The Gypsy & The Jester

The Gypsy & the Jester By Shawna Moore Triskelion Publishing www.triskelionpublishing.com

Triskelion Publishing 15327 W. Becker Lane Surprise, AZ 85379 Copyright © Shawna Moore

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the publisher except, where permitted by law. ISBN 1-933874-64-3

Publisher’s Note. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to a person or persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.

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The Gypsy and the Jester

Chapter One

Carnelian red, the liquid glistened inside the glass vial. Chloe Vincent kissed the air. Her fingers tingled from contact with the concoction. This would work. Her Master’s Degree and sex life depended on a success. In the twenty years since “New Directions” first opened for business on Dauphine Street, this might well be its finest hour. Sally Aucoin bustled into the back room and jostled her. “You got a customer.” She displayed a gap-toothed grin. “Plenty handsome too.” Interest piqued by the cleaning woman’s comment, she placed the vial into a slot in the wire rack and slipped between the beaded curtains. The chemistry session could wait, a sexy man couldn’t. She crimped her toes against the base of the silk-fabric thongs. Now they wouldn’t slap against the soles of her feet. Better to watch than be watched. Smoke curled upward from an incense burner, infusing the shop with the heady essence of ylang ylang. The vendor guaranteed satisfaction from just one sniff. Today, she wasn’t complaining. One peek past the display case and carnal energy surged through her system. Who needed incense when confronted with the perfect male specimen? Brushing her hands over her hair and breasts, she stepped into the aisle leading directly to the Adonis. Even in silhouette, the strong, determined set of his jaw and toned body made her pulse quicken. What to do about the throbbing of her clit and the dampness in her crotch? If only she could do him. He admired one of her most popular sex toys and failed to acknowledge her approach. This shopper was no stranger. Far from it. But what was he doing with the dildo? “May I help you find something?” She drew out each syllable for sexual effect. Long fingers fumbling with the packaging flaps, he shoved the toy back into the box and faced her with a devilish smile. “You have some interesting things in this shop.” Already her luck was changing. Her formula completed. The air around her saturated with his scent. Before her stood Mark Sloan, son of the world-renowned Behavioral Psychologist, Edward Sloan, an opinionated man whose scholarly works were published in countless languages. “You are a believer in the power of seduction and sensual experience?” Mark shook his head. “Not what I said, Miss Vincent.” “Chloe. Please, call me Chloe.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “Fine. Chloe. I’m in slight disagreement with some of my father’s findings. That’s one of the reasons I’m here. To conduct further research.” Yeah, and I’m ready to become a nun tomorrow. She grabbed a pencil. Under the force of her fingers, it snapped. “You mean you’re here to denigrate my business and beliefs. Here to drag my name through the mud like your father did last week in The Times-Picayune. He approached, graceful in his movements, but her stolid stance had dealt him a blow. It shook this cocksure stud to his very core. No mistaking his body language in that matter. A heat flashed through her crotch, and she squeezed her legs tighter together. Mark tapped the display case. “May I see that, please?”

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“Courtesy will only get you so far with me, Mister Sloan.” “We’re not on a first-name basis anymore?” She licked away some of the gloss she wore, and his eyes followed her tongue’s path. “That depends.” After unlocking the case, she produced the tray of charms and trinkets for his inspection. “What are your terms, Chloe? Will we come to some soon?” Her mind conjured torrid images. How would he appear tangled in her black satin sheets, the sweat from his body dampening them and her? Speaking of coming… “If you’re willing to respect my beliefs and ideologies, I suppose we’ll get along fine.” After mulling over the items, he removed a silver amulet from the emerald-green velvet cloth. His thick fingers stroked the metal. He turned the talisman over in his palm. “Interesting.” His nostrils flared and he lifted his head. A cobalt-blue fire burned deep within his eyes. “What? My beliefs?” The fact I’m wet and willing to start researching your reaction to sexual stimuli right now? “No, the piece of jewelry.” Piece? Was everything—and every woman—just a piece to him? “I don’t think you’d want that particular amulet.” He leaned over the counter, his nose nearly touching hers. “Why’s that?” Warm and sweet, his mint-scented breath fanned over her face and neck. Keep your mind on business for once. Don’t let this charmer disarm you. “It’s used to promote virility in males.” She glanced around the shop to see if anyone else had come in. Good, they were all alone, except for Sally sweeping in the back room. “It makes them hard for hours, or so the legend goes.” Like a storm devoid of its thunder, his expression softened and he looked away. Then, uttering a low growl, he swept his blazing blue gaze over her face, and it bored into the depths of her soul. This couldn’t be happening. She was immune to the heated stares of aroused men. Her pussy wanted attention from his hot fingers and tongue. Damn him. Only a session of sex would soothe her throbbing clit. He laughed. “No. No problems in that department.” Chloe accepted the amulet from him and closed the sliding window. As the glass panel grated over the wooden cabinet’s track, her nipples pebbled. Like two cats in one of the French Quarter’s alleys, they circled each other, sharing little information but keeping track of all details divulged. After tormenting her with his silence, Mark’s tongue appeared and licked his kissable mouth. “I’ll take one box of the green tea.” He preferred tea to coffee? Oh, well. For him, tea was a more practical purchase than a dildo. Any and all sales were appreciated, especially with profits down over ten percent the past six months. All because of Edward Sloan and his nay-saying, her business was headed toward the red. “It’s one of our best sellers.” Only running second to Chinese stress balls and gazing balls. She kicked off her sandals and mounted the ladder assembly. The slap of his soles

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reached her ears. As her hand closed around the purchase, a box of spiced tea slipped from the shelf. Beside her, Mark reached out and plucked the package from the air. Long fingers fastened around the cellophane-covered box. As she shifted position, her right foot lost contact with the ladder and she pitched backwards. Strong arms gripped her body. Air rushed from between her lips as her body impacted his. Her paisley sundress snaked upward, exposing her bare, faux-tanned thighs. Get a good whiff, honey. I’m hornier than hell and you’re stoking the fire. “Uh, thanks. How clumsy of me.” This wasn’t the time to be losing control. She closed her eyes and counted backwards from ten. With each intake of his breath, his chest swelled against her back. Crap. Mark Sloan was sensory overload in the most seductive and mind-blowing way possible. “Do you get this excited over every sale?” His bass tone washed over her like the tropical surf. Salvage at least a shred of dignity. She struggled to free herself from his capable clutches, but to no avail. “No. That rickety ladder has to go. I haven’t had time to get a new one.” “Sure you weren’t thinking about something other than tea when you fell?” Self-assured. Just like his father. Cut from the same exclusive cloth. “Put me down, and I’ll ring up your purchase.” ***** Mark’s cock surged as a curtain of honey-kissed hair drifted over her face. He longed to brush it away and reveal her pretty features. But better safe than sorry. Those blood red fingernails of hers would rake across his face or hand so fast, he wouldn’t have time to react. Her lips puckered. “This box is damaged. Let me get another one. It’ll only take a minute.” “Sure. No problem.” With each step, her full hips swayed. As she leaned over to claim another box of tea from a nearby carton, the dress rode up over the sexy swell of her ass. For this mysterious woman he’d wait more than a minute. If only he could get her up on that ladder again. She-cat Chloe had a heart-shaped ass, sweet suckable nipples and a body built for sin. She might not admit her feelings, but she couldn’t deny them. He inhaled deeply. Only the incense’s pungent odor now filled his nostrils. Gone was her musk. She stood and tucked a few strands of hair behind her right ear. “Will there be anything else today?” With each inch she got closer to him, he memorized her curves. A soft rattling came from underneath the counter, and she pulled a sheet of light-green tissue paper into view. With great precision and swipes of her hands, she wrapped the box of tea. “No.” Caught like a kid in the cookie jar. He pointed to the incense burner. “What’s that scent?” “Ylang ylang. Shouldn’t have any effect on you or your father.” “Why not? It’s unlike anything I’ve ever smelled.” “It’s an aphrodisiac. Your father trounced my theories on the effects of aphrodisiacs a couple weeks ago. Have you forgotten the newspaper article?” He hadn’t. Truth be told, his views on sexual stimulation differed drastically from his

