutting a glance across the room to Rob. Too late, she realized she’d broken the spell the author had gathered around himself. From his chair across the room, Rob glared at her.

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“Sorry,” she murmured in a small voice, pressing her lips tightly together. Rob cleared his throat. “Where were we?” “As though he had anything against sex.” Rob’s eyes glazed over as he continued: “The woman was a complete candy ass. And Trace didn’t want a partner, let alone a partner he knew damn well he’d never be able to keep his hands off of.” At this point, Rob’s tone dropped slightly lower. “Her long black hair fell in thick, luxurious waves to her shoulders. Trace fixed his gaze on the floor as his hands tightened at his sides in a convulsive gesture. He imagined those dark tresses sliding through his fingers as he tightened his grip on her hair and pulled her head back beneath his mouth. He pictured her lush lips parting for him, opening like a soft velvet rose, begging for his tongue. A light dusting of freckles powdered her upturned nose and cheekbones. Her eyes were Castilian green, a mesmerizing shade of—”

When Shelley coughed, Rob stopped to glower at her. “Is something wrong, Miss August?” Shelley shook her head. “It’s just that…didn’t you say earlier that this story was about two male undercover agents?” His gaze darkened. “What do you mean?” “I…thought you said the story was along the lines of Bentley and Ford. I…guess I assumed Trace’s partner would be a man.” Rob’s eyes shifted uncertainly. “Read back the last paragraph.” Scrolling backward, Shelley read the last few sentences. When she finished, she glanced up at his face. He appeared stunned…and a little mortified. Abruptly he stood. “That’s enough for today,” he said swiftly. “What about this last paragraph? Shall I—” 18

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He cut her off. “Delete it,” he barked. “Delete the whole scene. We’ll start fresh in the morning. You must be starving,” he added. She gave him an encouraging smile. “Well, actually, I am a bit hungry,” she answered, wondering if they might go out somewhere for a light dinner. “Order some pizza,” he told her. Pulling his wallet out of his back pocket, he riffled through the bills and pulled out two twenties. “Order enough for breakfast,” he instructed, returning his wallet to his pocket. As he turned, he drew the thick wad of his bandaged wrist up the front of his jeans, scraping it over the placket of his fly. His expression was both troubled and distracted. “I’ll join you after a quick shower,” he announced, striding from the office.

***** “I wasn’t sure what you liked,” Shelley told Rob when he finally joined her in the kitchen, “so I ordered a bit of everything.” With a tilt of her head, she indicated the two large pizza boxes on the black tabletop. The cardboard lids were pulled back, revealing thick golden crusts ringing a mouthwatering mountain of melting cheese, crisp pepperoni and colorful veggies. “That’s perfect,” he muttered without looking at her. “I like everything.” Shelley’s gaze followed him as he strode past her toward the fridge. If she had thought Mr. Robert Brooks was handsome before, then that was only because she hadn’t seen him at his best. And he was at his best soaking wet. His black hair shone in ropey tangles, slicked behind his ears, leaving his high cheekbones starkly displayed on his dark face. His thick, charcoal eyelashes shone with moisture, clumped together as though he were wearing rich, dark mascara. He’d evidently left his customary frown in the shower and without that disapproving scowl, his ice-chip eyes looked almost warm beneath the high ridge of his black eyebrows. Other than the bandage that wrapped his wrist, he wore only a pair of low-slung navy blue sweatpants. A towel hung around his neck—ever so white against his

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eternally dark skin. The smooth silver chain he wore glinted in a warm line between the ends of the towel. “This calls for some beer,” he announced, pulling at the fridge’s brushed metal door. “Damn,” he murmured, snagging a bottle from a torn cardboard carton, “last one. We’ll have to share. But I get the bottle,” he said, cutting her a stingy smile as he opened a cupboard and reached for a glass. “What kind of host are you?” she challenged him with a teasing laugh. “I’m the guest. The least you could do is offer me the bottle.” “You’re not my guest,” he corrected her in a flat drawl. “You’re my employee and as my employee the first thing you should know is that…the boss gets the bottle. The underling gets the glass.” When she made a face, he relented with a grin. “We’ll share the bottle.” Returning to the table, he straddled the padded black vinyl chair. “You’re a difficult woman,” he complained, though his eyes sparkled. “Most women aren’t picky about beer in a glass.” Holding the bottle awkwardly in his bandaged right hand, he twisted the cap off with his left. He took several long swallows then planted the bottle between them on the table. Immediately, Shelley reached for it and put the small, smooth circle against her lips, questing with her tongue, searching out his taste before she tipped the bottle and sipped down the golden brew. Beer had never tasted so good. “A glass just isn’t the same,” she informed him archly. “You can’t bang it on the table and suck off the head.” He choked back a snort, checked her eyes then laughed outright. It took Shelley a moment to realize what she’d said. “You know what I mean,” she protested with a chuckle, not too disappointed with the way things had turned out. It was good to see him laugh. He had the most disarming smile, his teeth startlingly white in his dark face. When he finally stopped laughing, his eyes were full of light as he admitted, “I like to bang it on the table too.”

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Together they finished off half of the two large pizzas she’d ordered. Rearranging the remaining slices to fit in one box, she carried it across the kitchen to the fridge. “You write well,” she told him. He shrugged in answer, passing her on his way to dispose of the paper plates. She lifted an eyebrow as she considered the empty fridge. “Too bad your domestic skills aren’t quite as impressive.” His gaze narrowed on her as he turned and leaned back against the long, chromeedged counter. “I’ll show you where the vacuum cleaner is,” he answered. “I imagine you can find the store on your own.” “I didn’t hire on as a housekeeper,” she informed him. “Suit yourself,” he told her. “Around here, it’s every man for himself. If you want to eat something other than takeout, you’ll go to the store.” “And the vacuuming?” “It’s none of my business what you do in your room. For all I know, you like dust.” With those words he sauntered off through the kitchen doorway. “Good night, Miss August.”

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Chapter Three Shelley sneezed as she stared at the ceiling. Stretched out on the bed in Rob’s dusty guest room, she had to admit that Mr. Brooks was the most abrasive man she’d ever met. Yup, abrasive. That was the word. But that didn’t stop her from wanting to rub up against him. A faint bluish glow stole suddenly into the room, wavering sensuously as it rippled across the ceiling. Pushing back her yellow comforter as she sat up, Shelley frowned at the tall window beside her bed. Sliding her legs to the edge of the bed, she stood and tiptoed over to the window. About ten feet outside her window, Rob stood at the edge of his shimmering turquoise swimming pool. The pool’s mottled blue light swam over the muscles that rippled across his broad, smooth chest, outlining every curving plane on his body, delineating to mouthwatering perfection every straight hard line. As Shelley watched from behind the thin veil of the curtain, he stripped his dark sweatpants down his long, muscled legs. Then he straightened and raised his arms over his head in a long, languorous stretch. Shelley’s mouth dropped open. He was wearing a sock! A cock sock! And the amazing thing was that he looked good in it! The upper edge of the skimpy underwear curved beneath the small dent in his flat belly, the white fabric delicious against his dark skin. The soft, stretchy fabric cupped the weighty bulge of his sex. Within the thin material wrapping the strong line of his hips, she could make out the outline of his shaft, its blunt tip prodding at the limits of his sexy underwear, the tempting curve of his testicles hanging full and low beneath the length of his cock.

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As he stared down at the water’s mottled surface, he grimaced a moment, his hand momentarily shifting to rearrange his sex. Then he leapt gracefully. His heels snapped into the air and, like a knife, he cut a dive into the sliding surface of the aqua water. Biting her lip to hold in a low, telling moan, Shelley had to admit to herself that Robert Brooks was the most breathtaking creature she’d ever run across in her lifetime.

Dragging himself out of the water, Rob reached for the towel he’d left on the patio chair beside the pool. He toweled himself off as he crossed the tiled floor, snapping off the pool lights when he reached the wall outside his bedroom. A moment later he was through the sliding glass doors. He threw the towel on the bed. The swim had taken the immediate edge off his arousal. He needed to get to sleep before the effect of the cool water wore off. He scanned the room, trying to remember where he’d dropped his bandage. Eventually he found it on the floor beside the bed. Scooping up the long, thick stretch of beige ribbon, he began to slowly wrap his wrist. It was a mistake to hire a female secretary, he realized. He’d just been too damn long without a woman. It was pathetic. Just the hint of a woman’s scent or the faint swish of a feminine skirt was enough to get him going these days. Enough to get him going but not enough to get him off. Hence the quick dunk in the pool. He had been hard when he’d gotten into the shower before dinner—hard as well as irritable. His new secretary was turning out to be a distraction. For some unfathomable reason, Rob wanted to take a long, satisfying bite out of his secretary—a slow, sensual lick of that smooth female throat, flicking his tongue against the shallow pulse that hid in the hollow at the base of her neck. Fuck! What was it about her that had him twisted up in a knot? She wasn’t the sort of woman he normally brought home for the night. She was a good deal heavier than the tall, leggy women he usually went for. Rob snorted in frustration. There were too many extraordinary women around to waste time on ordinary ones. 23

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What was it about her? Shelley? It was the story, he told himself. The story had taken an unexpected turn toward the erotic while he was dictating. He was damned if he knew where that had come from! Trace’s partner was supposed to be Ashton. Ashton, for chrissake! He’d known that for months, planned that for months! How on earth Ashton had turned into a woman with long dark hair and Castilian green eyes was beyond him, unless it had something to do with the woman who’d been sitting across from him—the one with the long, black hair and the pale green eyes. At any rate, the time had seemed a little more than right for a cold shower. Sliding his soapy hands down the length of his shaft, he’d gone ahead and jacked off. It hadn’t taken much—he’d been primed. And that was just as well, since he’d never used his left hand to jack off before. His sprained wrist still hurt like a son of a bitch whenever he tried to use it—especially when it was unwrapped, as it had been in the shower. Then, by the time they’d finished dinner and he’d fought Shelley over the last swig of beer, he’d been hard again. Good thing he’d had that towel around his neck. He’d dropped it into his lap to hide his single-minded erection. The damn thing seemed determined to make an ass of him. What was it about her, besides the fact that she smelled good enough to eat? Even above the aroma of olives, pepperoni and Italian seasonings in rich tomato sauce, her exotic perfume had filled the kitchen with a delicious glow of orange and spice. He wondered if she tasted as good as she smelled. Rob closed his eyes, a quiet smile creasing his lips. She never missed a chance to laugh. And when she laughed, she laughed in phrases. Short eloquent bursts that blended a range of sounds from high pleasure to deep, thorough enjoyment—always ending in a husky, warm sound of enthusiasm. Rob blew out a melancholy sigh, skimmed his wet sock down his legs and threw himself onto the rumpled sheets of his unmade bed. Now if he could just get those huge tits out of his head, he might be able to sleep.

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Or not. It was a long restless night filled with erotic images. A woman with pale, freckled skin haunted his dreams, spread out on his bed, her hair fanning out beneath her like a sheet of glossy black satin. When he woke, the sun was up and making a crass attempt to force its way through the dark shield of his curtains. Lifting himself on one elbow, he glared at the sharp line of harsh light that split the black drapes. With a murmured curse, he realized his satin sheets were sticky—warm and wet where he lay in a damp puddle. He groaned. At almost thirty, he was definitely getting a bit old for wet dreams. The worst of it was, he couldn’t even remember the dream that had made him spill out on the shiny black sheets. He’d bet his life it had been a good one though. And he had a pretty good idea which voluptuous, freckled brunette had been featured in the dream. If he’d had his way, she’d have been kneeling between his legs as he sat on the edge of the bed, her fabulous tits wrapped around his dick, her foam-green gaze locked on his. That would be nice for starters. And he knew just where he’d like to end up. Inside her. She was taller than most women and Rob couldn’t help but wonder how she’d fit him, if he’d be able to get his entire length crammed all the way inside her. That would be the perfect ending. Rob closed his eyes, imagining Shelley’s breasts cushioning his weight as he slid his forearms under her shoulders and plowed into all the soft, wet heat between her legs. Her mound rising to meet his groin as he rocked into her. Her green eyes as pale as frost, wide and staring, stunned as she climaxed. Her mouth dropping open on an anguished cry of fulfillment as he lowered his lips to hers and silenced her screams with his mouth. Opening his eyes with a growl, Rob scowled at the glossy sheets, marked and shining with his cum. The facts were right there, spelled out in a damp, sticky mess. Obviously, he’d been working too hard. It had been months since he’d been with a 25

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woman. He needed to get fucked. And as soon as he could get ahead on his current story, that’s exactly what he was going to do. Rolling out of bed, Rob pulled a pair of jeans over his hips and started tugging the dark sheets into his arms. He ran into Shelley in the hall, his arms full of black satin sheets, stained with his cum, smelling hot and horny. Immediately, his fingers clutched at the loose ends of the slippery fabric, trying to collect and hide as much of the sheets as possible. “I was just thinking I’d wash some jeans,” she announced cheerily. “If you’ll show me where your machine is, I’ll take those and throw them in with my things.”

Almost immediately, Shelley knew she’d done something wrong—although she’d no idea what it might be. As Rob clamped the sheets against his chest, she wondered at the twin spots of pink that flamed high on his cheekbones. His fingers snatched at the loose ends of the dark sheets in his arms. “I didn’t hire you to do my laundry,” he all but snarled as he balled the sheets up into a tight mass and shoved them under his arm. As he gathered the sheets, a puff of air brushed across Shelley’s cheek, carrying his potent aroma to her nose. The scent was honest and male, hardworking, tense and cut with a man’s arousal. Shelley drew his scent into her lungs, staring at him wide-eyed. Her cheeks warmed, feeling at least as flushed as his appeared to be. And that was another mistake—blushing—because he must have known immediately why she was blushing. And he obviously hadn’t wanted her to know why he was washing his sheets. His mouth flattened into a long line of resignation. “Don’t be embarrassed, Miss August. I told you last night. It’s none of my business what you do in your room. Likewise, it’s none of your business what I do in mine.” With an uncomfortable grimace marring his handsome features, he pushed past her as he stalked down the hall.

*****

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“Where were we?” Rob asked when he joined her a little later in his office. He tossed an open box of cold pizza on the edge of the desk. The chilled cardboard landed with a sharp thwack that made Shelley jump. Picking out the wedge with the greatest amount of green stuff, she jammed a corner in her mouth as she forced her attention to the computer monitor. She chewed and swallowed quickly then read back his last paragraph. Two hours and about a thousand words later, Rob repeated this request for about the tenth time. Shelley read: “At the last possible moment, Trace stepped through the closing doors of the subway car and pushed his way through the tight pack of commuters. A quiet, vicious curse was on his lips as he strained to search the car ahead. He’d lost the bastard. Fuck.” Rob nodded and picked up the story again. “The train started with a rough lurch and the female suit he was standing behind lost her balance. The next thing he knew, she was plastered against him, her tweedwrapped ass cupped against his groin like spoons in a drawer. He caught her with one arm below her breasts, holding her upright until she regained her balance. For several seconds longer than necessary, he continued holding her tightly into the curve of his hips as her dark hair brushed against his stubbled jaw. When she spun to face him, he smirked down at her. Her sea foam eyes were cutting and angry. ‘I suppose this would be a bad time to ask for your phone number,’ Trace murmured.”

Several seconds of silence followed. After a slight hesitation, Shelley lifted her gaze to Rob. “What about Jing Lee?” Rob shook his head, bringing his eyes back into focus. “What?” “Shouldn’t Trace be more focused on his pursuit of the murderer? Or finding his partner?”