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father’s. But he couldn’t tell her otherwise. Not yet. “That’s part of the research I’m conducting.” Leaning over the counter, he insinuated himself into her space. “Maybe you can help me out?” “Wouldn’t that be consorting with the enemy?” She shoved the package toward him, stormy flecks of gray appearing in her green eyes. His hand trembled as he reached into his back pocket for the leather wallet. Shit. She was so powerful, so self-assured. “I’d rather be your friend than your foe,” he said and paid for his tea. “What about this stuff?” He rattled the paper bag. “Only touted for health benefits. You won’t get the urge to do anything out of the ordinary after sipping that.” Urge? He had a primal urge to wrestle her onto the counter and fuck her until her hair curled. I’ll bet she’s shaved smooth as silk down below and already wet. No, Chloe wasn’t the submissive type. Total control seemed more in tune with her character. He winked and she averted her gaze. “I’ll let you know if anything else happens.” “Please do. Then I can post it in my column. I trust you’ll let me publish such a finding?” “Maybe, but I always prefer delving more deeply into things I’m researching. Superficiality is fine for some, but…” “Not for Mark Sloan. The Mark Sloan. Son of Edward Sloan, the Nay-sayer of New Orleans.” The pupils of her sea-green eyes blazed like black coals and bored through his flesh to the bone. This petite woman was a powerhouse in her own right. She’d be one to reckon with between the sheets. But if he wasn’t careful, she’d toss him out of here on his ass. “I don’t always agree with my father’s findings. His theories are just that, his alone. I perform my own research.” “Then I’ll interview you sometime. Maybe about your preferences for certain teas?” His watch beeped. Noon. “How about over lunch today?” A petal-pink sliver of her tongue teased the plush pillow of her lower lip. His mouth watered. This woman gave as good as she got—in business and probably in bed. The brass bell jingled and a plump brunette entered the shop. Huffing and puffing her way back to where they stood, she tossed her shoulder bag onto the opposite display counter. “Damned morons on Bourbon Street. That’s the third time they got my order wrong. Do I look like a woman who wants low-calorie Cajun sauce for my muffuletta?” Not at all, but he wouldn’t offer his opinion. Chloe wheeled on the wild-eyed woman. “Athena, you can watch the shop while we go to lunch.” From the top of his head to the tips of his Bruno Magli’s, Athena didn’t miss one inch. “S’pose so. Hope it doesn’t get too busy. I wanted to read through the recipe book I bought.” At this audacious suggestion, Chloe’s cheeks flamed and she crossed to where her employee slumped against the counter. “I’m not paying you to read cookbooks. Please, do that in your spare time. If things get busy, Sally will help you wrap the purchases. She’s in the back rearranging some of the stock.” Athena nodded, the color drained from her face. “Sounds like a plan.” She traced a finger over the cookbook’s cover but pushed it away. “Not very busy in here anymore. I

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should make out fine.” ***** Chloe gritted her teeth. Damn. Of all the lousy luck and days for Athena to be on time. The very day she wanted more time alone with the unsuspecting subject of her experiment. Don’t let him see you’re pleased with his invitation. “I have a couple things to take care of and then I’ll join you.” “Gaudoise’s? Fifteen minutes?” “Sounds good.” Almost as good as you look to my man-hungry eyes. She sauntered over to the opposite side of the shop. Relax. Let your hips do the talking. Get away from the watchful gaze of Athena Drake. “Weren’t you looking for something else earlier?” Her fingers closed around the object she sought. Pulling open the lid, she removed the pink dildo and rubbed it between her breasts. He followed, grinding to a halt in front of her and tugging at the cuffs of his dress shirt. “Not really.” With every swallow, his Adam’s apple thrust against the tanned column of his throat. Hidden from anyone else’s view but his, she leaned over a side counter and rubbed the sex toy over and into the cleft of her ass. With each pass of the provocative toy, her dress rode up and displayed the bottoms of her cheeks. Make his balls stir and sweat. “See? The intensity’s adjustable.” One glance over her shoulder told the tale. There was no mistaking the curvy outline of his cock beside his pant’s zipper. She slipped the dildo under her dress and turned the dial. A low humming noise emanated from deep within the pink latex. His lips worked together, but no words came out. Turning around to confront the object of her planned seduction, she climbed up on the counter and demonstrated the device. Underneath the soft cotton dress, the dildo pulsed against her lower belly as she toyed with herself and his emotions. For added effect, she spread her legs wider and gave him a glimpse of her crotch during one pass of the toy. Good thing she’d worn her thong panties today. When she’d worked him into a proper lather, she turned it off. Enough for now. Better to keep him in a little suspense. “Cat still got your tongue?” The same tongue that would feel so nice licking my pussy. “Nice demonstration. You’re a really hard sell.” Hard sell, indeed. And he was harder than the carbon deposits in a diamond mine. “Your lady friend would have a lot of fun with this when you’re not around.” Athena’s sandals slapped against the polished wood flooring. She climbed down and smoothed her dress down over her hips. Pick something else or nosy will know what’s going on. “What about books? I have some really interesting ones.” She grabbed one depicting couples in various sexual positions and flipped it open. “This one delves into reasons why men like some positions while women prefer others. That may be of interest to your research, or at least provide another viewpoint to consider.” “Yes, but…” His hand closed over hers as she traced along the thick cock captured in the color glossy. “I don’t think that would be of any use to me.” She pulsed her finger over the pictorial erection, rubbing harder despite the increasing pressure of his damp fingers. “Let’s turn the page.” With a sharp intake of breath, Mark removed his hand and she flipped to the next

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scandalous spread. Perfect. The woman’s legs dangled over the man’s shoulders while he ate her pussy. “This is interesting. Shows how men satisfy their basest hungers, wouldn’t you say?” A slight turn of her head and their gazes locked. “It displays a man’s desire to taste that which arouses his senses and mind.” “Don’t you have some other customers who need assistance?” Nice try, but no cigar. “The shop’s empty except for us, my cleaning lady and Athena. If you’re uneasy…” He swallowed hard and dragged a finger underneath his shirt collar. “Uneasy? I’ve seen far more graphic pictures than that?” “Oh? Care to tell me about them?” He jerked and pivoted away from her, resting his body against the counter. Underneath the silk of his suit pants, there was no mistaking the outline of his erection. “I’ve read so many reference manuals it’s hard to remember them all.” “I’m sure. This reference manual isn’t the only thing that’s hard.” She closed the small gap between them, the toes of her sandals touching against the ends of his pricey dress shoes. “I’m one who is aroused by looking at pictures. What about you?” His gaze darted everywhere, finally landing on her face. He ensnared his lower lip between his teeth for a nanosecond before freeing it. “What man doesn’t like to look?” “Not any I know.” Mark moved sideways and pinned her against the edge of the counter. “No harm in looking. The trouble comes with touching.” His crotch pressed against her belly, the heat from his body threatening to singe hers through the skimpy dress. “I have a few things to do before joining you for lunch. Just let me know if there’s anything else I can help you with.” The warmth disappeared as he backed away. “See you shortly,” he muttered and hastened toward the front door, adjusting the rise of his trousers in flight. “Bye.” Hard to handle. So, there’s a shy streak running through that playboy’s body. Not only is he impeccably groomed, but he also frequents one of the French Quarter’s trendiest eateries. She drew in a deep breath and blew it out. Only the faint scent of woodsy aftershave lingered in his wake. Get back to your work. You won’t succeed if you aren’t careful. He’s one of the area’s most eligible bachelors, and a man who isn’t easily swayed. She grabbed the dildo and carried it toward the storage area. That chance to make Mark sweat was well worth the write-off. Profits be damned when it came to seduction. The curtain’s clear plastic beads swished against her arms. Once out of Athena’s radar, she cast the soiled sex toy aside. From the top drawer of a small oaken desk, she removed a nail file. Sunlight filtered through the window and cast kaleidoscopic patterns over the rear wall. She shivered with each rasp of the file over her nails. Once finished, she admired her makeshift manicure. All ten crimson claws the perfect shape and length. Turning her hands palm-side up, she grinned. Half an inch long. Perfect for the passionate plan she’d soon execute. Remnants of her fevered labors remained scattered on the table. She smeared her finger over some of the ground oyster shell and then swiped it through a droplet of avocado oil. She’d present Professor Davidson and the Thesis Committee with one of the finest ever. In the

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process, she’d more than prove her research points and turn her ultimate fantasy into risqué reality. On her return to the front of the shop, a few customers browsed. Better straighten the bookrack before I leave for lunch. She crossed to the empty section of the store and located the volume Mark and she had perused. How to Satisfy Every Woman’s Desire in Bed. Did he think he was man enough to do the same with her? Would his cock fill her hot pussy like no man’s ever had? Push her to dizzying heights? Or was he just a stud whose IQ far surpassed his sexual prowess? All talk and nothing to back it up? He couldn’t mind fuck her. A few had tried but none had succeeded. What her research required was raw lust not sweet pillow talk. But it wasn’t all about her. She’d more than share the sexual spotlight with Mark. Her stomach rumbled. Maybe she’d have one of those stuffed Cajun sausages with melted cheese oozing out of the end. Gooey and delicious as it covered her lips and tongue. One long, hot piece of meat sizzling as it hit her palate. She could put the whole thing in her mouth and deep-throat it while Mark Sloan exploded in his pants.

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Chapter Two The ceiling fan agitated and groaned overhead. Mark closed his eyes. Why was he dreading a luncheon date with the woman of his sexual dreams? True, this was his first social encounter with the authoress of the Picayune’s most popular column—Comments from Chloe— but he’d never sweated as much as today. Damn it to hell and back again. She was hotter than an afternoon in August and a hell of a lot prettier. The icy mug cooled his lips, and he downed half the beer in one draught. Chloe Vincent had loved making him squirm and watching him sweat. Loved making his balls turn blue while she flicked that pink plastic toy over her belly and pussy. “Can I get you a refill on that?” the bartender asked and he accepted. “Woman got you worried? Then, again, that’s none of my business.” Was he that obvious? Just out of a good relationship gone bad, he’d promised himself he’d steer clear of women for a while. If only he could convince his cock to stay soft while he watched Chloe. He rubbed his palms over his legs. Chloe’s thighs were so soft and warm as she tumbled into his arms. “It’s an aphrodisiac.” Her soft drawl played in his mind. Talk was cheap, but Chloe Vincent wasn’t. Class with a capital “C.” From the part in her golden hair to the tips of her painted toes, she was one woman who needed sex as much as everyone else needed air. Despite that heady aroma of, what was it, ylang ylang, he preferred the scent of her hot pussy and the pink dildo playing along the crease of her ass. What an act. Every bit as steamy as the platter of oysters and other shellfish the waiter now bore from the bustling kitchen. She’d set his world and cock on fire without breaking a bead of sweat. Another beer mug bumped against the counter, and he slipped a Lincoln to the bartender. Damn it. Guard your heart with your life. Concentrate on your real mission. Disprove her claims about the carnal effects of aphrodisiacs. Don’t let her turn you into a babbling monkey. Think with your upper head. He took a long swallow from the fresh mug. A hand brushed against his shoulder, and he turned to confront its owner. There she stood, sweeter than any sugar. Chloe Vincent. Was there no end to her torment? Both nipples poked the front of her floral dress. His cock stirred and he shifted position. “Hello, Mark. Glad you kept me a seat.” She leaned over and positioned her delectable bottom on the barstool. Both breasts strained outward, and he directed his gaze toward the bar taps. “Not a problem. Glad you could make it. Not easy to get away from work sometimes.” “When it comes to work and my business, I don’t mix them with pleasure.” She toyed with his cocktail napkin, but let it drop. “You’re a mess.” Eyes crossed, he admired her index finger as it wiped away a smear of foam from his upper lip. When the same finger disappeared between her glossy lips, his cock received her signal, and the ache intensified in his groin. “There. That’s better.” She swiveled on the stool. “Your beer tastes pretty good. Imported?” Hell. All she was worried about was the beer? Or was she?

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“Yeah, German-brewed.” He motioned to the bartender, but she caught his hand in hers. “None of that stuff for me. I’ll have a green apple martini, please. Extra dry.” Spit sailed down his throat in the wrong direction. Dry? Not on your life, she-devil. Every time she opened her legs, there was no mistaking her arousal. Wet as Lake Ponchartrain. The graying bartender sloshed the ingredients into the shaker along with some ice. The mixture frothed upon being strained into the martini glass. “Mmmm. That’ll hit the spot.” Chloe flashed the bartender a drop-dead smile as he set the liquid pleasure in front of her. “We’ll be out on the patio.” He sprang off the stool and shot a parting glance at the grinning bartender who was obviously enjoying the sex dance between his current customers. Mark secured their drinks and guided Chloe to his usual table at the far end of the patio. Wind whipped the ends of the red umbrellas. Each one flapped like a bird in flight and luckily hid the hammering of his heart. The breeze blew harder, and he stole a sideways glance at her legs. Don’t let her get to you on that level. After setting down the drinks and pulling out her chair, he quickly slipped into his own and adjusted the rise of his trousers. He scanned the menu he’d memorized long ago. “What happened to Mary Gentille, the lady who used to operate New Directions?” “She passed away last year and left me the shop in her will. Aunt Mary always said I was her favorite niece and had a good head for business.” Chloe licked the rim of the martini glass. “Do you?” Oh, she had a good head, but was it for business or pleasure? “Better than most. It’s not easy crunching numbers and a full slate of electives at the same time. This spring, I’ll earn my Master’s in Pharmacology. I’m still struggling with certain elements of my thesis and research.” Now’s your chance. “If you need any help, let me know.” ***** Chloe smiled to herself. If he only knew how much help he’d be. Actually, without him, she wouldn’t be able to conduct such an erotic experiment. “I’ll manage fine by myself.” Liar. “New Directions is a challenge I welcome. Of course, once I earn my degree, I’ll have to hire someone to manage the business for me.” She laughed and silenced her lips against the side of the martini glass. Not half as much as the challenge of mastering Mark Sloan after experiencing a sexual dry spell that’s lasted more than four months. Having no man in her life was miserable. “What’s so amusing?” He stroked his index finger along the edge of the menu. Chills chased up her spine. “When I was about ten years old, Aunt Mary came for tea one day at our Garden District home. She gave us each one of her new business cards. One glance and I almost spilled tea over my newest dress. As I was a precocious child, the spelling seemed all wrong.” “Why’s that? New Directions. That’s easy to spell.” He missed her point entirely. “New Directions? To me it sounded like Nude Erections.” She enunciated perfectly. How his nostrils flared. If he squirmed any more, he’d wear the seat of his pants through. “Leave it to you. Bet you didn’t say that in front of your mother?” “Sure I did and was grounded for a week.” She set down her tangy drink and pointed

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to an area above her left eyebrow. “See this?” “Looks like a scar from a chicken pock.” “Guess again. This scar is compliments of my mother’s three-carat canary-yellowdiamond cocktail ring.” Mark fidgeted with his place setting, repositioning the flatware at odd angles on the table linens. While they both remained silent, another diner careened past their table. The glassware teetered and some of the martini sloshed onto the tablecloth. She reached to steady it, but Mark had already wrapped his long fingers around the slender stem of the glass. She fitted her fingers over his. Time to stroke them and his ego. “Are your reflexes always that quick?” “My dream was to be a catcher for the Texas Rangers. I settled into the field of Behavioral Psychology by default.” “At your father’s insistence?” “He might control his lab experiments, but he doesn’t control me or my desires.” Things were looking up. “And what might they be, your desires, that is? Did you find everything you were looking for today? If not, and you have a little time, I can continue my demonstration.” ***** Damn. Mark swallowed a mouthful of spit. She kept him on the defensive more than his neighbor’s nasty Doberman. Of all the things for him to look at and be caught, he had to choose a damned nonsensical guide-to-better sex and the pink dildo. No doubt she’d witnessed his hard-on earlier as she turned up the volume on that oversized and overpriced piece of plastic. “Won’t be necessary. Not much interests me in a feminine boutique. I’ve never tried green tea. Supposed to be good for you, isn’t it? My diet often suffers as a result of my lifestyle and lecture schedule.” “Speaking of lectures, sometime you’ll have to come to one of mine.” She tapped the toe of her sandal against his leather dress shoe. “Find out more about herbs and their healing properties.” Herbs? He wanted to come period, not sit around talking about St. John’s Wort and ginseng. “My schedule’s pretty tight.” Was she? Would she grip him like a boa and beg for a harder, deeper fuck? She placed her order and passed the waiter her menu. “Maybe you can squeeze it in sometime? If not, I’m flexible.” Shit. She wasn’t a woman with whom to engage in verbal battles. Chloe Vincent was the duchess of the double entendre. “Sure. Why not? I love broadening my outlook. Delving more deeply into research topics and things that prove of interest.” Marcel, their waiter, hastened to their table and stood at attention. Even he appeared to be looking through Chloe as opposed to at her. “Broaden? Like I’m about to broaden my hips with this luncheon today?” She giggled and scraped her nail across the menu. “I’d like the Taste of Cajun, please.” “You look like a woman who has perfect metabolism.” While she watched the passersby, he muttered his order. See how she reacts to this