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He stared at her, his jaw tight and hard. “Who’s writing this story, Miss August? You or me?” “I’m sorry. I may not be a writer but I’ve read a lot. You’ve been building tension for the last hour. This scene…interrupts the tension you’ve worked so hard to create.” He stared at her for several moments. From all the way across the room she could feel the tension build in him. “You’re right,” he snapped. “I’m sorry. I’m tired. I didn’t sleep much last night.” “You look tired,” she offered carefully. “I think I could use a nap.” With those sharp words he got to his feet and strode toward the office door. Shelley spoke up quickly. “If you won’t miss me, I’ll run to the store for a few basics.” His head turned suddenly. “Miss you?” “I’m sorry,” she hurried to explain. “I just meant…if you won’t be needing me.” Her cheeks flushed as he tilted his head curiously. “You know what I mean, Mr. Brooks.” His stiff shoulders dropped a bit and he inclined his chin. “I told you to call me Rob.” Seconds later, Shelley heard a muffled shout from the other side of the house. The angry obscenity was followed by the sound of a dryer door slamming shut. Shelley winced, realizing he’d forgotten his sheets in the washing machine. She let several minutes pass before she crept down the hall and peeked through the open door of his bedroom. He wasn’t there. Nor was he in the smaller bedroom across the hall.

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Feeling a little bit like one of the three bears looking for Goldilocks, she found Rob asleep in her bedroom—sprawled facedown on her bright yellow comforter, his arms locked around her plump feather pillow, his face buried in the white pillowcase! “Honest to god, Rob,” she muttered, wanting to smack his handsome upturned ass, “that’s my bed.” With a wry smile, she tilted her head as she watched the sleeping man. He looked so damn good in her bed. Dark, hard, primal and male, stretched out on her pretty yellow comforter. Talk about a delicious contrast. Why the hell did he have to be married?

***** Shelley heard the buzzer sound on the dryer as she was putting the milk in the fridge. Glancing through the kitchen door, across the open dining room and through the living room, she finished finding places for the other groceries she’d bought. When everything was stowed in the cupboards, she headed down the hall to collect Rob’s sheets, thinking she’d rescue them before they got creased from sitting in the dryer. The warm satin slipped through her fingers as she collected it from the dryer. Drawing the sheets to her chest, she buried her nose in the hot, black satin that was deliciously flavored with the dark male scent of Robert Brooks. Humming, she sauntered down the hall and tossed the sheets on his bed. Hesitating a careful instant, she cast a surreptitious glance at the bedroom door behind her before she threw herself into the glossy black puddle. Shelley pulled the sheets around her as she rolled over the quilted surface of the mattress, reveling in Rob’s warm masculine scent, wrapped up in him and loving it. With several lustful wriggles, she pressed first her mons then her breasts against the lush, soft surface of the padded gold mattress. “You want some help with that?” Shelley froze in the middle of a sensuous stretch, scrambling to dig her way out of the tangled sheets.

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Rob slouched against the doorframe, his head tilted in interest, a small, knowing smile on his hard, curving lips. Shelley stuttered. “I-I was just making your bed for you.” “Is that what you were doing?” His sky-cut eyes glittered with amusement and the corner of his mouth twitched several times. As though to hide his smile, he drew his forefinger and thumb down the long, straight line of his nose. “I do it a little differently.” “Yes, well,” she pouted, still trying to extricate herself from his sheets. “You would, wouldn’t you? You’re a man.” He nodded silently. “You’re right, I guess. But I have to admit I like your way better.” He tilted his head a little farther to the side as his smile grew in size and warmth. “But you still look like you could use some help.” She laughed, finally tottering to her feet and pushing the tangled sheets down over her hips to collect on the floor. “Are you offering then?” “Uh-huh,” he drawled, sauntering in her direction. “When it comes to tangled sheets, I’m a bit of an expert.” Shelley snickered. That wasn’t hard to believe. She watched him from the corner of her eye. As always, she liked what she saw far too much for her own good. Together they made up the bed while Shelley wondered what the hell was wrong with Bobbi Brooks. Her husband was hot, hard, handsome and passionate. When he wasn’t edgy and tense, he had an adorable sense of humor. Shelley had to be missing something. What? The man was definitely difficult at times, impatient and occasionally distant. But for some reason, that didn’t seem to have a negative impact on his sex appeal. Nope. That distant, brooding male-image-thing he had going for him didn’t detract from his sex appeal one iota. Maybe he was lousy in bed.

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No. No way. She’d seen him by the pool. That wasn’t possible. She’d seen the thick, heavy weight that swung inside the soft stretch of his cock sock. The man had the equipment. He had to know what to do with it. Maybe…maybe he had a short fuse—a tendency to ‘come home early’. After all, he wasn’t washing his sheets this morning for nothing. Wet dreams at thirty? Would that be reason enough to avoid falling hopelessly in love with him? Shelley slid her gaze in his direction. He caught her eye and whipped a pillow at her face. She caught it, laughing. No way, she thought. No way in hell. Rob grinned at her as he punched a white pillow into a black pillowcase. “I didn’t hire you to make my bed, you know.” “I wasn’t doing it for you,” she informed him cheekily. “I was sleepy. When I discovered you’d snagged my bed, I thought…every man for himself.” Rob’s blue eyes glinted. “D’you mean to tell me if I’d waited another ten minutes I’d have found you asleep in my bed?” He seemed to like this idea a little too much, so Shelley decided she’d better put him off a bit. “Uh-huh. Snoring.” “You snore?” “Like a banshee.” This confession didn’t seem to alter Rob’s enthusiasm. “So you probably wouldn’t notice if someone were to slip in beside you.” Shelley laughed. “As a matter of fact, I probably wouldn’t. My mother complains that I’m hard to wake up.” “Sounds like we’re made for each other,” he answered lightly. “You’re hard to wake up…and I wake up hard.” “Mr. Brooks?” The suddenly husky note in her voice surprised her and, from the look in his eyes, it surprised Rob as well—although surprise might not have been the

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right word for the dark, predatory gleam that burned for a moment within the startling blue of his gaze. The moment hung heavily between them, stretching out, until with a small shake of his dark head, he offered her a wry grin. “I’m sorry,” he apologized with a murmuring laugh. “I was…just making dialogue.” “Making dialogue?” Rob tucked a few loose strands of ink-black hair behind his ear. “Yeah. Right now, I’m developing Trace’s character. So when I’m watching television or talking to someone, I imagine how Trace might respond in a certain situation. What he might say.” “Oh!” Shelley nodded then smiled. “Trace would say that, wouldn’t he?” The corner of his mouth kicked upward. “He would.” He threw the dark charcoal bedspread over the sheets and gave her a significant look. “Still sleepy?” he asked, lifting one dark eyebrow. “Nope. Wide awake.” “Good. You won’t mind getting back to work then.” He swept an arm out from his side. “After you,” he invited her gruffly. As Rob followed her down the hall, his palm rested briefly at the base of Shelley’s spine, warming her lower back. The contact was warm and friendly, yet intimate at the same time. The small act of guidance seemed like a quiet statement of possession. It made Shelley feel both desirable and protected. She loved it when a man did that. Not when he steered or pushed. Just when he reminded her of his presence and told her that he was there should she need him. Shelley slowed her footsteps and again Rob’s hand settled against her back. For a second she reveled in the fleeting contact as her nipples tightened and her sex warmed and melted like syrup on a summer day. God it felt good—feeling like a woman, reacting to a man that way. It had been a long time since Shelley had been with the sort of man who could get her all soft and melty with nothing more than a thoughtful touch. 32

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“Read back my last paragraph,” Rob instructed her as he followed her into his office. “Again,” he demanded almost as soon as she’d finished. “Let me see it,” he finally said, shaking his head impatiently and rounding the desk to stand behind her chair. He leaned over her, reaching for the mouse, covering her hand with his as he guided the cursor to the scroll bar and flipped through the last several pages of the document.

“Damn,” Rob cursed quietly as he read. “Delete all this,” he murmured, stopping abruptly as Shelley’s spicy orange scent filled the circle of his arms. He suddenly couldn’t speak, his senses swamped, his attention captured and made thrall to a startling need he’d ignored, put off and neglected for too long. The need for a woman. Almost overcome by Shelley’s warm, female presence, Rob was staggered by his reaction to the woman caught in the cage of his arms. Thick male lust. Unable to speak, he gazed down over her shoulder, his eyes trapped in the deep swell of her breasts, lost in the dark inviting cleft of her generous cleavage which was displayed perfectly from his perspective. The modest scoop of her stretchy cotton top covered her breasts adequately when viewed from across the room but was rendered absolutely useless as he gazed down at her from above. Those breasts. What his dick could do between those glorious breasts. His cock thickened in a hot surge of interest both primitive and male. Holding his breath, he stifled the urge to growl. He wanted to snuff and root between her breasts, his tongue out and scouring her cleavage, making her soft flesh wet with his mouth, preparing her tits for his cock. When Shelley shifted inside his arms, he acted without thinking, tightening his arms around her, momentarily capturing her in the circle of his arms, anything that would help him to hold this instant, to keep it with him, to ensure it didn’t somehow slip away. Turning his head, he brushed his lips into the smooth glossy satin of her dark 33

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hair, unsettling a long, thick strand. With his bandaged hand still covering hers on the mouse, he snaked his left one up over her shoulder toward her face. Retrieving the stray lock of hair with one finger, he lifted it back into place, dragging his knuckles across the smooth velvet of her cheek. “Mr. Brooks,” she said in an unsteady voice. “Please don’t do this.” “Why not?” he murmured. “You know why not,” she told him. Her voice was husky. With a heavy sigh, Rob separated himself from her. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I keep forgetting that I’m…married. It’s damn inconvenient,” he muttered, “being married right now.” Shelley took in a deep breath, staring at the words he’d highlighted on the computer. “You want me to delete the subway scene?” “Just what I’ve highlighted. The stuff about the woman.” Shelley hit the delete button and waited for him to start dictating. After a few minutes she shifted in her chair and glanced up at him. Her cheeks flushed when she found him watching her. “I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I guess I’m not in the mood. Nothing’s coming.”

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Chapter Four He definitely wasn’t in the mood, Rob admitted to himself later that night as he paced his room. At least not for writing. Or not for writing what he was supposed to be writing. He’d aborted their session because he couldn’t stop thinking about sex. He needed to focus on this story. The fact was, there wasn’t supposed to be any sex in this story—or women for that matter. It was supposed to be a straight contemporary suspense for men. A guy story. But every time Rob looked at his secretary, that’s all he could think about—sex. She was going to have to go. That’s all there was to it. He was going to have to get rid of Shelley and find a man for the job. Rob wouldn’t start spouting sex and rose petals and sea foam eyes if he had a man sitting across the desk from him. Stalking from his room, Rob found himself hammering on Shelley’s bedroom door before he realized it was past midnight. So what. He had told her he worked through the night. Still, he didn’t have to fire the poor woman in the middle of the night. She opened the door before he could take the idea any further. She was wearing a soft white velvet housecoat that did a good job of reaching her feet but only just managed to come together across her breasts. He found himself staring down into her deep, braless cleavage. It went on forever. “I thought you were a heavy sleeper,” he said stupidly. “I wasn’t asleep,” she explained, tugging at the lapels of her housecoat as she tried to cover up her breasts. Might as well try to hold back the Atlantic, at high tide, in hurricane season. Rob shook himself. Her hair was down. It swept her shoulders and framed her face. Her nose, scattered with that fresh spray of freckles, was the most impudent damn thing he

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could think of. And it was a wonder that he could think at all. That dimple beside her mouth was just begging for the lick and scrape of his tongue. She gazed up at him anxiously. “Did you want to take up where we left off?” “Take up where we left off?” he murmured, gazing at her hair where it curled in thick ribbons on the soft lapels of her robe. “If you’re ready to write, I’ll just slip back into my clothes.” “No!” he cut in. “No! I’m ready to write now. Right now!” Grabbing her wrist, Rob dragged her behind him. He wanted to make sure she was behind him so she wouldn’t notice what was happening in front of him. With a flick of his hand, he rearranged his hard-on to twelve-noon so she wouldn’t have to watch it work its way from seven on up. Rob was going to write. He wasn’t sure what he was going to write, but he was definitely going to write—whatever came to him. If it turned out to be garbage, he could always delete it later on. In the meantime, he’d just go with his instincts. He’d go with his instincts and watch Shelley at the keyboard. She couldn’t hold her robe together if she was typing. Rob’s plan exceeded even his own expectations. Whatever Shelley was wearing beneath that housecoat of hers, there wasn’t very much of it and it was cut fabulously low. For the next hour or so he dictated with his cock stuck at twelve o’clock high. He didn’t mind. And he didn’t drag his eyes out of her cleavage until her long hair slid over her breasts in a thick dark mass. His fingers itched to pull the errant locks back over her shoulders and out of the way. Pressing his lips together, he fought the urge to stand and cross the room, to right the terrible wrong. Her hair was nice—but it shouldn’t be allowed to interfere with his view of her tits. At about that time, he realized that the reason her hair had moved over her breasts was because Shelley was shaking her head. Rousing himself with a shake, he asked, “Is something wrong, Miss August?”

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Shelley lifted her head to gaze at Rob. Although he slouched in his chair, he looked about as relaxed as a stick of dynamite. His incendiary gaze was fixed on her face. His dark skin stretched across his chest, smooth and taut. His nipples pinched up into small spikes, provocatively male. His silver chain made a warm circle around his neck. “You’re shaking your head,” he told her. “I’m sorry,” she apologized with a laugh, “I didn’t know I was…shaking my head.” “Then I don’t suppose you know why you were shaking your head?” Shelley hesitated. “Well, I was just wondering if he could do that,” she finally admitted. “Who?” “Trace.” “Do what?” Shelley tucked a long, thick strand of hair behind her ear. “What you just said.” Rob pushed out a tense sigh as he stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankles. “Read it back.” Shelley read from the document: “Molding her body against his, Trace slid his hand over the curve of her ass and down between her legs.” At that point, Shelley stopped. “Could he reach between her legs?” “Yes.” “Are you sure?” “Yes.” “But they’re standing and she’s not as tall as he is—” “Miss August,” he started then stopped abruptly. “Stand up,” he told her, rising from his chair and crossing the room to meet her as she stood. In one swift move, he had her in his arms. One hand flipped her thick hair behind her back. Then it tightened in her hair at the base of her neck. He pulled down slowly, forcing Shelley’s back to 37

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arch while his other hand slid down her spine and latched onto one round cheek of her ass. She gasped when he gave the plump globe a firm squeeze. “Shall I go on?” he murmured. “No,” she stuttered, lost for words, almost equally lost for breath. “I think you’ve made your point.” He pulled her lower body tight against his. “I didn’t know it was that obvious,” he said, shifting his hips and giving her a sliding taste of his hard-on. Shelley cleared her throat. “It’s a little hard to miss.” “It’s more than a little hard,” he corrected her. “Now. Do you think we could continue this without further interruptions?” Mesmerized, she focused on the rugged line of his mouth, mere inches from her own. She waited for him to step away but he dallied, his hand open, his fingers loosely stroking the smooth curve of her bottom. “Because they’re very distracting,” he murmured, a strange velvet roughness in his voice. “Your questions are very distracting.” Shelley didn’t say a word. She just watched his lips drifting closer to hers. His gaze burned with blue fire as he watched her mouth. Heat rolled off his chest in warm waves of temptation, daring her to close with him. She couldn’t resist his call. She leaned toward him, plowing the soft weight of her breasts against the flat, hard muscles of his chest. One of his tight nipples grazed her flesh and a soughing breath escaped her lips. Rob gasped once. Then with a sudden, pressing urgency, he was kissing her. His hands slid quickly to her face where he cupped her cheeks, handling her with a desperate hunger revealed in his stiff, tense fingers and his restless mouth as it moved over hers in a hot, provocative slide. He opened her mouth with his tongue and deepened the kiss, a low groan of desperation rumbling up from his chest. They broke apart, gasping for air, staring at each other.

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He pushed out an unconvincing laugh. “I’m sorry,” he told her between deep, rough breaths. “I didn’t mean to do that. You just felt so good in my arms. I’m sorry.” “That’s okay,” Shelley mumbled. He took a step backward, separating himself from her as he continued to explain, “It felt so good to have a woman in my arms again. It’s been a while.” Again he laughed tensely. “Too long, evidently.” Shelley shook her head. His wife hadn’t been gone that long. Had she? “I’m sorry too,” she answered. “I should have stopped you. But it’s been a while for me as well.” She affected a light laugh. “I haven’t had sex since…2004.” He snorted out a deep chuckle. “That’s bad. Almost as bad as me. I think the last time for me was…just before New Year’s.” “New Year’s! Eight months?” He crossed his arms over his chest, covering his nipples. “I hope you’ll take that as an explanation and an apology.” Eight months! That wasn’t reasonable. He was a married man! Why would Bobbi Brooks refuse her husband for eight months—then go off on a cruise and leave him for another three? This sooo did not make sense. The man was married to a woman infamous for her tenderly romantic passages and highly explicit sex scenes. Shelley could understand why Bobbi Brooks would marry this man. What she couldn’t understand was how the best-selling author could ignore her husband like this. How could she refuse him for months? Then go off and leave him for…more months? How could the country’s foremost expert on torrid bedroom scenes fail to keep her husband satisfied, especially when he appeared to be the sort of man who could fire up at the slightest provocation? He was obviously all hot-blooded, primal male with a short, smoldering fuse. The sort of guy who was always ready for sex. They ought to have been perfect for each other. Yet when Rob talked about his wife, it was obvious there was no love lost between them, no love lost whatsoever. 39

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Unwinding his arms, he pulled a hand back through his dark hair. “You’re just so real and alive and…here.” He fell back into his chair, watching her with a painful frown as he dragged his bandaged wrist up the hard ridge that thickened the front of his loose sweatpants. “You felt so good in my arms,” he said quietly, his expression somber. Shelley pulled air into her lungs in short, shallow gasps. He was so handsome and desirable, alone and isolated as he slumped in the large leather chair. Nodding at him sympathetically, she followed him to the chair and took his injured hand. “It’s all right,” she told him with a heavy sigh, turning to sit on the chair’s wide arm. “You smell good too,” he murmured. “What the hell is it that you wear?” “Aqua Manda.” He shook his head as he wrapped his fingers loosely around hers. With the thick bandage dividing his thumb from his fingers, he couldn’t close his hand completely. His throat worked as he swallowed. “Never heard of it.” “It’s English. Or it was. They stopped making it years ago but I stocked up before they discontinued it.” He turned her hand and settled his thumb inside the cup of her palm, stroking suggestively into the warm hollow. “It smells like oranges,” he said hoarsely. “Mm-hmm,” she agreed, watching his thumb move in the curl of her hand. “Oranges and cloves, I think.” He tugged her hand into his lap and turned his head as he lifted his chin. Taking a deep breath, he expelled it in a long sigh that slid across her breasts like warm silk. “Cloves,” he murmured. He pulled the back of his wrapped hand up his erection while his thumb continued to stroke into the center of her palm. Shelley felt a burst of tender, aching sympathy for the man. His need seemed so great. He seemed so alone and somehow incomplete—a victim of his own dark, withdrawn nature, independent yet isolated and somehow damaged, like his wrist— strong but compromised.

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As Shelley watched her hand in his, Rob continued to draw the back of his wrist up the tight, hard shaft stretching inside his sweatpants. When he turned her hand clumsily and flattened her palm over the thick bulge of his hard-on, she let him guide her as he rubbed her open hand over the soft navy fabric. His head was still turned toward her and she felt his breath bursting in soft humid waves against the column of her neck as he moved her hand over the incredible extent of his cock. Watching her own hand and settling into the rhythm he’d set, Shelley continued to stroke out the length of his shaft. His gaze flicked downward to watch her fingers spread on his cock. He panted out a rough, masculine groan then closed his eyes as he pressed her hand more firmly against his length, showing her how he wanted more pressure and speed. Reaching across his body with his free hand, he snagged the nape of her neck and pulled her face toward his. His mouth was open, his lips wet, his breath catching roughly in his chest as he pulled her mouth down onto his then failed to do anything more. With his lips barely touching hers, he fed his breath into her mouth and shoved her hand down his shaft while his hips rocked upward. “Shelley,” he whispered in a raw, tortured voice. “I—” He grunted as he tightened his hand over hers and his entire frame jerked in hard spasms, his hips thrusting against her palm, which he held clamped against his erection. “Shelley,” he whispered again a few seconds later. He moved his lips against her mouth in a thankful series of soft, tender presses. “I’m sorry but Jesus I needed that.” Shelley didn’t move her lips. She wasn’t kissing him. She wasn’t kissing a married man. He was just touching her mouth with his lips. With her eyes almost closed and her lips slightly parted, she accepted the small, caring touches he left on her mouth. His lips hovered against hers like clinging rough silk. Oh my god. How could anyone so rough and abrasive be so simultaneously, heart-renderingly tender? Shelley expelled a long hot breath, wanting to moan just because everything inside her ached for him. She ached to connect with him, to connect at the deepest level

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possible. Scraping her bottom lip through her teeth, she let her gaze drift down to his groin where her palm was still splayed out over the hot ridge of his sex. Beneath her hand, inside his sweatpants, she knew his cum lay on his hard stomach in a thick flow of wet lust. She fought the temptation to sneak her fingers inside his pants and bathe her fingertips in his hot ejaculate. With a sigh, she straightened on the arm of the chair as she gave him a kind, forgiving smile. “I know. No harm done,” she told him gently. “I didn’t do anything you couldn’t have done yourself…if your wrist wasn’t sprained.” She followed this with a soft laugh that was meant to sound casual. She ought to have felt a bit guilty, even though she hadn’t done much more than hold his hand. But she really didn’t feel very guilty at all. She felt a lot more like pressing a kiss onto the top of Rob’s forehead. The more she learned about Bobbi Brooks, the less Shelley liked her. Where was Rob’s wife? How could she have walked away from this magnificent male? And why wasn’t she taking care of this beautiful monster’s needs? Rob turned her hand in his again, pulling his thumb across her palm. “I’d like to do the same for you,” he said, lifting his gaze to her eyes, “if you’d let me.” Shelley gave her head a resolute shake. “I might not be able to watch you suffer, Rob. But I won’t wreck a marriage.” “You won’t be wrecking a marriage,” he argued softly. “And I won’t go too far with you. I just want to taste you,” he murmured. “Let me satisfy you with my mouth, Shelley. I hate to leave this unfinished. I hate to leave you wanting. Just let me kiss your clit. It wouldn’t take much.” Shelley stifled a groan. “No,” she agreed. “It wouldn’t take much. It wouldn’t take much to ruin your marriage either.” “Don’t deny me this pleasure,” he warned her with a dark whisper. “Don’t deny me the pleasure of watching you come.”

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Shelley almost sobbed with frustration. She ached from her toes on up. Ached with a terrible drowning need that throbbed in her wet pussy and sparked at the tips of her breasts. “I won’t come between you and your wife, Rob. Let’s just leave it at that.” His eyes burned up at her for several seconds. Indecision tightened his features as he seemed to grapple with some internal argument. He opened his mouth as though he might make some difficult confession. Finally he nodded. “I’ll leave it for now,” he growled.

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Chapter Five And it continued like that for the next several weeks as Rob worked his way through his story. The author’s mood continued to swing like a tetherball on a crowded playground. At times he was profoundly tender, treating Shelley with the sort of thoughtful regard a man would normally reserve for a lover. At other times they shared a quiet, comfortable companionship sprinkled with humor. But inevitably, hunger and dissatisfaction grew again in his eyes, building to dark frustration and ultimately tightly strung tension. At those times, it wasn’t unusual for him to grow surly and impatient. And it wasn’t unusual for Shelley to go out of her mind, wondering about Rob’s wife! Where the hell was Bobbi? Not once had she tried to contact her husband. There’d been no phone calls, no postcards, nothing! No wonder the poor guy was on edge. He was edgy this morning. From the window in her bedroom, Shelley could see him wearing himself out in the pool, flogging himself from one end of the water to the other. Shelley smiled wryly. Between the swimming and the numerous showers he took every day, Rob was going to end up the cleanest damn man on the planet. He was trying so hard to be good. As Shelley pushed the vacuum cleaner over the cream-colored rug in her bedroom, she watched Rob’s lean, dark body slice through the water. When she had vacuumed the entire surface of the room’s floor twice, she turned off the appliance and fitted the dusting accessory onto the end of the hose. Flipping the switch, she went to work on the bookshelves. When she was finished, she collected the spilled books that wouldn’t fit on the shelves and arranged them in neat piles on the top of the bookcase. She found a lot of her own personal favorites in the collection of paperbacks, including a recent novel by the romance author Octavia October. 44

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Wondering about the most recent Bobbi Brooks, Shelley scanned the shelves for a blue and silver cover. It was perhaps two minutes before she realized that not only was Bobbi’s most recent release missing—all of Bobbi’s books were missing. There wasn’t a single novel written by Bobbi Brooks on the shelves in Shelley’s room. Swiping the top of the bookshelf with a lemon-scented polishing cloth, Shelley moved on to finish dusting the other pieces of furniture before she wheeled the vacuum cleaner out into the hall. Leaving the vacuum in the middle of the corridor, Shelley opened the door to the smaller bedroom where she found more books. No Bobbi. Getting curious at this point, she checked out the rest of the house, every room of which contained novels of some sort. Even in the kitchen pantry, thin love stories were snugged up alongside cans of pinto beans. But none of them were by Bobbi Brooks. Shelley even checked the office where she worked with Rob, although she was pretty sure she couldn’t remember seeing anything by Bobbi in Rob’s large office. Finally she returned to the vacuum cleaner in the hall, glancing at the door to Rob’s bedroom and realizing there was one more possibility. There were four tall bookcases in his large bedroom. Sneaking a peek back through the windows of her own room, Shelley assured herself that Rob was still doing laps in the swimming pool. She dragged the vacuum along behind her, opened his bedroom door and stepped inside. Shelley crossed the room. Swiftly, she scanned the many titles lined up on the shelves of the four bookcases. Her search produced the same eclectic mix of reading material she’d found elsewhere in the house. Sci-fi, adventure, suspense, historicals, mysteries, love stories, erotica and romance. No Bobbi Brooks. No Bobbi Brooks anywhere. “Every time I turn around, I find you in my bedroom.” Shelley spun to face Rob, framed in the wide, bright rectangle of the sliding glass door. He was wrapping a long blue beach towel around his waist as he stepped across the threshold. The sunlight behind him bounced off the patio tile, outlining and

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sharpening the broad line of his shoulders. With the white light at his back, his face was shadowed but his eyes burned like twin flames of incandescent blue from beneath the ink-dark ridge of his brow. Shelley lifted one shoulder in a nervous shrug. “I…just finished vacuuming.” His expression was predatory as he glided closer. “Which explains your presence in my room…how?” “Because…” she explained, “because I was just wheeling the vacuum cleaner in.” His eyes narrowed on her for a second, an incendiary spark in his gaze. “I didn’t hire you to do my housework.” “I wasn’t going to,” she argued swiftly. “I was just going to leave the vacuum here for you, in case you…got the urge.” “I already have the urge,” he murmured, his gaze locked on hers. “What?” His diamond blue eyes burned bright with need as he slumped to sit on the edge of the bed. “Just making dialogue,” he rumbled out on a deep sigh. “Are you all right?” He nodded then shook his head. “Come here,” he answered. Shelley obeyed without thinking, moving to the bed and stopping in front of him. “Are you all right?” she repeated. Rob took her hand and rubbed it through his fingers. “Almost. I’m almost all right. If I could just hold you through the night…” He lifted his gaze to search her eyes. Shelley sighed. “You’re a married man, Rob.” He opened his mouth then closed it in a hard, grim line. “Damn Bobbi anyhow. Sometimes I think she’s the worst thing that ever happened to me.” Shelley sat down beside him. “Do you still love her?” Rob shook his head. There was a soft snort on his lips. “You don’t understand.” “Maybe you could explain it to me,” she invited him quietly. 46

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“I can’t, Shelley. Not yet anyhow. But you need to know that…I’m not really cheating on my wife. I’d never cheat on my wife.” “Good,” she told him in a reinforcing murmur. “We’re on the same page then.” “And the only thing I’m really married to is my work.” She nodded sympathetically. “Considering the circumstances, I can see how you’d throw yourself into your writing.” He lifted her fingers to his lips. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured. “You know I’ll eventually want more from you,” he told her softly. “Eventually I’ll want it all.” “I can’t give you everything, Rob. You need to understand that.” Her gentle refusal tore a groan from his throat. He closed his eyes then opened them to smoke her with his gaze. A mad desperation swirled in the heated depths of his vivid blue eyes. “I’d take it from you,” he warned her in a slicing rasp. “I’d take it from you if I wasn’t afraid that you’d run.” His gaze skimmed her body with feral lust and male greed, narrowing in the urgency of his hunger. “I’d force it on you if I was more certain of you. I want so badly to touch you. To taste you. I need you, Shelley.” When she tried to pull her hand away, he tightened his hold on her wrist, shifting his legs apart as he guided her hand into his groin. He pressed her palm low, cupping her fingers over the mound of his sex as he dragged them upward. “God I need you.” The fingers of his right hand fumbled with the towel for several seconds before he gave up on the awkward job. “Help me with the towel,” he told her. “There’s nothing wrong with your left hand,” she argued gently. “I want you to do it.” Shelley knew he was testing her and that this would probably be the first of many trying tests. Although she hesitated at first, she relented when she realized he was holding his breath. It just drove her heart to the edge of crazy that this fabulous animal held his breath for her. He made her feel like the most important thing in his world. Which was silly. The guy was just a bit short in the wife, lover and companion

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department. But every time Shelley thought about Rob’s shortages, she felt so damn sorry for him that her heart just about bled tenderness. His breath hissed softly through his teeth as she tucked her fingers between the towel and his skin, tugging at the knotted terrycloth. It took her a while to loosen the knot but he didn’t seem to mind, his sky-cut eyes hazy with lust. His breathing was short and shallow as he watched her hand and waited. When she finally had the towel spread open, revealing his overburdened cock sock, he took her hand and slipped it inside his soft, stretchy underwear. A deep groan vibrated in his throat as her palm came into contact with the first few inches of his penis. Then he curled her fingers around his shaft and tightened his grip on her hand as he pumped his cock. His shaft expanded inside her fingers, forcing her fingers to part. With another aching groan of sound, Rob stopped suddenly, pushing his cock sock down his hips, exposing his shaft as well as the dark curling hair above the round swell of his testicles. Shelley swiped her tongue along her bottom lip, her gaze stuck on the sight of his dark shaft lifting against his belly. His penis curved very slightly. Magnificently broad and thick, it was ridged with dark veins that pulsed with life. The tightly stretched skin wrapping his erection was a healthy shade of ruddy rose, his length and girth absolutely breathtaking. The wide mushrooming head that topped his shaft had a purplish cast like a storm breaking. A glistening bead of pre-cum welled at the slit in his cock head where he oozed sensuality and sin. Shelley’s cunt dampened at the thought of Rob, sweating above her, pushing her legs apart with his knees as he tried to cram all of that hard, male flesh into her soft, swollen pussy. When Shelley loosened her fingers a bit, Rob swiftly reached for her hand, again securing it beneath his own as he watched his dark, naked cock wrapped in her pale fingers. Slowly, smoothly, he stroked his shaft several times. The next few strokes were jerky, his expression strained as his entire body stiffened. “Is your wrist bothering you?” she asked in a low murmur. He grimaced. “I smashed it on the edge of the pool,” he panted.