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entrée. Only a short time passed before Marcel returned and placed the platter of oysters in front of him and another selection in front of her. How her sea-green eyes widened and her full breasts rose over the bodice. He nodded toward the steaming plate set in front of her. “I see you like sausage. Care for one of these?” He lifted one of the half shells. “No, thanks. I don’t like seafood.” Chloe speared the farthest end of the sausage with her fork, drew the dripping meat to her lips and bit into it. Her glossy lips gripped the casing like there was no tomorrow. She teased her lips along the length of the Cajun-grilled meat, tracing her tongue along its underside before several inches of greasy pork disappeared between her lips. She must have practiced that move a million times. With each of her swallows, he almost exploded in his pants. In and out of her mouth. Melted cheese oozed over her lips. Giggling, she removed the sausage link and licked off the stickiness. The mysterious Miss Vincent was spicier than courtbouillion in a crawfish boil. “I’d have taken you for a vegetarian,” he said. “Oh, no. I love meat…and plenty of it.” ***** Chloe ground her bottom into the seat. He’s ready to ride me to the moon and back. Too bad this is a public place. Mark picked up one of the slippery half shells and slurped the oyster away. Long and pink, his tongue flicked around the bottom of the shell for a brief second and tasted the remaining juice. God and Good Housekeeping. To have his head between her legs, licking and lapping every bit of cum from her hot pussy. If he ate all of those oysters, she’d have to make a trip to the ladies room and finger herself to release. She clamped her legs together. “You must like taking chances. Otherwise, you wouldn’t place all of those bacteria into your body. How do you keep your hands so steady holding those awful things?” He grinned. Dimples appeared at the corners of his glistening mouth. She met his gaze. Green boring into blue. Deeper and deeper. If only she could dive into their depths and land in his soul. Once there, she’d learn what his deepest fears and desires were. That aside, if all went as planned, her experiment would begin soon. She sliced a small section of sausage and plunged it between her hungry lips. “Not a problem.” He flexed the fingers of his left hand. “These hands could belong to a surgeon.” “Is your heart as steady as your hands?” She drew in a deep breath and siphoned it out over her upraised fork. He stopped eating for a second and studied her with almost as much intensity as he downed the raw seafood. “Okay. Let me explain. Do you feel emotionally attached, committed to your research and published findings?” With a starched white linen napkin, he dabbed the oyster juice from his lips. “Absolutely. Steady hands, steady heart.” His lips quivered. “Steady everything. Totally committed to anything that appeals to me.” Well, steady hands, stroke my nipples and clit and we’ll see how in touch they really

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are. “There’s a lot one can learn from watching others, in public or at social settings.” Hopefully, he’d attend the Ballantine’s Mardi-Gras Ball tomorrow night. Flesh and fantasy. Debauchery at its most delicious. The Ballantine’s were masters of the masquerade. “I agree. See and be seen. Observe and be observed. The name of the game in New Orleans and the French Quarter.” One oyster remained on the platter, shimmering in the early afternoon sun. Spearing it on the tines of his fork, Mark leaned across the table and held it near her lips. “Care to suck this off?” he asked, eyes ablaze with cobalt carnality. Just the oyster, and not your cock that’s probably still stiff as steel and concealed by the red linen tablecloth. “Why not? I’ll try anything once.” She opened her mouth wide to accept his offering. She mimicked him and slurped the seafood, and the officious morsel slid to the back of her throat. A bit bland and snotty, but not too bad. She swallowed and gulped several mouthfuls of ice water. “Why do men like those nasty things?” Please, tell me. Tell me in the most dirty and graphic terms, Mr. Oh-So-Hot-ICould-Just-Scream. “I thought you didn’t believe in aphrodisiacs?” Too late, her lips were looser than a hooker’s hips. “Matter of fact, I’m still forming a theory on that one. But I’ve always loved oysters.” Okay, bad boy. “Sorry I don’t share your enthusiasm.” But I’d love to share your bed. Mark tapped his pilsner glass. “Would you like another martini? I’d have another brew but can’t since I have a meeting to attend later.” He reached inside and removed a tape recorder from his suit jacket. “Afraid another beer will mess with your mind?” “I’ve never allowed myself to become intoxicated.” Not even by a woman? Closer, closer he leaned as she seduced him with her stare. His hand stroked hers in a hesitant way. He was turning the tables on her. No way, Jose. “Neither have I.” She relaxed her hand and splayed the fingers wide. Not missing a beat, he inserted his hot digits between them. “Care for some dessert?” “Something with lots of cream would hit the spot.” Now, Mr. Hot Shot. Top that one. “And hot fudge dripping down the sides?” Oooh. Too wicked. She’d never met a man who kept up with her bawdy banter like Mark. “Sticky and sweet. Drenching everything it touches.” “Now that’s an interesting idea.” He grinned and waved off the waiter and a selection of delectable desserts. “Don’t take offense at my suggestion. Since it’s Mardi-Gras time, what about walking down Bourbon wearing only a set of pasties and a beige thong. You could cover your body in chocolate.” So, her lunch date had a sense of humor? “Chocolate Chick? Or maybe Devil’s Food Diva?” “I think you’d fit the latter, don’t you?” “But I have such a fondness for éclairs.” “I can’t imagine why.” His grin became more devilish with each beat of her heart. Now they were getting somewhere. “It’s only three days until the parade begins. I can’t be ready in that short a time.” Before she could blink, the man named Marcel returned. The pen scraped across the slip as Mark signed with flair. He was born to sign restaurant tabs— and do everything—in a bold way. Marcel nodded, accepted the leather folder and walked

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away. “Ready? How hard is it to put a skimpy costume like that one together?” He stood and offered his hand. As they left the patio, he slid into step beside her. Around them, out-oftowners joked and smoked, visibly eager for the Mardi-Gras celebration to commence. She stared at the sidewalk. “I couldn’t possibly lose those extra five or ten pounds in less than a week. I’d need to do something that really made me sweat.” ***** Mark assayed her sexy body. Damn. She could make any man reconsider remaining single. Chloe Vincent was hotter than a plateful of habaneras. “You look better than a lot of cover girls. Not that I’m an expert, but I am…” He paused. A piece of lettuce remained on his front tooth. He ran his tongue over his upper row of teeth and winced at the roughness still remaining. Last year he’d had it filed down by his dentist so the cracked edge wasn’t as noticeable. Fifteen years ago his father struck him in the mouth and spoiled an otherwise flawless smile. “A man.” She finished his sentence and stroked his shirtsleeve. “With my luck it’d rain that day. I’d look like one of the girls from the live nudie review. I could always dress up as Madame Laveau?” “My father called you the Modern-day Madame Laveau, didn’t he?” “Yes. That remark was in the first paragraph of your father’s article. The one in which he attacked my credibility and my shop’s current inventory of aphrodisiacs. Please enlighten him that I’m not into voodoo or Black Magick.” Her lips shone with the new coat of pinkish-orange gloss she now applied. The color of a persimmon’s pulp. He swallowed hard. To have the pleasure of licking every inch of her luscious body. You can run but you can’t hide, sweet Chloe. Your pussy is primed for a session between the sheets. His beeper vibrated. “Excuse me.” Damn. No time to head to the men’s room now. He’d have to take matters into hand once he got back to his office. He glanced at the display. Only his father could have known the exact moment to interrupt his conversation with Chloe. “That has to be Edward.” The flat heels of her sandals slapped against the concrete banquette as she walked away. “Here’s a message. Tell him to stick his opinions up his pompous ass.” Halfway up the street, she turned and blew him a kiss. “Thanks for lunch. I enjoyed it.” “Maybe we can do it again soon?” Or I can do you. Unlike his father, he had no ax to grind with Chloe Vincent. “Maybe? I’ll be getting more books soon. I’m sure you’ll want to check them out.” He admired her stick-straight posture. Check out books when he could check out her body? His thumb stabbed at the silver button. “Sounds like a plan.” Jackass. Don’t sound so eager. After all, she’s still an antagonist and could wreak havoc with your research. Better keep your cock in your pants, at least until your research papers are published. But, for now, business and his sour-tempered father beckoned. He placed the phone next to his ear. Now to do more listening than talking. “Hey.” More about his father’s upcoming trip to NY. “Yeah…sounds like a plan. Just finished lunch. Huh? No, alone.” His father’s litany continued as Chloe headed down Bourbon Street. With each swish of her hips, he fought the urge to pin her down on the pavement, let her wrap those sexy legs

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around his back, and… A siren wailed in the distance. Regardless, they’d hopefully come to terms about matters of intellect before too much more bad blood was exchanged in the Vincent-Sloan skirmish.