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“You’re never going to get better at that rate,” she chastised gently. Distracted, his hand slowed and his fingers tightened. “I wasn’t paying attention. I was doing the backstroke and lost track of where I was.” Shelley took over for him, pumping his cock in long, loving strokes, watching the moisture seep from his cock head and coat his hood in a thin glaze, watching until his legs stretched and stiffened. A sharp snort of surprise was on his rugged, curving lips as he watched his ejaculate explode in a thick wash that surged into the air and splattered down to coat his long fingers. Afterward, he thumbed his wet slit for a few seconds before he lifted Shelley’s hand in his sticky grip, sliding his fingers over hers, rubbing his cum into her flesh then pulling her hand to his mouth and kissing her damp fingers. She drew through her nostrils the scent of his release on her skin. Without thinking, she touched her lips to his shining knuckles. His eyes warmed to sunlit skies as her gaze met his. They sat together on the bed, their kiss separated by their knotted hands, their fingers twined together and slick with Rob’s cum. Shelley turned her face with a sigh, rubbing her cheek against the uneven ridge of his knuckles. Shelley was trying to be good. But it was hard. She wanted his wet cock head dragging against her belly, cuddled against the curve of her stomach as he rubbed his cum into her flesh. She wanted him ejaculating as he pounded against her cervix, emptying inside her as he flogged her inside out. Rob took a breath. “Shelley?” Her eyes drifted closed as she murmured, “Mm-hmm?” “Thank you.” She smiled wryly and sighed. “You’d better get that wrist wrapped up.”

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Chapter Six As Rob’s story progressed and the weeks passed, it became more and more difficult for Shelley to resist the attraction she felt for her new employer. And the work didn’t exactly help. Because even though Rob was supposed to be writing a contemporary suspense, every time he sat down in his office the story somehow took off on its own, gradually evolving into something else. And that something else had a lot of sex in it. A lot of sex. It seemed that the amount of sex Rob dictated increased daily. Rob was getting frustrated because the story wasn’t going the way he’d hoped. And while he was getting that kind of frustrated, Shelley was getting sexually frustrated. The more sex Rob dictated, the more aroused she got—to the point where she was ready to cross the room, tear his clothes off him and climb onto his cock, married or not. It wasn’t fair, she complained to herself silently. Her eyes flicked to the right corner of her computer monitor. It was after midnight, she noted as Rob dictated:

“Both men reached her at the same time and Candy trembled as they clutched her naked body between them. She knew what was going to happen next. She knew it wasn’t the sort of thing her mother would understand or even her sisters for that matter. She knew this wasn’t the sort of relationship that would lead to marriage or any sort of happily-ever-after. But she knew just as certainly that she was going to let it happen. Because after what had just gone down outside the warehouse, she wanted them. Both of them. She wanted Ashton at her back, rocking his shaft against the cleft of her ass while Trace rubbed his cock over the mound of her pussy. She’d seen how they’d both fought to save her. How they’d thrown themselves into the line of fire and only just escaped with their lives. They were a team and she wouldn’t split them up, even if she wanted to.

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“Ashton’s hands were beneath her breasts, lifting them, the broad pads of his thumbs brushing across her nipples. ‘She’s all right, Trace,’ Ashton soothed his partner. Trace’s hands were shaking, his fingers biting into her hips where he clutched her, pulling her against the hard swell of his erection. “Trace broke away, moving toward the door, throwing the bolt then prowling the large warehouse, glowering into dark corners and peering down long aisles as he secured their surroundings. “As Candy watched him hungrily, she was scarcely aware of Ashton’s hands on her trembling body. ‘Get on your hands and knees,’ he commanded in a low, husky voice. ‘Trace will want to fuck your mouth while I take you from behind.’ From this exchange, Candy could tell that this wasn’t the first time these two men had shared a woman. There would be no awkwardness between them. For some reason the idea made her heart hurt. What she offered as something rare and special, the men would take and consume without thought, adding her to their list of conquests. In a year she’d be nothing more to them than a watered-down memory. She shivered, her legs weak as she clutched Ashton’s arms and lowered herself to her knees. “‘No,’ Trace barked. There was a harsh sound of metal scraping on concrete. When Candy turned her head, she found Trace pulling a chair across the room. He pushed it against the wall. ‘Take her on the chair,’ he told Ashton. ‘Put her on your shaft and spread her legs. I want to taste her pussy before I put my dick between her lips.’”

A small whimper escaped Shelley’s lips in a revealing wisp of sound. A long, heavy silence followed as Rob blinked. He shook his head as though fighting his way out of a cloying trance. “Read that back,” he growled. Shelley shook her head as she took a deep breath. “I’d…rather not.” “What do you mean, you’d rather not?” “You’re not going to like it, Rob. Then you’re going to get all tense and frustrated.” “I’m already tense and frustrated,” he barked. “What’s wrong with it?” 51

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“Nothing,” she told him. “Nothing, Rob. You’re a good writer. If you ever want to try your hand at erotic romance, I think you have a great career ahead of you,” she tried to joke. He was on his feet. “I don’t want to write romance!” he shouted. She watched him pacing. Like a lithe, dangerous jaguar he stalked the room. His black jeans and T-shirt aided the analogy. His brilliant eyes, blazing in his dark skin, completed the picture. “Why not?” she asked quietly. “You do a good job of it. And you keep drifting in that direction.” “Because it’s not—” “Not what?” He started out with a shout. “It’s not…real,” he argued in a diminishing voice. He didn’t end the sentence nearly as strongly as he had started. He frowned at her, his expression one of slow surprise. “It’s not what I want to do.” He said the words as though he were testing them on his lips. “I…don’t believe in it. I don’t believe in romance,” he told himself slowly, unconvincingly. A strange expression of distant wonder fell over his features. It was a look of revelation, as though he were questioning everything he had heretofore believed. Shelley’s voice was soft and sympathetic. “I guess I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.” “Wouldn’t you?” he asked in a low voice. He laughed softly as he turned and slumped back into his chair. “That’s ironic.” Shelley tilted her head as she eyed him from across the room. “Ironic?” He nodded. “Because if there was ever a reason to believe in romance, it would be you.”

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Shelley smiled at him, dismissing the idea with an uncertain shake of her head. “No. Hear me out,” he said. “Everything you’ve given me, you’ve given without expecting or even hoping for anything in return. And everything you’ve done, you’ve done out of love, out of kindness, because you think I’ve been hurt…damaged.” Shelley gave him a stern smile. “Are you going to tell me there’s nothing wrong with your wrist?” He lifted his arm slowly, gazing at the bandage that wrapped his wrist. “No,” he said quietly. “What I’m saying is there’s nothing wrong with me. At least…nothing that a little romance wouldn’t fix.” Shelley regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and bewilderment. “Shelley,” he ground out in a raw, husky voice. “Come here.” “No,” she countered in a bare whisper of sound. She didn’t dare get close to him. Not in her current state. She was far too aroused after that last scene he’d dictated, her pussy hot and swollen and wet as she rubbed her thighs together. The story had gotten her juices flowing. Then when Rob had started talking about her, she’d thought her heart would just about melt with aching tenderness. She wanted him, there was no doubt about that. She wanted him to touch her like he loved her. She wanted his palm on her breast, his thumb stroking across the tingling swell of her jutting nipple. But she couldn’t have him. She had to be good. “Don’t make me do this,” she choked, lowering her gaze to her lap. Moving across the room in a pantherish glide, Rob was suddenly beside her, wrapping her hand up in his. “I won’t make you do anything,” he soothed. Tugging her to her feet, he led her back toward the chair. When she started to sit on the chair arm, he tugged her down onto the floor in front of him. She found herself on her knees between his legs. Mesmerized by the thick, heady sex appeal that he exuded, she watched his left hand. There was a shimmer of tension in his plucking fingers as he undid the buttons on his jeans. Licking her lips, Shelley watched his big hands as he pulled his fly open.

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He reached into his cock sock and guided his shaft out with his hand, running his fist down its thick girth a few times. God he was sexy. His skin was stretched tight over the sweat-damp bulb of his cock head. Shelley’s eyes latched greedily to the little wrinkle of flesh tucked beneath the mushrooming ridge. She worked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, wanting to punish him there on the underside of his cock, wanting to torment him with the slap of her tongue, wanting to make his cock weep with need, wanting to taste him where he seeped raw power and dark masculinity. Wanting all the things she knew she couldn’t have. She felt his fingers slide through her hair behind her neck. With his left hand wrapped around his shaft and his right cupping her nape, Rob urged her face into his groin. He held his breath as she turned her head and rubbed her cheek against the hot, damp length of silken male flesh. She felt his pre-cum make a burning streak across her face as he marked her with the wet lash of moisture oozing from his cock head. Shelley bit back a groan. He kept taking her further each time. Each time she succumbed to his demands, gave in to her own needs, she was getting more deeply involved whether she liked it or not. Each time she helped him, she lost a little more of her heart to him, she ached more deeply for him. Between her legs, her pussy lips swelled, fat and hungry with desire. Her folds were slick and wet. There was a terrible burning emptiness deep inside her vagina where she longed for a man—a man’s rough brutality filling the huge emptiness that clawed at her soul. Shelley shifted restlessly. “Spread your legs,” he told her, brushing his cock head against her lips. She answered with a soft, whimpering moan. “Spread your legs, Shelley. Move your knees apart.” She squeezed her eyes tight, drew in several shallow breaths and shook her head. “I’m not going to have sex with you, Rob. If you want to…use me to settle your own need, I’m willing to help. But I can’t bring myself to have sex with a married man.”

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“I’m not asking you to do that. I won’t touch you. Not unless you ask me to. Just get on your knees and spread your legs.” After another moment’s hesitation, she moved her knees apart. Rob breathed out a rough, masculine sound of approval. “Put your lips on my cock,” he murmured, then sucked in a whistling breath when she pressed her lips against his tight, burning flesh. With her eyes closed, Shelley placed several passionate kisses onto his veined shaft, working her way down his cock, pressing her lips into the curling dark hair that fringed the wide root. His fingers wrapped more tightly around her nape, dominating her completely as he pressed her face into his groin. Despite the fact that his wrist was bandaged, his grip was hard, commanding and ruthlessly insistent. His other hand found hers and handled her fingers very, very gently. He rubbed his thumb into her palm a few times then moved her hand away from his body, in between his legs. Slowly, he coaxed it lower, between her own legs. A shock of excitement jolted through Shelley’s body as she realized what he was suggesting. His hand cupped hers over the soft swell of her mound. Gently, tentatively, he massaged his hand over hers. Turning her head, Shelley panted against the straining flesh of his erection. “Oh, Rob,” she moaned as her legs slid wider and he rubbed her fingers into the top of her pussy. “Don’t get distracted. Put your lips back on my cock, Shelley. Take me in your mouth.” Shelley shook her head. “You’re going to do this,” he insisted with a soft snarl. “You’re going to come this time.” “No, Rob.”

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“Shelley!” His words were a sharp bark, rough with need. “If you won’t do it, I will! You don’t know how close you are to getting slammed on your back and fucked on the desk. Fucked without a shred of decency, let alone a condom.” He was taking her deeper. Deeper than she’d planned. Committing her to more than she wanted to give. But she was so desperately hungry between her legs and what he was doing to her with her own hand felt so good. Dragging her tongue over the crown of his cock head, she moaned as Rob’s hand massaged her pussy and her labia slipped, wet and full, beneath her own fingers. She rocked her sex into her hand as Rob flexed his hips and the broad head of his cock nudged at her slack mouth. Without warning, Rob released Shelley’s hand. She almost cried as her body writhed in protest. Then his thick fingers were in her panties, pushing beneath her hand and flicking a rough path through her sex. He let out a long, shuddering sigh as his fingertip burned a path of need down through the hungry folds of her pussy. “You’re so hot and wet,” he whispered, his voice heavy with longing. “I want to feel you come,” he rasped. “I’ve waited so long for a taste of intimacy. Just let me do this. Let me touch you.” Before she could form her thoughts enough to argue, his shaft dragged along the side of her face. His next question distracted her further. “Can I take your throat?” he asked. Shelley couldn’t answer. Her body was in thrall to Robert Brooks. His finger stroked deliciously through her folds. It felt so wonderful. His beautiful cock was sliding against her lips, swiping just inside the wet surface of her mouth, riding along the smooth enamel of her teeth. When his crown slipped out of her mouth, he wiped the wet flesh into the deep dimple on her cheek. “Let me fuck your mouth,” he whispered. “I—” Shelley swallowed hard, closing her eyes as Rob’s blunt tip gently fucked her dimple. Why didn’t he just do it? Why was he making her a party to all this?

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With his fist beneath her chin, he jerked her face up to meet his gaze. Again, he dragged his smooth, hooded crown along her bottom lip. A thin wash of semen coated his rounded tip and he painted her lips with it. His taste on her lips was hard temptation—lusty, potent and primitively male. His finger circled her clit in a tantalizing offer for more. She opened her mouth in an attempt to tell him. Tell him to stop. But she couldn’t bring the words forth. The fact was that she did want him. She wanted him to touch her intimately. She wanted his fingers, thick and rough, stroking her most private places, parting the lips of her pussy and teasing her clit, sinking into her cunt. She wanted him to find her warm and wet, waiting, willing, ready. She wanted him to know she was wet for him, moisture slipping from the base of her vulva. She wanted him to settle her need. The heavy, aching need that had been building in her since the moment she’d first set eyes on him. “Rob,” she finally whispered. “Don’t make me do this.” “Fuck,” he breathed out on a raw whisper. “I’m sorry,” he muttered with sudden sanity. “I’m asking for too much.” Pulling away from her, he stood. He shoved his cock inside his jeans and stepped across the room. He stopped when he reached the wall, leaning his forehead against the smooth white plaster. Pulling herself to her feet, Shelley walked to him. He turned to face her, leaning back against the wall. When she put her hands on his waist, he drew her between his legs. “You’re driving me crazy,” he told her in a raw voice. “I’m sorry,” she answered. “This would be very different if you weren’t married.” His hands tightened on her hips. “I know,” he murmured into her hair. “I should just come clean with you, Shelley.” Shelley closed her eyes and snuggled up against him, burrowing her head beneath his chin and pressing her lips into the deep bole at the base of his neck. He smelled so good—all hot, sweaty male. He tasted of salt and perspiration, a deliciously masculine

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combination. More than anything, she wanted to go down on her knees before him, drag his cock out of his pants and beg him to fuck her mouth. He stiffened beneath her and Shelley lifted her face to look at him. His head turned slowly toward the office door, tilting to one side as he frowned. Only very vaguely, she was aware of the doorbell ringing and ringing and ringing. “What’s today?” Rob asked suddenly. Shelley shook her head. “Thursday,” she murmured. “No, Friday. It’s after midnight.” “What’s the date?” “Well, it was the eighteenth. But it’s now the—” “Shit!” he shouted, pushing out from beneath her and hurrying to loop his buttons closed on his jeans. As soon as his cock was secure behind his fly, he raced through the office door. Returning to the computer, Shelley saved the file she’d been working on then shut the computer down. In the distance, she could make out shouts and deep male laughter. When she heard Rob calling her name, she started toward the office door, almost running into him when she reached the opening. He looked about as pleased as she’d ever seen him. Dragging her into the hallway, he introduced her to two men—obviously his friends. The one he introduced as Bret Haverston was a lithe, athletic man with a daring smile, caring brown eyes and a permanent glow burnishing his dark skin. Both men had brown hair, although Bret’s was darker than his companion’s. And Dalton Cristofer was somewhat taller. A virtual Adonis with aqua eyes, his thick hair curled over the collar of his soft leather jacket. As Shelley watched, the Adonis threw his bag into her bedroom while Bret claimed the smaller room down the hall. When Dalton commented on the yellow comforter, Shelley tried to catch Rob’s eye and give him a questioning look, but Rob was too busy defending himself to pick up on it.

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“Admit it,” Bret demanded with a laugh. “You forgot all about tonight.” He threw a wink at Shelley. While Rob protested loudly, the aqua-eyed Adonis grinned at her. “He forgot all about it,” she told Rob’s friends. Rob closed his mouth with a snap as he shot her a black look, but his eyes were lit with laughter. Dragging Shelley down the hall, Rob led his friends back through the living room, dining room and into the kitchen. “He can’t help it,” Bret took up for Rob. “He’s a writer. All writers are—” “Rude?” Dalton cut in. Bret laughed as he pulled open the fridge door. “I was going to say forgetful. But rude works too.” “How much beer does he have in the fridge?” “A couple of six packs,” Bret responded while Rob looked guilty. Rob’s friends shared a significant look. “He didn’t know we were coming,” Dalton asserted. “Good thing we stopped and picked up a case on the way here.” Bret grinned at Rob. “That won’t stop us from drinking yours first though. Who’d you hit?” he asked, pointing the long end of his beer bottle at Rob’s wrapped wrist. “The last guy who called me rude,” Rob growled, swiping the bottle out of his friend’s grasp. He flicked an impatient glance at his wrist. “I keep reinjuring the damn thing in the pool.” “Pool?” Dalton’s eyebrows arched upward. “When did you become a swimmer?” Shelley gave Rob an interested look, waiting for his answer. “Where are the girls?” Rob changed the subject. He jockeyed the beer bottle in his right hand and twisted the cap off with his left. “I thought you’d be bringing them with you.” Dalton threw himself into a black vinyl kitchen chair. “Wedding shower.” 59

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“Oh yeah? Anybody I know?” Rob asked. Dalton tipped some beer into his mouth and swallowed. “April’s brother Bolt.” “Bolt! Bolt’s getting married?” With one hand, Bret pushed his dark hair off his forehead. “Yeah. You might know the bride as well. Octavia October.” Rob did a double take. “No! Bolt’s marrying The Double O?” Surprised, Shelley cut in. “Octavia October, the writer?” “Yeah,” Rob answered as Dalton nodded. “Octavia writes erotic romance too. The same as…what Bobbi writes.” At this, Shelley saw Bret’s eyebrows lift slightly as his gaze slid sideways and connected with his friend’s. “By the way, how is Bobbi?” Dalton asked. Rob didn’t answer. He just glared back in response. At this point, Shelley decided it might be a good time to make her exit, particularly if the men were going to talk about Rob’s wife. It would be a good time to go home, regroup and rethink her relationship with Rob. Things had gotten a little intense back there in his office before his friends arrived. “Where are you going?” Rob almost barked at Shelley as she edged back toward the kitchen door. “I should check in at home,” she explained, excusing herself. “I’m sure you guys have a lot of catching up to do. I’ll just grab some of my things before I go.” With that excuse, she hurried from the room.

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Chapter Seven Rob’s unsettled gaze followed Shelley out of the kitchen. “Excuse me,” he muttered, sliding his brown bottle onto the table. “Go ahead and bring in that beer. I’ll be back in a minute.” He caught up to Shelley in her bedroom. She was collecting her yellow comforter into a large plump pile. Reaching out tentatively, he touched her arm. “You’re not upset, are you?” “No!” she answered swiftly, “not at all.” “I didn’t say anything to Cristofer when he put his bag in your room because I thought…you could spend the night in mine.” She continued stuffing her comforter into a large plastic bag. “Why would you think that would be okay?” “Maybe I was just hoping it would be okay,” he muttered. “It’s just for one night. The guys came in to see Orange Speed at The Roxy. They’ll be flying out in the morning.” “You missed the concert tonight?” Rob shook his head. “The Speed isn’t one of my…favorite bands. I can’t stand them, actually. But I told the guys to come on over here after the show.” He started speaking rapidly. “Don’t go. Spend the night with me. I promise I’ll…behave. I just want to hold you. I know that probably sounds stupid, particularly coming from me, but I just want to hold you.” When Shelley shook her head, he moved in close behind her, wrapping her in his arms, collecting her breasts into his long, thick fingers. “I’d forgotten what it was like to squeeze a woman’s breasts and feel her nipples tighten beneath my palms,” he breathed

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out in a warm sigh. “I’d forgotten about this,” he told her. “Simple pleasures. Togetherness stuff.” His hand trailed down the curve of her belly and settled gently over her mons. “I’d forgotten what it felt like to warm your hand between a woman’s legs, what a handful of soft pussy felt like. I’d forgotten how nice it is to stroke your hand between a woman’s thighs, across her opening, feeling her damp heat on your fingers as you brush them up though her thick pouting lips, reaching low once more, reaching deep this time, sliding your fingers past the tender opening of her cunt, exploring the swell of her cheeks, feeling her muscles tighten to protect and hide the dark opening to her ass.” Shelley released her breath on a whimpering moan. “Is this your idea of behaving?” He chuckled. “I promise to behave but I can’t vouch for your behavior. I won’t enter you…unless you beg me.” Shelley sighed. “That’s why I’m leaving, Rob. I hardly trust myself as it is. Spending the night in your room would just be too hard, too tempting. And it’s not right. Nothing about it is right, except for the way it feels.” He turned her and lifted her chin with the edge of his fist. “It does feel right, doesn’t it?” She nodded without smiling. “Stay the night,” he urged her. “Stay the night and I’ll explain about Bobbi.” Shelley’s expression was sad as she shook her head. “What can you tell me, Rob? That your wife is an invalid and confined to a wheelchair? That you love her but can’t have sex with her? That you lead separate lives while she searches the Mediterranean for a cure to her malady?” “No. It’s not like that at all.” “I didn’t think so,” she murmured. “I really don’t want to hear about Bobbi, Rob. I don’t want to hear you trying to explain why it would be all right for me to sleep with

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you, have sex with you. I need to get away for a while,” she said simply. “Whatever explanations you have can wait a bit, can’t they?” After a moment’s apprehension, he gave her a reluctant nod. “Give me a minute to collect my things. I’ll check back with you before I leave. Okay?” “Okay,” he grumbled.

***** Rob’s mood was unsettled and edgy as he rejoined his friends in the kitchen. Why was Shelley taking her things? How long was she going to be gone? Bret’s voice interrupted his train of thought. “You finally get yourself a girlfriend?” “Fuck you, Haverston. She’s my secretary.” Dalton snorted. “What does that mean? You haven’t laid her yet?” “Fuck you, Cristofer.” “What’s wrong, man? She playing hard to get?” Rob’s shoulders were stiff as he shook his head. “No. She just refuses to sleep with a married man.” Dalton’s eyes crinkled at the edges as he laughed. “I take it you haven’t told her about Bobbi.” “Not yet.” Shifting his legs apart, Dalton leaned forward in his chair. “Why not?” “Damn it, you know why not! You know how I feel about…all that.” Bret lifted a critical eyebrow. “Personally, I think you should have gone public about Bobbi years ago.” A stubborn silence persisted. “But if you’re not going to do that, you should finish with Bobbi for good.”

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“I can’t do that,” Rob growled. “Not until I can get a few books published. Until then I need Bobbi. Financially.”

Halfway across Rob’s dining room, Shelley froze midstep. Stunned in place, she stared at the open doorway into the kitchen. She could hardly believe her ears. Rob was staying with Bobbi because he needed her money? She shook her head. She thought she knew this man. And she’d never have thought he was the sort of person who’d sell out his independence for cold, hard cash. Shelley tilted her head, listening hard, caught between horrified fascination and the urge to run from the truth. If Rob was going to hang himself with more condemning confessions of the same kind, Shelley didn’t really want to hear them but she did need to know them. In the kitchen Bret grunted. “If that’s the case, then you need to tell Shelley about her. Until then, you run the risk of losing…your secretary.” “You need to tell her,” Dalton agreed. “I was going to tell her tonight,” Rob admitted. “I wish I could be there,” Bret chuckled, “when she finds out that you’re Bobbi Brooks.” Shelley took a silent step backward then another. Then she turned and ran down the hall. Pacing out a tight circle in the bedroom, she stopped to stare at her reflection in the dresser mirror. Rob was Bobbi Brooks. He wasn’t married. He was Bobbi Brooks, the famous romance author. Why hadn’t he told her? Several ideas immediately came to mind, none of them in the least generous. And none of them made Rob look particularly good. Setting her emotions aside, Shelley tried to analyze the situation objectively.

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In the end it boiled down to this. As a married man, Rob was free to sleep with anyone he could convince to have sex with him, and free from making any commitment to any woman who succumbed to his charms. Shelley nodded. That was the best explanation she could come up with for his behavior. Slowly, she gathered her things and picked up her bags. But she didn’t march for the front door. Instead she carried her bags across the hall to Rob’s room. There she dropped them on his low chest of drawers. Oh, she was leaving. No doubt about that. But not before she gave Rob a little dose of his own medicine. He’d kept her in a constant state of arousal for the last several weeks. The way Shelley saw it, she owed him. It was payback time.

***** “What are you working on?” Dalton asked Rob as he crushed an empty beer carton then stood and looked for a place to dispose of it in Rob’s kitchen. “Something new. Something different,” Rob answered. “Something decent,” he added darkly. Dalton launched the crumpled box at his friend. “There was nothing wrong with your old stuff,” he told Rob calmly. Rob grunted as he headed across the room, opened a cabinet door and stuffed the carton into the garbage container. “Thanks,” he finally said. Loitering in the doorway, Rob met his friend’s gaze and held it for several seconds. “Thanks, man.” He flicked his gaze over his shoulder, into the living room and beyond to the darkened hallway. “I’d better check on Shelley. I thought she’d be back to say goodbye. See you guys in the morning.” Concerned that Shelley had taken off without letting him know, Rob strode across the open living room and down the hall, ducking his head into Shelley’s bedroom. When he didn’t find her there, he paced down to his own room. Her bags were sitting on the low dresser in his room. She was standing beside the sliding glass windows, 65

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leaning with her back against the wall. There was a strange, knowing smile on her lips. It was very sexy. “I’ve changed my mind,” she told him, “about spending the night.” “That’s wonderful,” he answered breathlessly. “That’s great, Shelley.” She shrugged. “It’s a long way home. Does your offer still stand?” Rob searched his mind. What the hell had he offered exactly? He’d asked her to spend the night. Shelley gave him a coy smile. “Do you think you can be good?” He nodded without giving the question a half second of deliberation. “Do you promise to behave? “I— It won’t be easy, but if that’s what you want.” He smiled. “Yes, I’ll behave. It will be nice just to have you here in my bed, to cuddle up with.” One of her eyebrows arched upward. “Do you think so?” “Oh yeah,” he breathed out on a sigh. She turned and sauntered toward his bathroom, swinging her hips provocatively. “I’ll change in the powder room,” she informed him. Watching her derriere swing all the way into the bathroom, Rob waited for the door to close before scraping the heel of his palm down the bulge stiffening beneath his fly. He frowned at his reflection in the mirror hanging above his dresser. His eyes burned back at him, smoldering like blue-hot steel. Reaching for the hem of his T-shirt, he ripped the stretchy black fabric over his head. He popped the metal buttons on his fly and got rid of his jeans then frowned down at his cock sock, straightening his erection with his thumb and forefinger as he headed for his chest of drawers. He pulled a pair of black nylon shorts on over his underwear. The shorts were loose enough that his hard-on wasn’t the most obvious damn thing in the whole room. Unprepared, he spun around when he heard the bathroom door open. His eyes widened as he swallowed hard. It was going to be a long night, Rob decided.

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He tilted his head to one side as he edged toward the bed. Too late, Rob realized he might have erred. In fact, he might have fucked up entirely. From the looks of things, he’d just set himself up for the worst case of blue balls in the history of mankind. He could tell right now this wasn’t going to work. Shelley breezed back into the bedroom wearing what looked like a ladies’ eighteenth-century nightshirt. The long white garment stretched down to her toes. It wasn’t lacy or sexy or even particularly feminine. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that evidently, back in the eighteenth century, the fabrics were very thin. Incredibly thin. The word gossamer came to mind. Stunned absolutely breathless, Rob watched Shelley bend over her bags, ostensibly returning her clothing to her luggage. As she leaned over, Rob’s head tilted in the same direction, his eyes following her breasts. Her breasts swung forward, bouncing softly. Her thick wavy locks swung at the same time, hiding her profile from him. Beneath the gauzy material of her nightshirt, he could plainly make out the bottom curves of her breasts, tracing a delectable arc from her midriff to her round nipples. A small groan originated in his chest and managed to make its way past his lips. “Did you say something?” Shelley asked lightly, turning and lifting her gaze without lifting her head. This time, the sound that came from Rob’s throat sounded more like a whine than anything else. Shelley was still leaning over, but now she was looking up at him. A row of tiny pearl buttons edged the neckline of her nightshirt, from high on her neck to deep between her breasts. And every single one of those buttons was unfastened. Between the gleaming pearl buttons, her nightshirt gaped open to reveal her luscious cleavage, her breasts bouncing softly together. Suddenly, Rob was a man with one problem. How to get his hands inside that nightshirt. Solutions flashed through his mind in rapid sequence. He pictured his hand flattening on her chest as he slipped his fingers beneath the buttons and inside the 67

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opening. He shook his head. No. The opening wasn’t large enough. He’d have to work his way up from the bottom. His gaze dropped to her toes. He needed to get his fingers under that hem, pull that nightshirt up—all the way up—until he could cup his hands under those magnificent tits. His mouth watered and he swallowed again. On the other side of the bed, Shelley straightened. Rob lifted his gaze from her feet. He never made it past her nipples. He could see the dusky rose areolas blushing beneath the nightshirt’s delicate veil. “What’s wrong?” she asked him. “What?” he choked out. “You’re frowning.” His hands clenched. “Am I?” He could fist his hands in the top of her nightshirt. One tug—no more nightshirt. He nodded. That would be the way to do it. “Now you’re nodding,” she told him. Her voice deepened with amusement. He didn’t answer. He found himself distracted by a new idea. If the delicate white fabric was so thin that he could see the dark rose of her nipples, he should be able to see the black hair curling on her mound. His gaze dropped to check out her pussy. Damn. There was the problem. She was wearing a pair of white bikinis underneath the thin nightshirt. His gaze flicked back to her breasts as Shelley lifted her hands behind her neck and stretched. His eyes focused on her nipples stabbing at the fabric like tiny tent posts. “I’m ready for bed,” Shelley announced on a yawn. Leaning over right in front of him, she pulled back his satin sheets. His eyes were glued to her breasts as they bounced before his eyes. She got into bed and pulled the black sheets up to her neck as she snuggled beneath them. He was as hard as a fucking spike. Her back was turned to him and he glanced at the bathroom door, wondering if he should play it safe and jack off now. That would be

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the sensible thing to do. The problem was, would she guess what he was doing in there? He let out his breath in a long pent-up hiss. Then he lowered himself to the bed. He slid toward her with one intent—to get his hands beneath those breasts and cup them in his palms. She’d said he could hold her. He squeezed up next to her, gasping as the hard muscles of his thighs smoothed up against her soft, warm flesh. He’d been expecting the nightshirt to lie between them. Carefully, he sneaked the sheets up and glanced down between their bodies. Somehow, her nightshirt had already worked its way up to her waist. Captivated, he stared at the smooth, satiny fabric wrapping the full curves of her rounded bottom. Unable to understand how that could have happened but thanking his lucky stars that it had, Rob snugged his body up against Shelley’s, pulling her close and spooning her bottom into the curve of his hips. His cock surged and pulsed. He knew he was damp at the head of his dick, bleeding pre-cum in a thin dribble of lust. Working one hand underneath Shelley, he finally got his hands under her breasts. He lifted them in his palms, squeezing them gently as his cock surged again. “That feels nice,” she murmured. “I’m glad we decided to do this.” “Me too,” he croaked. He pressed his shaft tight against her ass. His silky shorts slid against her satiny underpants and he fought the urge to just keep on sliding. “It’s too bad you’re married,” she added with a comfortable yawn, snuggling her butt deeper into his groin. He allowed himself one long, slow slide, shifting his hips upward and dragging his cock through her pillowed crease. Sweat dampened his upper lip. “Shelley,” he murmured into her hair, “let me explain about…my wife.” She twisted suddenly beneath him and his hand ended up covering her breast. His fingers cupped the heavy weight while his thumb nudged up against her prominent