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The Gypsy and the Jester

Chapter Three

Mark reached for the crumpled business card he’d tossed onto the coffee table. Six o’clock already? He’d gotten less than an hour’s sleep. Until last night, he never had trouble sleeping. He admired the bold graphics and picture of a compass before dropping the card. Which direction would any relationship with Chloe take? She had some wild ideas about aphrodisiacs. Did she have an equally vivid imagination when it came to sex? Beside the card lay one component of his costume, and he picked it up. The purple feathers on the Mardi-Gras mask tickled the back of his hand. Whose fancy would they tickle tomorrow night at the Ballentine’s? Henry and Collette always hosted the bawdiest dress balls in Louisiana. By invitation only, guests were treated to feasts that involved food as well as flesh. The only thing spread more often than women’s legs at their French Balls was the paté fois-gras. Too bad Chloe wouldn’t be there. He’d give anything, including the load of cum in his cock, to play jester to whatever character she chose. Maybe a French maid? Or perhaps a nurse who wouldn’t mind his playing doctor? But only if she let him. Never had he forced himself on a woman, and never would he stoop to such a low. He fumbled inside his pajama bottoms and pulled out his cock. Stroke after stroke, he replayed the previous day’s events and prepared to dictate. Dictate. That’s it. She could be his secretary. He’d give it to her fast and furious, longhand or shorthand. Placing the mask on his face, he laughed and stopped stroking. Would she see past the feathers to the man underneath? He cast the mask aside, switched on the hand-held tape recorder and cleared his throat. “Yesterday, I lunched with one of the most interesting women I’ve…correction, the most interesting woman I’ve ever met. Chloe Vincent. A combination of carnal energy and she-devil. Found research materials to purchase and/or study.” He recited the names of the sexual reference books he’d glanced at. Fuck. This wasn’t working. His system was in an upheaval. Why had he stopped smoking? He needed some soft lips and hard nipples to kiss and lick. Hell, he wanted Chloe so bad he could taste her. He laid the tape recorder onto the couch beside him. From the end table, he grabbed what his father promised would end his cravings. He drew back his left arm and hurled the candy across the room. The pack of gum bounced off the far wall. Several sticks spilled out. Spearmint was no replacement for sex. His tongue wanted to tease Chloe’s clit, not a piece of mint-flavored rubber. What he wouldn’t give to know her phone number, but it was unlisted. Single women. Why did they make it so hard on men? Because she’s smart and you’re acting like a moron. He claimed another part of his costume from the sofa’s armrest. Tiny brass bells jingled as he shook the jester’s cap. She’d laugh her ass off if she knew he was playing this part. Earning her Master’s in Pharmacology? One bright babe. Unlike his father, he wouldn’t denigrate her research and opinions. They didn’t have to agree on everything. He’d help her in

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any way he could. Beside him, the cell phone rang, but he ignored its interruption and switched off the recorder. A battle of wits. Nothing made him hornier than a good debate, especially when it was with someone as curvy as Chloe. How her eyes flashed with the ferocity of a Bengal tiger’s when she was riled. He stuffed the notebook and tape-recorder into his briefcase and headed for the bathroom. If he couldn’t have hot Chloe Vincent, a cold shower would bring his tired body to life. ***** Chloe sucked in a deep breath and glanced at her automatic watch. Good. Fashionably late. She climbed from the car, and her stilettos grated against the brick paving. Near the portico’s entrance, one of the Ballentine’s staff stood at the ready to receive her. At that same moment, a breeze teased her bare shoulders. She hastened toward him and tucked her arm in his. Not very cozy, but she’d be inside before too long. Through half-open lips, she told him her name. The grim-faced man stared straight ahead and ushered her toward the mansion. Gold bangles jingled on her wrists with each step. Why had she worn them? Because gypsies wore lots of jewelry. Her heart beat a sharp staccato. Surely, no one could hear it? Only the ballet recital when she was eight proved as nerve-wracking as this evening’s party. “Stand up straight, you silly little bitch. You’ll never amount to anything.” A slight jerk on her left arm roused Chloe from her reverie. So many years had passed since her mother uttered those words of rebuke. Beside her, the ill-tempered escort huffed at her dawdling. She gathered the hemline of her gown and picked up the pace. Okay, sourpuss. I’ll stay in step. Though the temperature was rising each day with the approach of spring, the evenings remained chilly. Why hadn’t she worn a shawl? The black pashmina would have been perfect. Why? She had her mind on sex as opposed to shawls. “Ah, who do we have here?” drawled Henry Ballentine. “A truly delightful wench, if I must say so.” The domestic announced her, each word clipped as though he found them distasteful, before disappearing behind them. She stiffened her body and accepted Henry’s hand. After only brief contact, her palm dampened. “It’s a pleasure to be among such wonderful company tonight.” Henry leaned over and brushed his lips against the side of her wig. “And those you don’t already know, you’ll get acquainted with more intimately later, hmmm?” I already know you and your penchant for anal sex. “Perhaps?” Collette Ballentine, dressed in French frippery, sashayed into the foyer and admired her gypsy costume. “Such a sight for wild eyes and hearts. Come dear. You must meet and mingle, especially if you’re single.” Giving an exaggerated wink, she hooked her arm in Chloe’s and together they headed toward the main ballroom. “Absolutely.” Not. “Enjoy the evening. Don’t hesitate to let Henry or me know if you need anything to satisfy your palate or anything else.” Collette winked. Only the faint scent of lavender remained as her hostess hooked up with a man dressed as Midas. One thing was certain—Mrs. B. had good taste and her target was well blessed

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below the belt. “Looks like you’ll have your hands and mouth full with that guest,” she called out and Collette turned. “Quite right. Henry’s busy with a Victorian whore, so I’m going for the gold.” That said, Marie Antoinette and her golden guy disappeared from view. Wonder what he’d taste like? Though she’d witnessed many strange and sexual things in her twenty-seven years, she’d never seen a man with his cock and balls dipped in what appeared to be gold leaf. Probably a banker or businessman in disguise. “I say, what a fine specimen you are. Care to bend over my knee for a bit of a spanking?” came a man’s suggestive invitation. She wheeled around and bit back laughter. Dressed as a British lord, a man who weighed at least three hundred pounds puffed away on a pipe while awaiting her answer. “Oh, my, sir. You might leave a mark on my tender hide.” If I don’t kick you in the balls first. “Afraid that’s not in her future,” said another male directly behind her. “Let’s gaze into your crystal ball and see what lies ahead for us tonight?” ***** From the tips of her fingers to the ends of her toes, heat flashed. Who was he? What type of man could ignite her with mere words? Higher, higher, he touched her arm, until she could barely keep control of her mind and body. Warm fingers fondled her right elbow, and sinful urges stirred deep inside. The frilly-frocked Brit excused himself, muttering what sounded like obscenities at the interruption. Dare she turn around and confront her rescuer? Filling her nostrils with the spicy scent of his cologne, she leaned back and let his arms envelope her shivering body. But she wasn’t cold. Far from it. For some reason, she was drawn to this stranger like dust to her desktop. “My hero?” “Might be? Is that your desire?” Strong arms maneuvered her body so that her gaze met his. Deep blue. Blue as Kashmir sapphires, his beguiling eyes peered through those purple feathers and flirted with her in a most wicked way. His voice sounded familiar. If he said a couple more words, then she’d know for certain. Her sexual radar had never failed her. She’d met him before. “How would a jester know what this gypsy desires?” “Jokes and pokes are my specialty. Care to try me—or one of my puns—on for size?” Yes! Yes! You can fuck me all night and twice in the morning. What a jester you are, Mark Sloan. Hold onto your bells and balls, buster. We’re about to begin my experiment earlier than expected. “Care to grease the gypsy’s palm and see what she sees?” ***** Mark sniffed the air. One part of this gypsy was ready for more than gazing at balls. “I’ll agree to a glass of champagne first.” So much for his vow to avoid pussy at all costs, but why resist such a gorgeous woman? Something about her seemed familiar. Could it be? One thing remained certain, it wasn’t Traci. Not this able-bodied vixen. His former fianceé left town in a hurry, declaring she’d fallen in