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nipple. He moved his thumb over her nipple as a spike of desire ate at his gut and pounded through his shaft. Her eyes were sleepy. Her lips were full and pouty, deliciously inviting. “I don’t want to talk,” she complained with a tiny yawn. “It’s late,” she murmured. “I just want to sleep here beside you and pretend you’re not married.” “But that’s just it, Shelley. I’m—” She arched beneath his hand and his palm slid over her nipple again as she made a sleepy, moaning noise that had his breath coming hard and fast and ragged. He looked down on her. Her eyes were closed and her lips were parted—full, fresh, dewy— beckoning him with every breath that lifted her breasts. She smelled like oranges and spice. He knew she’d taste just as good. Rob couldn’t resist. He tilted his head and settled his mouth against hers. Her mouth was soft and languid and warm and absolutely breathtakingly delicious—for as long as the kiss lasted. She arched beneath him suddenly, breaking the kiss. She stared up at him. “Rob! What are you doing?” “I’m kissing you,” he growled, lowering his mouth again and sliding his lips over hers in a single wet pass. “You promised you’d behave,” she pointed out in a sulky, petulant voice. He stared down at her. “We need to talk,” he finally muttered. “I don’t want to talk,” she reasserted, turning her back on him. With a sharp snort of frustration, Rob settled down behind her again. Wrapping her in his arms, he brushed his thumbs over her nipples while his cock pulsed insistently between the cheeks of her ass. “I’m not actually married,” he told her. “What do you mean, you’re not actually married?” she questioned him with a sleepy laugh. “How can someone be not actually married? Rob, you promised you’d be

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good. You promised you’d behave. Don’t start making up stories now that you have me in bed.” Rob let that go for a few seconds. The pressure in his cock demanded action. Male thrusting-and-grinding action. It took everything he had just to keep his hips still. “I’m sorry,” he growled. “This isn’t working.” With that announcement, he started sliding his cock through her satin-lined crease. When she started squirming in his arms, he snaked a hand down to cover her pussy, holding her lower body firmly against his as he rubbed his shaft into her luscious soft flesh. Her struggles to escape just excited him further. Somehow she got turned onto her back again and he climbed onto her, fitting his legs between hers and rubbing his erection into her soft mound. Quickly, he covered her mouth with his before she could argue or protest. Finally he felt her yield beneath him, her body moving in a soft, erotic wave beneath his own, her tongue sliding against his. He wanted to pull her panties off. Hell, he wanted to rip her panties off! He wanted to slide his dick between her pink pussy lips, shove it so deep inside her that she’d be able to taste his cum at the back of her throat. But damn it, he’d promised to be good. Okay. So maybe his definition of good didn’t quite match hers but he wasn’t going to come inside her while she still thought he was married to Bobbi. Besides, he was so close at this point that he didn’t think he’d actually make it more than an inch or two inside her channel. Just the idea of her pussy lips kissing his dick was enough to make him start shooting. He thrust against her a final time, grinding his shaft into her plush belly as his cock erupted. His thin underwear was pulled tight, capping his cock head. The restricting pressure was excruciatingly delicious as he jettisoned inside his cock sock in thick, hot surges. Shelley was making soft choking noises, her body bucking beneath him. He lifted his head to watch her. He caught a glimpse of frost-pale color before her eyes closed.

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Her eyelashes flickered and shivered as she came, her body convulsing as he pressed her into the mattress. “That’s it,” he murmured. “Keep coming, Shelley.” She jerked a few more times then opened her eyes. “You said you’d be good,” she reproached him. He laughed softly and put a finger against her lips. “Go to sleep,” he told her. “I’ll explain everything in the morning.” But Shelley was already asleep.

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Chapter Eight Rob woke with a start, groping at the empty space where Shelley should have been. Spilling out of bed in a rush, he checked the spare bedrooms then paced down the hall. Cristofer and Haverston were in the kitchen, eating their way through a box of cereal that Shelley had recently bought. “Have you guys seen Shelley?” he demanded without preamble. Dalton looked up from the cereal box he was reading. “I passed her in the hall this morning.” Squeezing between the kitchen table and the window, Rob tugged aside the black and white checked curtains. Her car was gone. Damn. Shelley still thought he was married. And they’d pretty much—almost—had sex together last night. In fact, he’d pretty much forced her to. Knowing Shelley, and how hard she’d fought to be good, she had probably been upset with him when she had woken up this morning. Rob growled. “Did she look mad?” Dalton frowned at his friend. “What?” “Shelley. Did she look mad when you saw her this morning? Her car is gone.” Dalton dropped his spoon and raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “You’re asking the wrong man. I can never tell when a woman’s mad.” Bret rolled his eyes as he chewed noisily. “It’s simple, you idiot. When a woman won’t have sex with you, it means she’s mad.” Dalton turned his perplexed gaze on Bret. “Why is that, do you think? Being mad at a woman wouldn’t stop me from having sex with her.” Bret shrugged. “I’ve no idea. It’s one of the great mysteries of the ages. When you figure it out, you can probably charge money for the answer.”

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“Anyhow,” Dalton went on, ignoring his friend, “according to Bret’s definition, April is never mad at me.” A look of disgust and envy fell over Bret’s dark features. “Are you sure you’re married?” “I’m sorry, Haverston. But it’s not my fault you don’t get any when your wife is pissed.” Bret looked offended. “Don’t waste your sympathy on me. Callie isn’t like most women. When Callie gets angry, she does it right.” “Meaning?” “When Callie gets mad, she practically rapes me.” Now it was Dalton’s turn to look envious. Rob interrupted with a shout. “Did Shelley look mad?” Bret shook his head. “No. But she was quiet.” Dalton nodded. “That’s never a good sign. There’s something unnatural about a quiet woman.” “Why don’t you give her a call?” suggested Bret with a reasonable smile. Rob felt a slash of heat burn its way across his cheekbones. “Because I don’t have her number!” “What?” “I’ve never had cause to ask for it. She’s just…been here ever since she started working for me.” Dalton stopped chewing his cereal long enough to give this some thought. “Did she ever give you a resume?” “Yes!” Rob shouted, racing for his office. A moment later he returned to the kitchen with a crumpled sheet of white paper in his hand. “Thanks, guys. Let yourselves out when you’re ready. Have a good flight. I’m going to call Shelley’s home.”

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***** Once Shelley made up her mind, she acted quickly. Although she couldn’t get a flight to Denver before noon, she left her parents’ house early. She was pretty sure Rob would try to call and she didn’t want to be there when that happened. Should he phone or come by, her mother had instructions to tell Rob that Shelley was out shopping. Shelley sighed. Her little plan for revenge had sort of backfired. She’d meant to leave Rob stranded at the pinnacle of arousal, awake all night and aching with desire. Unfortunately, the stubborn man had taken things into his own hands. Unfortunately, her sex-starved body had responded to his highly carnal offensive. Shelley caught herself smiling. With stern self-reproach, she wiped that smile off her face. A week with her best friend in the foothills outside Denver was just what she needed. Amanda would help her to sort out her tangled feelings and put her on the right track again. On one hand, Shelley felt guilty about running out on Rob, leaving him in the lurch without a secretary. On the other hand, Shelley wasn’t sure how much sympathy she owed to a guy so averse to commitment that he’d let her think he was married to a woman who didn’t even exist. Maybe a week’s separation from Rob would help her to put things back into perspective. Arriving at LAX three hours before her flight, Shelley wandered the main terminal, distractedly browsing a jewelry shop as well as a high-end clothing boutique. After spending an hour in the terminal bookstore, she picked up the latest by Bobbi Brooks, paid for it, then stopped for a coffee at the pseudo outdoor café in the center of the terminal. She dropped her paperback on the round glass table and ducked under the colorful umbrella as she pulled out the wrought iron chair. Lowering herself into the seat, she pulled her black skirt out flat beneath her bottom and tugged down on the short pink jacket. After the waiter delivered a steaming mug of frothy cappuccino, Shelley opened her new novel. She leafed through the book to page one then stared at the page, seeing only Rob’s face where a page full of letters should have formed words.

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“Fancy meeting you here.” Shelley jumped at the sound of the deep male voice. When she lifted her startled gaze from the book, she was looking right into Dalton’s blue-green eyes. “What are you reading?” he asked with a one-sided smile. Shelley lifted the book and showed him the cover. “Does the name look familiar?” she challenged him wryly. “I couldn’t find anything by Robert Brooks, so I settled for something by his so-called wife.” Dalton lifted his dark eyebrows and smiled. “His wife. Is that what Rob told you? That Bobbi Brooks was his wife?” “That’s what he told me,” she answered with a grim smile. “And you’re going to laugh at this next bit. I actually believed him.” Dalton dropped into the chair across from her as Bret took the seat beside her. “You know,” Bret mused, “the problem with Rob is that he’s a pathological liar.” Dalton nodded seriously but his eyes glinted. “Absolutely pathological,” he agreed. “Personally, I think he should have come out of the closet years ago.” Shelley blinked. “Out of the closet?” “Yeah.” Shelley laughed. “Are you trying to tell me that Rob is gay?” Dalton snorted out a sharp bark of amusement. “Rob? Gay? Don’t be ridiculous.” His eyes focused behind her, across the terminal, but Bret captured her attention before she could follow Dalton’s gaze over her shoulder. “Nah,” Bret cut in, “Rob isn’t gay. He’s just…a very private man.” Dalton nodded. “Very private. Haverston and I were the only ones who knew about Bobbi.” “That’s because Rob knew he could trust us,” Bret explained.

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Dalton tapped a metal spoon on the glass tabletop. “He’d never tell anyone else about Bobbi—unless he was sure about them. Unless he was sure they’d…always be there. Do you understand what I’m saying?” Shelley frowned at Rob’s friend, shaking her head. She had no idea what Dalton Cristofer was trying to say. But before she could figure it out, she heard Rob’s voice behind her. “What they’re trying to tell you is that I wouldn’t tell a woman about Bobbi unless I planned to marry her.” Jumping to her feet, Shelley spun to face Rob. For a few confused seconds, she stared at him. “What took you so long?” Dalton drawled. “We called you an hour ago, just after we spotted your…secretary.” Turning a bit, Shelley cast a quick glance at Dalton then returned her gaze to Rob. Rob shook his head apologetically. “I tried to tell you last night, Shelley. I’m not married to Bobbi Brooks. I am Bobbi Brooks.” Dalton snorted. “I think she figured that out, Rob.” He laughed, his blue-green eyes dancing with mischief. “We were just trying to convince her that you aren’t gay.” Rob shoved his hands deep into his pockets, his stance defensive. “I’m not the only man in the world writing under a female pseudonym.” “Yeah?” Shelley drawled back at him. “Well, are you the only man in the world keeping it such a damn big secret?” Rob eyes widened as he took a step backward. She followed him, her fist coming up to thump against his chest. “Why?” she demanded while Rob’s gaze darted anxiously around the open cafe. “Why the big secret? If you’re Bobbi Brooks then why couldn’t you have just told me? I’ve been working for you for two and a half months, Rob! Two and a half of the longest damn months in my life! And all that time, I’ve thought you were married. That you were off-limits.” Shelley paused long enough to suck in an angry breath. “Why, Rob?

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Were you that anxious to avoid any sort of commitment? Why didn’t you tell me you were Bobbi Brooks?” Rob’s expression darkened on her as the café grew quiet and several heads turned, their curious eyes latching onto the arguing couple. Dalton answered for Rob, drawing Shelley’s gaze and momentarily rescuing his friend. “He didn’t tell you because he doesn’t want anyone to know he’s Bobbi Brooks, the romance writer. The poor guy doesn’t even want to be Bobbi Brooks.” Bret pushed out a dramatic sigh. “Well, can you blame him? He was never really cut out for the job of a woman. I mean, look at him. If he’s got a female side, it’s covered in whiskers.” Dalton rolled his shoulders in a casual shrug. “He doesn’t have to be ashamed of Bobbi. After all, Mrs. Brooks’ considerable income supports his male side while Mr. Brooks tries to get his action-adventure series up and running. Somebody has to be Mrs. Brooks.” The two men transferred their gazes to Shelley, grinning as they looked her up and down. “Nobody knows?” Shelley faltered as she shook her head, questioning Rob with her eyes. “You’re ashamed of Bobbi? Is…all of this true?” “Most of it,” Rob growled, glaring at his friends. “Don’t you two have some planes to catch?” Dalton pushed back in his chair. “Come on, Haverston. I think that’s our cue.” Grinning their goodbyes, his friends ambled off across the terminal. Shelley gave him an arch look. “I thought you were married,” she grumbled. “Do you have any idea what I would have done to you if I’d known you were single?” Rob’s smile was bleak. “Probably the same thing I’ve been wanting to do to you. Please,” he murmured, shifting his glance sideways at the restaurant’s staring customers. “Sit down. Let me explain.”

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Taking the seat that Bret had vacated, Rob pulled it around to face her. When Shelley sat down opposite him, he captured her knees between his. Reaching for her hand, he watched it as he stroked the rough pad of his thumb across her fingers. “I wanted to write,” he started. “I submitted a few action-adventure stories early on but they were all rejected. I thought the romance market was so…huge that maybe I could get published there. Make enough money to tide me over until I could get someone to take a serious look at my other work.” He snorted. “My first romance was pretty…erotic. It kind of took everyone by surprise. It sold so many copies it was embarrassing. Next thing I knew, I had contracts on half a dozen more…romances.” He shrugged. “So I wrote erotic romance. Made a lot of money. And was completely miserable because I didn’t think I was writing what I wanted to write. As a man, I was embarrassed to be writing women’s romance. I sure as hell didn’t want anyone to know. I didn’t even think that I believed in romance.” His gaze drifted across the terminal as he appeared to grope for an answer or an idea. “Now I have to wonder if that’s what I was looking for all along—a reason to believe in romance. I had no particular reason to be cynical. I just didn’t believe in it— any of it—until I met you. You were like the women in my stories. Strong and tender, tough, resilient—funny—and the most generous person I’ve ever met. You stepped in to help me because you thought I’d been hurt, that there was something wrong with me. And maybe there was something wrong with me. Of all the women I’ve ever made love to, I’ve never loved any of them. But then I’d never met anyone like you. I think maybe I was writing about the woman I couldn’t find in real life. Replacing my real-life disappointments with an imaginary heroine who was…my ideal. Then I met my ideal, and all of a sudden I was a believer. I was in love, Shelley.” He rubbed her fingers through his as his voice dropped. “I can’t believe you were going to leave me,” he almost whispered. Shelley wrapped her fingers around his good thumb and gave it a fortifying squeeze. “I’m sorry. I just needed to get away for a week. To try to sort things out. I

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couldn’t think of a good reason for you to hide the truth from me. The truth about Bobbi.” She smiled. “All I could think of were bad reasons.” “I’m the one who should be apologizing. Right from the start, I let you believe I was married. When I think how close I came to losing you…” “No,” she cut in quickly. “No, Rob. I wasn’t leaving forever. I would have been in touch with you again.” He nodded but looked unhappy just the same. “Is it too late to talk you out of taking that flight?” Shelley smiled, tilting her head as she considered his question. “I don’t know. What can you offer me in place of a week in the mountains?” He leaned forward and cupped her chin in his large palm. “How about a night in my bed, a week in my arms? A lifetime in my heart?”