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love with another man. He’d gone almost six months without anyone to warm his bed. To quench his thirst, he removed two glasses of Dom from the silver salver held aloft by a waiter. He passed one to the gorgeous gypsy. Henry Ballentine strode over to the fireplace and stood much as a sentry. “Ladies and gentleman. We know you women like it rough, so we men will refrain from anything gentle for the remainder of the evening. Come and join my better half and me in the gamin’ room for an orgy. One of such proportions that would have made Caligula proud.” Silks rustled and several partygoers nearly trampled others while beating a heated path behind their hosts. A crooked conga line of carousers, bent on satisfying every sexual desire before another second elapsed. “Maybe we should check out the festivities before finding somewhere private?” The giggling gypsy drained the last drop of champagne from her crystal flute. He mimicked her, and set his empty vessel down. “Sounds too tempting to pass up.” She placed her flute beside his on an end table. “I agree.” By the time they entered the smaller ballroom, the games were running full tilt. Several male guests had let down their girding and risen to the occasion. The enchantress beside him broke free, crooked her finger and coaxed him over to a pile of pink velvet cushions. After arranging herself over them, she loosened the bodice of her emerald-green and black gown. Full, firm breasts tumbled over the sumptuous silk and velvet. He approached and leaned over her. Drew in her delicious scent. Drank in her beauty. Gorgeous brown eyes returned his stare. Eyes the same color as the Belgian chocolate his mother fancied. Eyes as intense as Chloe’s, only a different color. If this was Chloe, she was wearing contacts. With a tug on his starched collar, the black-haired temptress pulled him down and pressed her soft lips against his. Tongue to tongue they battled, each sucking and tasting the other’s essence. His cock hardened against the fabric of the codpiece, and she moaned as he shifted his weight. Her pale skin, bathed now in a soft rosy light, welcomed his every touch and tease. He traced his finger down the column of her throat and moved her necklace’s golden strands aside. His gut clenched while examining her dewy skin. At the very top of her cleavage was a small pinkish-brown mole. When Chloe Vincent fell into his arms yesterday, he noticed a similar mark. Dipping lower, he poked several fingers into her bodice. With each heaving breath, her soft breast flesh pressed against his index and ring fingers. He eased the gown off her shoulder and pulled one breast free from the bodice. Now the joke would be on her. Tonight, he’d seduce the woman of his dreams. Then, he’d hopefully fuck her until they both screamed in satisfaction. But now, he was hungry. Lowering his lips onto hers, he claimed them in a hard kiss. Breaking free, he licked away her tangy gloss from his lips. “You taste even better than you look, wild gypsy. My tongue longs for a taste of those pretty nipples.” She writhed against the pillows at his suggestion. Gone was the wild green-eyed gaze she possessed, concealed by specially tinted contacts. She thrust her bared breast toward his opened palm. He swooped and helped himself to the soft flesh. “Lick them, jester. Tease them with your long tongue. Suck them.” He pinned her tight against the cushions. “Let’s make love, not levity.” The left nipple tasted so good against his tongue, turgid and vanilla-flavored. Mid-torment, he pried his lips

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from the scented pucker of skin. “Pardon me if you say something and I don’t answer. I can’t talk with my mouth full.” While she watched and wiggled underneath him, he applied just enough pressure to make her squeal and squirm. During their sexual struggle, the other breast popped free. With each nip of his teeth on her nipple, she thrust her hips harder against his. To drive her further to distraction, he pretended not to notice the demands of her body. Such a delectable morsel, her nipple. The color of soft caramel in the dim lighting. He cupped her breasts and buried his face between them. She panted as he tickled their softness with the mask’s feathers. Beside his cheeks, the nipples strained, harder and more insistent than ever. He licked a path down her cleavage. Under the burden of desire, her chest heaved in rhythm with her heartbeat. A strong and demanding woman, she’d probably not rest until she drained every bit of sexual energy from them both. Into the gown’s lacings, he knotted his fingers. Fumbling with the corded fastenings, he eventually bared her to her belly. Sexually starved, he devoured her beautiful nakedness. Full breasts. The faint swell of her belly. His mouth watered. The shallow pucker of her navel, that’s where he’d lavish the most attention. Her fingers tugged at his hair, and she ground her hips against his codpiece. “Lick me lower. Kiss me where you really want. Taste me.” Goaded by her command, he grabbed the folds of velvet fabric in his hands. Should he satisfy her stirrings and rip the gown from her heaving body? She strained, her breath now coming in spasms. Don’t rush. Savor your seduction. “Tell me where you want me to start and stop.” From a platter placed nearby, he grabbed a cluster of grapes and dangled them above her lips. Almost instantly, she snapped off one and gripped it between her teeth. Some of the pinkish-purple juice dripped over her chin. He traced his tongue over the mess as it trickled down her neckline. But nothing would taste better than her wet pussy. A pink sliver of her tongue toyed with the grape before she closed her lips and consumed it. He swallowed and fantasized fitting his hard cock in her mouth. Her lush lips would probably suck him dryer than the desert. He plucked another grape from the bunch. One pinch of his fingers squeezed a pool of nectar into her navel. With each lap and thrust of his hot tongue, she raised up to meet his mouth. Again, he sniffed. There was no mistaking. He was right all along. His seductress was none other than Chloe Vincent. Her legs splayed wider, and their dance of desire continued at an even wilder pace. He taunted her, trying to tame the wild-natured woman. Soft and firm, her thighs pressed against his probing hands. He followed the elegant curve of her body and traced a path upward to where those silky thighs ended and formed the “V”. “V” for the victory he’d claim while thrusting his cock into her heat and bringing her to orgasm. Another glance revealed the reason for his sensory overload. Holy shit. She’s not wearing any panties. His cock throbbed harder and threatened to burst free from the codpiece. He tickled her belly and dipped lower until his fingers found the thatch of hair above her pussy.

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Tenderly, he cupped and squeezed her slick labia, slipping two fingers between them. Pure ecstasy. Fingering her most private spot. He inserted two, then three fingers, and his gypsy gyrated at his touch. In and out, he slid them, enjoying the way her wetness covered him from fingertip to bottom knuckle. She panted, her black wig hairs cascading over the pillows. “Put them in deeper. No, your cock. I want your cock.” She squeezed and milked his fingers. “That’s no way for a lady to talk.” If they didn’t soon act on their impulses, he’d waste a perfectly good wad inside that god-awful medieval garment. “I’m not a lady tonight. I’m a gypsy who wants to feel every inch of you inside of me. Hot and hard, riding me raw.” Instead of giving in to her request, he removed his fingers. Slowly, she rose up on her elbows, openmouthed as he sucked each finger clean. “I may consider seconds.” Gypsy Chloe tossed her head back and pounded her heels against the floor. “Do me, jester. Do me like there’s no tomorrow.” He shook his head at her suggestion. With each jingle of the brass bells, her fists crumpled and relaxed. A flush rose on her cheeks. Her tongue flicked over her lips. “Let’s go to the dungeon. Now!” The smell of sex filled the room. For the first time, he noticed the carnal couplings around them. Wait’ll she witnesses some of those cum shots. She might change her mind and want to stay here? Let her enjoy the evening and win this sexual skirmish. After all, this might be the only time he’d ever get this close to her. Close to the woman he currently wanted more than any other. Just because they didn’t see eye to eye on certain intellectual matters didn’t mean they couldn’t communicate sex to sex. He offered his hand. “To the dungeon, my gorgeous gypsy. Without delay.”

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The Gypsy and the Jester

Chapter Four Mark’s large, warm hand clutched hers as he helped her to her feet. Chloe shivered and sidestepped the bowl of grapes. Surely, he couldn’t have recognized her? She’d taken great pains to conceal her identity. But he seemed so eager to be alone with her. Why? Maybe he liked to fuck every female he came into contact with? Ooh, the way his cobalt-blue eyes danced like the Devil’s. A fire flashed through her body at the flaring of his nostrils. A fire that only Jester Mark, clad in his multicolored patchwork garb, could put out. “I remember how to get to the dungeon.” She met his gaze for a heartbeat and then looked away. Someone jostled her from behind, and she collided with Mark’s hard body. As the loudmouthed partier passed and stroked her with the toy, Chloe buried her face against her date’s chest. “It’s only a rubber snake.” Mark caressed the spot the fake snake had touched. Gulping as much air as her lungs would hold, she held the breath before blowing it out. “Even artificial reptiles are repulsive.” “Quick on your feet, aren’t you?” Mark’s weight shifted, and she stumbled sideways. He tipped her chin and winked. “I better get you somewhere you can lie down and recover.” “Recover? Lie down? Where we’re going, you’ll be standing up and loving every second of it.” “Give me a hint about your wicked ways.” He caressed her buttocks, delivering a gentle squeeze before removing his touch. “That’s for me to know and you to find out before too long.” But not as long as one part of you. What was she talking about? She’d never been to the Ballentine’s basement cum dungeon. Several of her friends had filled her in on some of the details of these Mardi-Gras balls, but this was the first time she’d made the “A” list. Probably because Collette had become one of her shop’s best customers. She surveyed the sexcapades around them. Entangled bodies lay strewn about the carpet and hardwood flooring in various stages of undress. Two women took turns sucking one man’s cock and stroking his balls. What a mouthful. Their passage through the kitchen failed to elicit any response from the staff that scrubbed and tidied. Every nerve ending in her body tingled. Underfoot, slippery floor tiling hampered her progress. She turned to the right, gripped the brass doorknob and tugged the door open. Cooler air rushed out to where she stood, and she pinched herself. This definitely wasn’t a dream. “Good memory.” Mark licked a path around her earlobe before backing off. One flick of her finger and the lower level illuminated. Step by step, they advanced. Mark’s strong hands gripped her waist. Of all times to be wearing this cumbersome costume. “Cool.” He let out a soft whistle. “Now to see if we’re alone or have to share it with

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someone else.” Appearing much as a medieval dungeon, this basement area cost countless refurbishing bucks. Central air-conditioning seeped from the ceiling, but her fever intensified. Would Mark disclose his identity or play his silly part to the hilt? Hell, what did she care? As long as they both had a night to remember, why worry? She’d even brought a condom. She skipped across the tiled flooring, cupping her breasts and tossing the thick black waves of her wig. Whirling and twirling around the object of her desire. From the tiny emerald-green satin reticule she’d attached to her sash, she removed finger cymbals. Click. Skring. She tapped the tips of her fingers together several times. “Lock the door so no one interrupts us.” Above the aubergine feathers, Mark’s brown eyebrows arched. “So, you’re ready to explore the world of dark and forbidden sex?” “The darker the better. Just don’t shut off the light. We don’t have any candles, and I only glow after a session of hot sex.” His long legs conquered the wooden steps two-by-two. In a most mouth-watering way, his cock thrust out in a half-erection. Why did they ever go out of style? Codpieces were the carnal accessories of the Renaissance. Little was left to those women’s imagination then or hers tonight. The oiled strip of leather sheathed his cock like the casing on her Cajun sausage yesterday. Either this jester was psychic or he knew what women wanted. He returned and pumped his fist in the air. “Now no one can intrude.” As he swept her into his arms, more cum trickled down her inner leg. “Tell me, gorgeous gypsy, will you put me under some kind of sexual spell?” She examined the manacles hanging from brackets on the far wall. Erotic energy sizzled throughout her system. Perfect. She’d hold him captive. “Hands behind your back, you rogue. It’s time for me to torture you to the fullest.” Molding his hands against her hips, he followed her. On closer inspection, each of the steel restraints was lined with foam-rubber padding. All the better for their bondage play. No sense marring his tanned flesh. “Can’t I make amends?” He swept past, turned and fell to his knees in front of her. “No. You must pay for your evil ways.” His long tongue flicked at her before disappearing. “Spare me and I’ll sing for you.” Her laughter bounced off the walls. He was playing the part well. Too well. “I’m not in the mood for that type of entertainment. Only taking pleasure from your body will satisfy me. Tonight, Jester, I’ll juggle your balls.” From a nearby table, she secured a flail. Soft strips of suede leather fanned out as she shook the sex prop. She drew the oiled skin across her palm and the undersides of her fingers. “What are you going to do with that?” Butterscotch flecks appeared deep within his brown eyes. “That would spoil the surprise.” And my orgasm. Let the games begin. She advanced on Mark, backing him toward the wall and the spot where he’d receive her lip service. The slim heels of her stilettos scraped against the flooring

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and echoed throughout. Without a bit of resistance, the jeering jester allowed her to secure each of his arms and legs. Luckily, he was tall, and she didn’t have to find a stool for him to stand upon. His body bowed forward, almost as though drawn to hers. The buttons of his crisp white shirt opened easily. She ran her fingers through his coarse mink-brown chest hairs. With one tug, she freed the shirt from his form-fitting breeches. She shivered at the soft hush of silk against his skin. Without a doubt, Mark Sloan was a study in male perfection. A coil of heat twisted in her belly. Sculpted chest muscles. His massive cock straining for release. “What have we here, you ornery devil?” She cupped his heavy balls. “My cock, ready to do your bidding.” “Biting, you say? Do you like it rough?” For now, she’d put the ball in her jester’s court, but soon his bulging sac would fill her mouth. “Whatever pleases the gypsy pleases me.” “Excellent.” She raked one crimson nail over the shimmering swatches of fabric on his vest. Switching her concentration from his stiff cock, she licked the tiny pink nubs of his nipples. Harder and harder they beaded, pressing against her lips and tongue as though ready to explode. “Taste me, gypsy. Fill your mouth with cock and my hot cum.” She raised her head and winked. “In due time, my handsome stranger. But now, you deserve every bit of torment I inflict.” Oh, yes. This is for every time you or your father had something negative to say about my column. She yanked on the hairs of his chest, tugging harder when he begged for more. And take this for daring to dine with me the other day without fucking me for dessert. She thrust her tongue between his lips, tasting and sucking off the faint cinnamon tang lingering on his palate. Saliva dripped down her chin and she jerked back. The warm liquid from her mouth and his continued its trail into her cleavage. How tasty a man-morsel Mark Sloan really is. Her fingers teased over the taut fabric of the codpiece. Heat from his full-blooded cock radiated against her palm. She must uncover him. Each time Mark rattled his chains, she intensified her touch. Meeting his deep blue gaze, she walked her fingers up and down the bulge, tickling and squeezing the firm flesh. Only a piece of Velcro and two silken ties secured the leather codpiece to his tight breeches. With a giggle, she pulled the accessory away. Mark’s erection stabbed at her. Too bad he couldn’t walk around bare-cocked more often. He’d bring every speechless woman to her knees. Unseen flames engulfed her body from her breasts to her pussy. That codpiece was concealing at least ten inches of man meat and full balls. How good the thick head will feel probing the back of my throat, the ribbed condom working against my upper palate and tongue, and his hot load spraying into the sheath as he climaxed. “Suck me off.” The command struck her forehead. “All in due time, jester. What’s your hurry?” “I’m not used to being bound.” “Complaining?” “Hell, no. Just what until you let me loose. I can do more than tell jokes.”