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Chapter Nine Poor Rob. The man almost panicked when Shelley tried to get on the shuttle bus out to the remote parking lots. Arguing that they could retrieve her car later, Rob dragged Shelley toward the close-in parking where he’d left his Jaguar. “Just humor me,” he growled when she insisted she wasn’t going to sneak off on him. “We’ll come back for your car tomorrow. Right now I need you with me.” Closing her inside the beautiful old classic, Rob rounded the car and settled into the driver’s seat. After backing out of the parking slot, they were soon through the tollgates and out on the highway. Only then did Rob seem to relax. The hard line of his shoulders eased slightly as he threw her a smiling glance then leaned over to kiss her briefly. The Jaguar dodged through traffic at seventy miles an hour on the way north. The smooth, rumbling purr of the high-performance engine filled the Jag’s polished interior with a heavy expectancy. In less than an hour they’d be back at Rob’s house with no reason to hold back. There was going to be sex. Lots of sinfully glorious, naked, skin-onskin action. Rob shifted down into fourth, accelerating past a truck, then back up into fifth again. “You’re driving fast,” Shelley commented. “I’m sorry,” Rob muttered. “I can’t wait to get you home and finally get you unwrapped. Is my driving making you nervous?” “A little,” she admitted. “If I started unwrapping right now, could I get you to slow down a bit?” “Oh, baby,” he breathed, his blue eyes flicking from the road to Shelley then back to the road again. The car slowed slightly as he eased up on the gas pedal. His hand dropped into his groin as he adjusted his sex. As soon as he’d taken care of that, he 81

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lifted his hand and angled his rearview mirror so that he could watch Shelley in the mirror’s reflection. Shelley slipped out of her jacket and turned slightly toward him in her seat. One by one, teasingly, she started undoing the buttons on the front of her thin knit sweater. When she got down to the button that pulled the soft fabric tight across her breasts, she slowed down, watching Rob lick his lips as his attention shuttled between the road and the mirror angled on her. A dusting of moisture collected on his upper lip and he rubbed his knuckle into the vertical crease above his mouth. “Get on with it,” he growled. “Get them out, Shelley.” She blinked at him innocently. “Get what out?” “Your tits,” he rasped. The look he shot her was a warning. “Those great big, beautiful tits. I’ve waited a long time to see those beauties. I’ve jacked off in the shower more times than I can count, imagining my cock sliding between them. Get them out now!” Hurrying through the rest of the buttons, Shelley opened her sweater and let it slip down off her shoulders a few inches. Rob was operating on autopilot as he drove, his mouth slightly open, watching her in the rearview mirror. “Lose the bra,” he muttered. She glanced around at the traffic. “Don’t you worry about them,” he advised her in a tight voice. “You just worry about me. Take off your bra, Shelley.” She worked at the small clasp that divided her breasts, glancing around again before she pulled the cups apart. Impatiently, Rob reached across her and pushed the loose cups away from her breasts, exposing her nipples. He breathed out a groan of appreciation as his gaze caught on the unfettered fullness of her breasts. “They’re everything I dreamed they would be. Lift them for me.”

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“Like this?” Shelley slipped her hands under her breasts, pushing them together and up. She heard Rob swallow. “Just like that,” he whispered in a voice like rough velvet. “Are your nipples hard?” She thumbed her nipples several times. “They are now,” she answered in a pleased murmur. Rob groaned, rubbing a hand into his groin. “Two miles to the exit ramp. Three miles up the coast highway then eight blocks.” “You going to make it?” Rob shook his head, took a quick breathless glance at her then returned his distracted gaze to the road. When his gaze flicked to the mirror again, Shelley shifted the heavy weight of her breasts in her hands, rolling the fleshy pink nipples lightly between her fingers. “Damn,” he swore. The curse was a harsh imitation of sound. Suddenly, he was fighting his zipper down on his khaki slacks. He pulled his cock out with his left hand while simultaneously trying to steer and shift gears with his bandaged right. Shelley’s heart thrummed in her throat as she watched Rob’s cock rising high between his legs, the dark head bumping against the arc of the dimpled black steering wheel. “I’m not going to make it,” he grunted as the Jaguar raced down the exit ramp and turned onto the two-lane highway. Shelley nodded, eyeing his shaft greedily. “Pull over,” she suggested breathlessly. “If I get a chance, I will,” he panted. “In the meantime, wrap your hand around my cock.” Reaching into his lap, Shelley did as he commanded. His flesh was hot and damp, tight and silky, hard and deliciously masculine. As Shelley tightened her grip around the pulsing shaft, Rob’s gaze kept dipping into the round swell of her breasts. Without warning, the car swerved suddenly, fishtailing onto the shoulder of the road as Rob

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jammed his foot down on the brake. A cloud of dust settled around the sleek vehicle as he twisted the key in the ignition and killed the big engine. He reached for her. With his thumb grazing roughly alongside her cheek and his bandaged fingers wrapping her nape, he took a kiss from her—a long, urgent, rapacious kiss that said he wanted more and he wasn’t waiting for it. A low animal rumble graveled deep in his throat as his left hand stroked beneath the full curve of her breast, lifting it into his hand, cupping it, palming it as he thumbed her excited nipple. A small breathless whimper of need betrayed Shelley, broadcasting her hunger as Rob fondled her breast with rough male devotion. When his wet mouth broke from hers, his right hand tightened around her neck, silently commanding her as he reached beneath Shelley’s right knee and lifted her foot to the dashboard. With his palm on her thigh, he urged her knee to rest against the window. Shelley wriggled in the fine leather seat that cupped her bottom, encouraging her skirt to climb her hips. As she struggled with her skirt, her hand loosened on his erection. Rob growled out a warning. “Don’t worry about the skirt. I’ll get it. Just keep your hand on my cock.” She pushed out a plaintive sigh. “I’m sorry. I’m just so…” “Horny?” She nodded. “I’ve waited so long,” she complained in a husky voice, “and wanted this for such a long time.” His hand slid between her legs and warmed her mound. “I’ve wanted this for a long time too,” he murmured. “I’ve waited a long time to feel you cream. I need this as much as you do.” His hand cupped her mound and she arched slightly, feeding her pussy into the curve of his palm. “Patience, Shelley. One step at a time,” he rasped. “I want to savor

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every one of those steps. I want to feel your soft heat cupped in my palm before I get my hand inside your pants and wet my fingers in your pussy.” Shelley groaned and arched further. Silvery shimmers of pleasure built in her loins as Rob’s fingers shifted lightly across the lips of her sex. “Just relax,” he told her. “Just enjoy.” Shelley held her breath as he tugged down on the top of her panties and swept a finger down the puffy seam of her sex then dragged it back up through her damp folds. She cried out lightly, a small sound of delight. Rob’s eyes darkened as he watched her face. Sliding his hand out of her panties, he lifted his fingers to his mouth and tasted them as she watched him. His eyes burned at her, a brilliant blue fire charring their depths as he licked his fingers then returned the wet digits to slide through her sex. His fingers, rough and slippery, sliding through her fragile folds sharpened her desire several degrees, as though someone had thrown salt on her sexual appetite. Rob sighed with satisfaction as he worked her sex with his fingers, stroking into her tender well and pulling her moisture up the length of her hungry slot, brushing over the aching nub of her clitoris as she panted and moaned and rolled her hips. His fingers slid through her sodden pussy a final time then settled at her opening. Slowly, he sank two fingers into her vagina. The heel of his palm nudged her swollen lips apart, massaging her clit as he fucked her with his fingers. The small space of the car filled with anguished shouts as Shelley bucked into climax, twisting in the leather seat, her body wrenching in the mindless ecstasy that accompanies orgasm. He covered her mouth with his, cutting off her screams as he pushed a third finger into her cunt, stretching her opening wide and prolonging the deep pleasure nestled at the dark entrance to her vagina. When she finally stopped shuddering, he spoke against her mouth. She felt the smile curving the rough silk of his lips. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’d like to have been inside you when that happened. But I couldn’t wait to feel your cunt clench on my

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fingers while cum pumped from your slit.” He pushed a small kiss into her mouth as he eased his fingers out of her vagina and dragged his wet fingers over her thick mound. Shelley’s fingers were wet too. She had Rob’s cock in a death grip. She’d felt her hand dampen as she’d come, Rob’s pre-cum seeping from his cock head and searing her hand with a hot wash of semen. Rob groaned. “Oh god I want to fuck you. There just isn’t a lot of room in this car.” His thumb pressed into her nape and his fingers wrapped her throat as he pressed her face down into his groin. Shelley only just had time to open her mouth before he had his cock between her lips, thrusting his hips upward in hard, earthy jerks. He groaned her name as his fingers tightened and he urged her to take him deeper. After several driving thrusts, he started getting rough. Shelley warned him with the light scrape of her teeth. Rob stopped suddenly and, with his hand fisted in her hair, pulled her mouth off his cock. Shelley gasped, reaching for him with her tongue. When she swiped her tongue across the weeping head, he pulled her head back another inch. She watched his cock throb as he sucked in several harsh, raw breaths. “Your tits,” he rasped. “Shelley…” Crowding close to him, Shelley pushed her breasts toward his cock, stroking his shaft with the crinkled pink knots of her nipples. Seconds later, he was coming in hot slashing surges, shooting onto her breasts in erotic splashes as she wrapped her pale breasts around his ruddy dark shaft. For several long, breathless minutes, they sat tangled together, her head curled over his lap, his head bowed over hers, his fingers stroking through the long thick strands of her hair. They might have sat there, damp and sticky until he got hard again, except for the persistent tapping on the window. Shelley felt Rob’s head lift away from hers. “Damn,” he cursed in a rough whisper. “Cover yourself up, honey. It’s the police.”

*****

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About twenty minutes later, Rob pulled the Jaguar back onto the road. A hot line of color burned along the high ridge of his cheekbones. The officer had insisted on seeing Rob’s license and registration before finally advising Rob to drive carefully. After the state trooper pulled out onto the blacktop ahead of him, Rob waited a decent interval before following him onto the road. Shelley sneaked a glance at Rob. His mouth was set in a hard line. Shelley hugged her unbuttoned sweater around her breasts. Underneath her crossed arms, her bra was loose and tangled, Rob’s cum wet and sticky where it dripped between her breasts. “He was nice,” she offered tentatively. Rob nodded grimly. “I’m sorry,” he told her. “Why?” she asked softly. “I’m not. He did us a favor. By the time we get back to your house, you’ll be hard again.” Rob’s smile was apologetic as he reached across and squeezed her knee. With one hand turning the steering wheel, he navigated the last few blocks to his home. Leaving the car in the drive, Rob hurried Shelley out of the car and got the front door open. He left her sweater in a crumpled pile on the flagstone floor in the entry. Her bra barely made it into the living room. When they reached the long couch in the center of the room, he pushed her against the sofa’s flat back and bunched her skirt in his fists, dragging it up over her hips. She managed her panties on her own while he tore open his shirt. With his hands cupping the soft weight of her breasts, he lifted them against his chest and rubbed his smooth chest against her nipples as his mouth skimmed over hers in a hot, wet, sliding kiss. With a little shove he lifted her up onto the back of the couch, opening her legs with his hips. His head dipped as he lifted her heavy breasts to his mouth and laved the dusky pink areolas with the rough, wet surface of his tongue. Then he dropped to his knees and pushed her legs wide. Shelley clawed at his shoulders as he parted her folds with his fingers and spread her sex open. Then he settled his hot mouth over her pussy,

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his tongue traveling through the long, pink seam of her sex, licking through her folds, murmuring rough endearments as he drank down her essence like an addict. “Mmm,” he growled as he gazed between her spread legs. “You’re so dark and swollen. This hot little clit is just begging to be punished. This juicy wet pussy is just screaming to be fucked.” He lapped at the tender flesh that rimmed her vulva, scooping her moisture onto his tongue, rolling her nectar inside his mouth before he bared his teeth and nipped at her clitoris. Shelley’s hips jerked as he ate into her sex. His mouth gleamed with moisture as he stopped once more to gaze at her open sex. “I can’t wait to get all this wet heat wrapped around my cock.” He lifted his gaze to her face. “Are you ready to get fucked?” Shelley moaned in answer. As his clever, prodding tongue rasped through the sensitive flesh tucked inside her pussy, Rob was working his pants down his legs, shrugging his shirt off his shoulders. When he was naked except for his cock sock, he stood. Inside the sock, his shaft stretched the soft fabric out to ridiculous lengths. “Get my cock out,” he told her. Easing her legs together, Shelley slid down to her knees in front of him and pulled the sock down his hips. When his cock sprang free, she pressed her lips against his hot, sticky flesh. His hips flexed as he held her head with his left hand and slid his shaft against her cheek. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “I’ve waited so long for this, I hardly know what to do with it.” Shelley pulled her tongue up the side of his shaft. “I could probably help you out with a few rough ideas.” Rob groaned. “I have plenty of ideas and they’re all rough. I don’t want to hurt you, Shelley, but once I’m inside you, I don’t think I’m going to have much control.” “You won’t hurt me,” she murmured, rubbing her cheek into his sticky flesh. “I’m as ready as you are. I’m ready for this, Rob.” She slid down to the Berber rug, pulling him on top of her. “I can take it,” she told him. “I can take you.”

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“Okay,” he rumbled, scanning her face from beneath the thick fringe of his eyelashes. His brilliant blue gaze seemed to devour the details of her face, as though he wasn’t content only to see her, as though he wanted to know her, know everything about her. He pulled her knees up beside his hips and penetrated her in a long, thick, heavenly stretch of hard male flesh. When his shaft was seated to the hilt inside her hungry channel, he started riding her with a grinding masculine precision, the hard press of his abdomen crushing her clit in a slight circular motion as he gritted his teeth and gazed down at her. Sweat dusted his upper lip as he watched her eyes. His silver chain swung gently above her face with each powering stroke of his hips. “Tell me when you’re going to come,” he grunted. She nodded up at him. Her insides wept with a greedy, insatiable hunger as he pounded into her. With each plundering lunge and driving thrust, her need was simultaneously soothed and nudged higher. The harsh rip of his hips was both a balm to her burgeoning need and a torment to her growing hunger. His movements became less controlled, rougher as he slammed into her. The sharp bite of need intensified to an exquisite focus of blinding desire. Then it shattered. “Now!” she shouted. She arched beneath him, her head tossing as she thrashed her way through the most intense orgasm she’d ever shared with a man. The last thing she saw was Rob’s awefilled gaze. The last thing she felt was his cock expanding as he slammed deep inside her. Then with a harsh animal sound of pleasure, he came inside her hot, milking channel.

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Chapter Ten “You look skeptical.” Shelley froze when she realized she was shaking her head. Damn. She should have known better by now. After working with Rob for the last several months, she should have known better than to question him—in word or expression! It always landed her in trouble. She was still doing his typing, although his wrist had long since mended. Rob insisted that she continue to type for him. He said she was a great source of inspiration. “I’m sorry,” she told him hesitantly. “I just found that last scene a little hard to believe.” Rob rubbed his eyes and looked at his watch. Without checking her monitor, Shelley already knew it was past two in the morning. In a long sexy slide of hard male flesh, Rob stretched his hands back over his head and yawned. “Read it back.” Shelley cleared her throat and read: “Candy woke with Trace’s lips brushing her mouth, Ashton’s hair sweeping the round curve of her breast as he suckled at her nipple. Trace’s palm made a warm trail from her neck down to the same breast, his fingers cupping the feminine swell, plumping it into Ashton’s mouth. Ashton’s hand moved to her other breast as he scraped at the fresh nipple with the thick, abrasive pad of his thumb. “The two men were still competing. Competing for her attention. Both of them certainly had her attention at the present moment. Just as they’d had it for the past several months. It looked like their tight little ménage was somehow going to work. “They were so adorable when they were like this, trying to outperform one another. Obviously, that would never stop—lucky for her. But although each man was bent on outdoing his partner in bed, they were still a team. Even in this, they worked together. 90

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“Trace’s thumb slid under Ashton’s mouth as his forefinger came down and squeezed her nipple gently. Ashton dragged his wet lips across the space between her breasts and went to work on her other nipple, pinching the tight, hard nub in his fingers and running his rough tongue over the anguished little rosebud. When Candy arched in pleasure, Trace repositioned his mouth over hers and drove his tongue deep, his lips bruising hers against her teeth. Slowly, his hand moved down her body, raking through the light hair on her mound, teasing and tempting her with the promise of his touch on the soft lips between her legs. ‘Move your legs apart for Ashton,’ he murmured against her lips and Candy obeyed at once. She’d learned the hard way. She’d never question Trace again. “Candy sucked in a breath as Trace dipped into the top of her cleft, gently spreading her labia with two fingers and using his long middle finger to tease at the hot little center of her desire. She felt Ashton slipping down her body, felt his eyes on her sex as Trace spread her open, heard Ashton’s grunt of approval as he slipped his arms under her thighs and urged her legs over his shoulders. Then the wet tip of his tongue was dabbing at the gentle ruts below Trace’s finger as the two men fought for possession of her clit—Trace with the rough pad of his fingertip, Ashton with the sliding attack of his tongue. Together, finger and tongue slipped through her pussy as the battle surged back and forth across her clit. “With a sharp cry of anguish breaking from her lips, Candy twisted in the hold of her two lovers. Ashton responded by grasping her thighs tightly, spreading her wider. Trace’s arm was a hard, uncompromising bar, clamping her against the mattress. ‘Get her close,’ he rasped at his partner, ‘but don’t let her come.’ “Ashton’s tongue moved lower, swabbing through the soft, aching flesh that pulsed just above her vulva. ‘You got something special in mind?’ Ashton asked in a rough, hard breath. His tongue dabbed against Candy’s opening and she contracted once, almost coming around his thick, rough tongue. ‘Because she’s just about one inch away from orgasm.’

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“Trace grunted. ‘Back off. I’m going to turn her.’ Rolling onto his back, he pulled Candy on top of him. ‘Pull her back. All the way back, I want her head between my legs,’ he said as he brought his knees up and flattened his feet on the mattress. “Ashton pulled Candy up by the hips until her face was over Trace’s groin. With his hands, he stretched the cleft of her ass and set his cock head against the tight pucker of her anus. He rocked against her while she was sucking on Trace’s dick and Trace stroked his own shaft. She came before Ashton could even get inside her, his wide head prodding at the delicate rumpled flesh that rimmed the dark kiss of her ass.” Shelley cleared her throat again, making a face as she rubbed her forearm across the tips of her breasts. “So what’s wrong with that?” Rob asked. “A woman couldn’t just…come like that…with no more stimulus than that.” “Yes she could,” he countered immediately. “How do you know?” she challenged. He lifted his gaze to hers. “I’ve done it.” “You couldn’t have done it. You’re a man.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ve done it to a woman.” “Then you don’t know for certain. She could have been faking it.” Rob looked offended as he arched one dark eyebrow. “I assure you, she wasn’t faking it.” “She could have been.” Rob was silent a moment. When he spoke, he was a bit sharp. “I should think by now that you’d have more faith in me.” Shelley snorted softly. “It can be done,” he insisted with stubborn energy. “And I can prove it.” Too late, Shelley started to back down. “She comes and all he’s doing is…is stimulating her anus with his—” 92

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“Yes, it can be done. If the woman is aroused enough. If she’s…prepared.” “I’m sorry—” she started to say. “That’s it!” he ground out in a low, sexy grumble of impatience. A second later, he was out of his chair. Striding toward her, he picked her up. “Believe it or not,” he murmured against her cheek, “I do know how to fuck a woman.” “What are you doing?” she giggled as she squirmed in his arms. “I’m just going show you a few things,” he grunted, throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her through the living room, “bang it on the table and answer a few questions. And when I’m done, you’ll have learned something new about orgasm.” He strode across the living room and into the kitchen. “By the time I’m finished with you, you’ll be begging me to rip these panties off your ass and fuck you like a bitch in heat.” He laughed gruffly, a low guttural sound edged with male passion. “But you won’t get it, Shelley. I won’t enter you no matter how much you beg. All you’ll get is my cock head pounding against the tight little crimp of your ass. Then we’ll see if you come or not.” Bending her over the cool metal table, he held her down with his weight. He put his lips against her ear. “Tell me you don’t want it. Now. Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll stop.” The rough silk of his masculine lips stroked against the swirl of her ear, his breath humid and moist, causing a shivering tremor of excitement to travel her spine. Again, he laughed. “No protests? Then spread your legs for me, Shelley. Give me room to work and I’ll make a believer out of you.” With a defeated moan of acceptance, she moved her legs apart a few inches. “Give me more than that, Shelley. Show me that you want me.” When she opened her legs farther, his hand stroked down along the puffy seam of her sex. A hot spike of desire jolted through her as she tilted her pelvis for his hand.

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Expertly, oh so expertly, he teased his fingers over the silk that covered the full, hungry swell of her outer labia, his touch gentle and encouraging, building a slow, dull burn between her legs. “You’re wet,” he murmured in a voice thickened with lust. “How long have you been waiting for this?” She giggled softly, her face turned on the black tabletop, her mouth slack as she all but drooled with anticipation. “Ever since chapter thirteen.” “Thirteen? No wonder you’re so hot.” His fingers swept the whole line of her sex, from the nick in her cleft, up the eager line of her lips, across her tender opening and into the crease of her ass. He pulled her cheeks apart and swept his fingers deeper, opened her wider in a deliciously erotic stretch. With his palms gliding over the smooth flesh of her backside, he pulled the bottom edges of her panties up over her bottom and pushed them into the crease between her cheeks. Slowly, he teased her in small increments. Never moving to the next step until she grew restless for more. In gradual stages, he taunted her with the promise of more intimacy, further encroachment. By the time he finally spread her lips inside her panties, she was panting against the smooth tabletop in small damp bursts. She moaned when he finally touched her pussy, his fingers slipping inside the legs of her panties and spreading her lips wide, lingering to explore the wet heat between her legs before he pinched the cotton panel into a narrow band and pulled it tight along her open slot. The thin ribbon of silk tugged against her sex all the way from her clitoris to the pucker of her anus, spreading the lips of her sex. Then he went to work on her captured sex, torturing her with the sliding caress of his finger on the silk stretched the whole length of her pussy, using the damp fabric to increase the friction beneath the burning caress of his finger. “Spread your legs. Wider, sweetheart. The wider you can get them, the better it will feel when you start riding my hand.” 94

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He stroked her clit, boldly at first in long languishing sweeps that steadily dwindled to light, diminishing brushes—until he stopped altogether. The warm pad of one finger lay barely touching her clit and, as he’d predicted, she started moving slightly, feeding her hungry sex to his touch. When he withdrew his finger fractionally, the rolling of her hips became deeper as she reached for him with her pussy, stroking the wet silk of her panties across his fingers, eventually thrusting her clit at him and rubbing the whole length of her slot against his hand—rubbing her pussy into his hand like an animal. A very female, very uninhibited, very horny animal. She got deliciously close to orgasm before he pulled away. Responding to an urgent primal need, Shelley ground her mons against the wide edge of the table, whimpering in distress, but Rob pulled her back, grasping her waist, constraining her as she continued to roll her hips in acute arousal. He swiped a fingertip into the tight crease between the top of her thigh and the full, pouting swell of her pussy. His finger slipped on the need-driven sweat that burst out in a hot line along the crease. “You’re close, aren’t you? I wish I could watch your cunt gasping right now, sucking on empty air, hungry for cock.” He taunted her with more dark words until she wished he would just shut up and touch her again. She was sure she would come if he would only brush his fingers across her clit a few more times. When his finger finally feathered across the needy flange of flesh, she sucked in a high-pitched sob. The pleasure was sharp and teasing. But when he prodded a handful of fingers against the pucker of her ass, the pleasure was deeper, fuller and more thorough. It wasn’t teasing so much as promising—darkly, richly promising. Alternately, he stroked her clit to the point of madness then dragged his fingers over her wet opening. With all five fingers making a thick wedge, he drove them against her anus. Settling into a rhythm that matched the flogging of her heart, Rob thrust his handful of fingers at her again and again, stretching her rim beneath the silk of her panties. With each thrust, the bunched panties pulled tight along the whole line

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of her sex, snagging at her swollen clitoris and stimulating every eager fold rumpled inside her wet pussy. Overcome with deep, heavy pleasure, Shelley grunted each time he drove his fingers against her anus. Each thrust tightened the band of fabric that ran through her pussy. She’d never known such complete, deep, long drawn-out pleasure in her life. The only thing that was missing was his cock. One deep thrust of his shaft striking the back of her cunt would be the ultimate bliss. She wanted the perfect ending. The perfect fuck to finish off his masterful foreplay. Rob stopped without warning and Shelley groaned as he stroked his warm palms over the naked, exposed skin of her derriere. His caressing touch tugging her cheeks open fell frustratingly short of the pounding finish her body screamed for. “Your panties are soaked,” he murmured. She cried out when he dragged his tongue through her folds and licked her silk panties from clit to cunt. She trembled in need, sweat trickling down the inside of her thighs as a new gush of moisture drenched her panties. “Too proud to beg?” he taunted her. “Would it do me any good?” she sobbed. “No,” he answered. “We’re doing this by the book.” She heard his buttons popping open and her sex gulped in anticipation, wavering in light spasms at the idea of finally getting some cock. Turning her head to look over her shoulder, she strained to see his naked shaft—how hard and full he was. She moaned when he guided the heavy weight out of his pants, licking her lips as the dark head prodded the air angrily. It disappeared from view and for a few luscious instants she felt the fine, silky texture of his hooded crown kissing the hungry flesh stretched either side of her vulva. Then she felt the wonderfully thick head as he fitted it against her silk-covered anus. When he relaxed his hold on her bottom, her full cheeks closed on several inches of his cock as he started thrusting against her with passionate aggression, throwing his hips at her and pounding against the sensitized flesh of her 96

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rim. With each ramming drive of his hips, the narrow strip of fabric jerked tight inside the swollen seam of her sex as he drove her against the table. Desperate for him, Shelley pushed herself onto her forearms and widened her legs, raising her bottom to him. A few savage thrusts later she came. She came shouting in ecstasy as he flogged her ass with his cock head. Her cheeks grabbed at him as her body clenched from her vulva to the tight ring of her anus. Over and over, her cheeks clenched around the top inches of his shaft. Rob grunted out a low sound heavy with satisfaction as he forced her cheeks apart again and watched his cock spill out on the silk caught in her crease. Shelley felt him come in hot, wet, dripping surges, splashing into the cleft of her ass and dripping down the sweat-slicked flesh of her inner thighs. Turning her head, she watched him pull away and ejaculate across the top of her ass. His eyelids were half closed, his gaze cast downward as he watched his cock spill across her skin. And Shelley thought it was the sexiest damn thing she’d ever seen. With a smug, satisfied smile, he lifted his gaze to hers. “What do you say to that, Miss August?” “It’s Mrs. Brooks,” she corrected him, panting with laughter. “We’ve been married two months.” His diamond blue gaze was sharp and bright. “Tell me I was right.” Shelley was just about overflowing with sated contentment after the dark, incomplete rutting she’d just shared with her husband “You were right,” she admitted unstintingly. “And if it makes you feel better, I’ll never question you again.” Rob turned her around and caught her in one arm. With his finger, he traced a line down her nose and over her lips. “Never question me again?” he complained as one eyebrow winged upward. “Don’t make me sorry I married you.” Shelley rolled her eyes and giggled. “I’ll do my best. But I’m warning you now. If you ever get tired of me, I’m going after your brother.” Rob chuckled. “Flirt. You liked Brady, didn’t you?” 97

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“Only because he reminds me of you.” Shelley hesitated. “Have you seen your brother since our wedding?” “Brady? No. Why?” “I just…wondered if he was all right.” Rob questioned her with his eyes. “Why wouldn’t he be?” “Is he still getting married next month?” “As far as I know.” Rob frowned at her. “Why do you ask?” Shelley shrugged, laughing lightly to dispel the disquiet that fell over her every time she though of Brady—every time she pictured him in her mind’s eye—the shielded, faraway look that burned in his dark blue eyes. “I just hope he’ll be okay with Vicky. He seems…haunted.” “Haunted?” Rob blurted out in a laugh. “What? Only a woman would come up with something like that. Only a woman would look at my little brother and decide the poor guy was haunted! You, my darling wife, are being melodramatic.” Shelley nodded thoughtfully then gave her husband a reluctant smile. “Yeah,” she agreed. “I guess you’re probably right.”

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Epilogue “And the winner for Best Erotic Suspense is—no surprise here—Ms. Bobbi Brooks for her full-length novel, Sharing Candy.” The master of ceremonies making this announcement at the 2007 Romance Lovers Convention hardly waited three seconds before she handed off the award to her assistant and picked up the next card. Octavia October had presided over enough award ceremonies and had announced enough Bobbi Brooks victories to assume that the reclusive erotica writer would be a “no show” for the third year running. So Octavia was a bit nonplussed when a man approached the stage in long strides. She was even more surprised when she realized that she knew him—that he’d been sitting at her table beside her husband when lunch had been served twenty minutes earlier. Introduced to her that morning as Robert Brooks by Bolt’s sister, and accompanied by his wife, Tavia knew him only as a friend of April’s husband. “Rob?” Tavia queried hesitantly. “Are you here to accept the award for Bobbi?” “Yes,” the handsome man replied firmly, sweeping Tavia into a short hug and planting a kiss on her cheek. Tavia checked the round table where Bolt sat along with Rob’s friends and their wives. She shrugged at her husband as he grinned and joined the other two men at the table in making an atrocious amount of noise. Tavia smiled wryly. The three men at the table might look like male models, but their behavior was adorably unpolished. If they were male models, they were definitely of the lumberjack variety. Especially Tavia’s husband Bolt. His whistle was enough to bring down the crystal chandeliers that sprinkled gold light down on the hundreds of round tables in the large ballroom.

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Octavia’s assistant hurried to put the small glass sculpture into Rob’s hands, almost melting on the spot when the dark man flashed her a smile. With the award cupped in his long fingers, he turned and leaned toward the microphone on the podium. “Thank you,” he announced into the microphone, his low, melodic voice filling the huge, glittering ballroom. “I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you for all of the previous honors you’ve bestowed on Bobbi Brooks, which is the name under which I write—under which I am proud to write. I hope you’ll forgive me for my absences in the past.” He took a breath, smiling down at the table in front of the podium. Specifically, he smiled at the dark-haired woman who was his wife. “For years I’ve been writing fiction. Everyone here understands that fiction isn’t real, right? It doesn’t happen in real life. That’s the way I felt about romance. I didn’t believe it was real. Even after authoring sixteen romance novels, I didn’t believe in it. It took a real-life heroine to change my mind. I’d like to thank my wife Shelley for finally setting me straight on the matter of romance and for teaching me everything I know about love.” Loud applause followed Rob back to his table, where he stooped to put a long kiss against Shelley’s lips.

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About the Author I slung the heavy battery pack around my hips and cinched it tight—or tried to. “Damn.” Brian grabbed an awl. Leaning over me, he forged a new hole in the too-big belt. “Any advice?” I asked him as I pulled the belt tight. “Yeah. Don’t reach for the ore cart until it starts moving, then jump on the back and immediately duck your head. The voltage in the overhead cable won’t just kill you. It’ll blow you apart.” That was my first day on my first job. Employed as an engineer, I’ve worked in an underground mine that went up—inside a mountain. I’ve swung over the Ohio River in a tiny cage suspended from a crane in the middle of an electrical storm. I’ve hung over the Hudson River at midnight in an aluminum boat—30 foot in the air—suspended from a floating barge at the height of a blizzard, while snowplows on the bridge overhead rained slush and salt down on my shoulders. You can’t do this sort of work without developing a sense of humor, and a sense of adventure. New to publishing, I read my first romance two years ago and started writing. Both my reading and writing habits are subject to mood and I usually have several stories going at once. When I need a really good idea for a story, I clean toilets. Now there’s an activity that engenders escapism. I was surveying when I met my husband. He was my ‘rod man’. While I was trying to get my crosshairs on his stadia rod, he dropped his pants and mooned me. Next thing I know, I’ve got the backside of paradise in my viewfinder. So I grabbed the walkie-talkie. “That’s real nice,” I told him, “but would you please turn around? I’d rather see the other side.” …it was love at first sight. Madison welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

Also by Madison Hayes Alpha Romeos – with Rhyannon Byrd Calendar Girls: Miss April Calendar Girls: Miss December Calendar Girls: Miss February Calendar Girls: Miss October Dye’s Kingdom: Wanting It Forever Enter the Dragon anthology Gryffin Strain: His Female In the Arms of Danger Kingdom of Khal: Redeeming Davik Kingdom of Yute: Tor’s Betrayal Made For Two Men Zeke’s Hands

Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.

www.ellorascave.com