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Blowing against the colorful feathers in his mask, she reached up and attempted to pluck one from the satin backing. Mark’s arms strained against the shackles, his fists clenching and unclenching. “Don’t! My identity must remain a mystery!” “Oh, it shall.” To everyone but her. “One feather is all I ask.” Kneeling, she licked the entire length of his bare cock. “A feather for a deep throat?” “Gladly.” The word rasped from his full lips. A slight tug of her fingers loosened one soft, fluffy purple feather. Slowly, she drew it up and over his straining cock, pausing when she reached the thick pink head. “What a tempting treat.” She clawed his thighs and flicked her tongue against his cock head’s ridge. “Is this the costume you’ll parade in for Mardi Gras?” “Suck me till I cum.” “Such vulgar language for a jolly man. I must teach you a lesson in patience my patchwork punster. You taste so good. I’ll bet your cream always rises to the top.” She pumped his erection, and the purplish veins deepened along the shaft. From a crouched position, she teased his cock and balls with the fluffiest section of the feather. Time after time, the tip offered her diamond-like droplets of cum. Instead of devouring them, she removed the condom from her reticule and covered the musky length. One lick of the ribbed prophylactic, and a howling ensued in her head. Reaching under the velvet folds of her skirt, she thumbed her throbbing clit. “Let me lick your finger clean.” His last words caught in his throat. She stood and placed her damp finger over his lips. With each rasp of his tongue, her pulse thrummed harder. “I’ll bet you want more?” “Hell, yes.” His teeth ensnared the tip of her thumb and applied slight pressure. “You’ll have to lick me later. For now, I’m hungry.” Kneeling and mouth opened wide, she fitted her lips over him. Her nails snagged against the silkiness of his breeches. She finger-cuffed the base of his cock. His sac, soft as doeskin, jumped in her left palm every time she ate him whole. Letting every inch free, she bent down and carefully drew the silken pouch of skin into her mouth. This was her first time of prolonged foreplay. With all the others it was more like fuck and run. But with Mark, he didn’t mind her taking her time. “Explode, my lover. Fill this condom with your hot, creamy cum.” He thrust closer and bumped the cock head against her half open lips. As she swallowed him, his hips bucked and strained, the chains raising a din. Deeper. Deeper. Damn, his mint-sheathed cock was so long it was already near her adenoids. She inhaled deeply. Concentrating. Channeling sexual energy. Her thoughts tumbled about like windswept leaves on a lawn. She sucked him harder and sank her nails into his thighs. Pubic hairs tickled her nose. So many sensual fragrances surrounding her. His skin musk. Gardenia petals. Magnolia blossoms. Another breath started a boiling in her belly. With a slight tilt of her head, she let his cock emerge and fall from between her lips. Turning to the right, she blinked. A scream corkscrewed in her throat, but she swallowed it whole. Without a doubt, this dungeon was the perfect place to play out their darkest fantasies. “Care to take a turn with me, Mister Jester?” “Turn me loose and you’ll see how much.”

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She stood and pinched the metal levers at the side of the cuffs, and they sprang open. He hurled his body against hers, and they toppled to the floor, rolling and grabbing each other. Hands filled with satin and skin. Clawing for carnal control. A rip sounded as part of her skirt came unfastened from the bodice. She raked her nails along the side seam of his breeches, tearing some of threads. Hot and heavy his breath came against her face. “I want my gypsy to remember this night forever.” She sought his mouth and sucked. Over and under her upper lip, his tongue played. Teasing. Testing. Tasting her. “I have a long memory, Jester. One even longer than your cock.”

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Chapter Five Resplendent in every color of the rainbow, the platform awaited their approach. How fabulous. A papier-mâché bust fashioned in the likeness of King Midas occupied much of the ceremonial float. “In her haste to feast on my flesh, did my Gypsy not see this spectacle before now?” “No.” Chloe picked up some of the ruby-red plumeria petals and shivered at their velvety softness. “I thought the krewes always kept their identities hidden? Once this float passes on the parade route, I’ll know one of Henry Ballentine’s secrets.” “They always make a special float. One only used at the French Balls. A little later, around two in the morning, a group will come down here to…” She snatched the loose ends of his vest in her damp hands. “You’ve been down here before? Lots of times, probably.” With a wicked laugh, she tossed her head and climbed onto the platform. “Come and get me.” Fast on his feet, Mark complied and soon joined her amidst a bed of plumeria, gardenia, and magnolia blossoms. “What’s on your mind?” He tugged at her arm. “Or up those sleeves?” “Nothing.” She flipped the hemline of her gown, displaying bare thighs and pussy for his wild-eyed gaze. ***** Mark’s cock saluted the beauty before him. Mounds of emerald fabric billowed over Chloe’s arms and breasts. But, below the waist, she was bare as the day she was born. The gown’s silvery underskirt made her skin shimmer as though kissed by moonlight. More gorgeous than he ever dreamed. “What a sight for my sore eyes and throbbing cock.” “Care to gaze into my globe and see what lies ahead?” “From here, the view is incredible. So incredible I’d like to touch it to make sure it’s not a mirage.” Gypsy Chloe watched as he crawled over to where she lay. One breath brought her pussy musk. Only one more test, then he’d know for certain Chloe Vincent’s slit was the one he wanted to lick and fuck until dawn. Two plumeria petals rested on her pubes, concealing the spot he most wanted to behold. After checking the tension of the mask’s elastic band, he lowered between her open legs. The closer he got, the more she panted. Cum covered the underskirt of her gown. So dizzying. So powerful. His cock tightened. She gathered the folds of fabric and rustled the skirt like a can-can dancer. “Kiss me, Jester. Lick my wet pussy.” Shit almighty. She was driving him crazy tonight. No woman had ever, would ever, have such total control over his mind and body.

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“Spread those legs wide so I might see what’s inside.” Still the petals clung to her pussy. Enough of this masquerade. He’d strip them off and lick her dry. He winked. “You want my tongue there?” “Oohhh, yes. Now!” Several gold-foiled candy coins fell to the floor as she writhed against the platform. Despite her gyrations, both petals remained firmly attached to her slick, pussy lips. He plucked them away. Crushing the fragile petals between his fingers first, he then rubbed them over his mouth, savoring their softness and her sweet perfume. A softness and perfume that, without a doubt, belonged to cunning Chloe Vincent. He straddled her body, every sense heightened, every nerve ending raw. With his knees braced against the sides of her silk-covered breasts, he arched and rested the head of his hard cock against her mouth. Hot breath from quivering nostrils and lips rippled over him. As a cat lapped cream from a saucer, her tongue teased against his cock head. Each time she tried swallowing him, he pulled back. “That’s not fair.” She pounded her heels against the platform. He framed her damp face with his hands. Her blonde hair was so much softer than the fake stuff underneath his fingers. In one yank, he could reveal her body or identity. Which to remove first, the wig or the gown? “Jesters don’t play fair.” He dragged his damp erection over her bared breasts. Her taut nipples strained, ready for him to suck. He tongued one of the taffy-colored nubs. She moaned and squirmed, balling her hands into fists with which she beat his shoulders. “Taste every bit of me.” A slight raise of his head revealed her intense gaze trained on him. “What, Gypsy? What would you like me to taste next?” He kissed a path over her bare breasts to her belly, and tongued her navel. But she possessed something that tasted far better, something wet and pink. He rearranged the layers of satin and velvet. Her creamy skin bore a rosy cast in the fluorescent glow of the overhead lighting. As her legs pulled farther apart, a filament of clear cum stretched from one upper thigh to the other. This woman was enough to drive any man crazy. “I’ll bet you taste better than the Ballentine’s champagne.” Her hips bucked. “Open your mouth and drink me in.” He knelt and ran his nose and mouth over the narrow blonde tuft of hair between her legs. Her honey scent was so addictive. Up and down her wetness, he licked a lazy path. With each pass of his tongue over her clit, she raised up against his face. Into her slick heat he tucked one finger, then two. She rose off the platform and grabbed for him, but he stopped probing and pinned her legs fast. A soft moan rattled in her throat. “You’re truly evil.” “Not evil, Gypsy, only enchanted.” He slipped four fingers inside her to the bottom knuckle. Each of her squeezes brought a screaming in his head. Several of her fingers clutched a section of his hair and tugged. “Put your cock where your lips and hands are.”

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“Tonight it’s best we play. Perhaps another time, we’ll…” “They may never be another time.” Another time. Another time. Another time. The words, ground out between her clenched teeth, grated over his nerve endings. How true. Tonight was a fantasy. A masquerade fantasy. He pulled his fingers out. Together, they licked each one clean. He couldn’t lose control. Sex play was one thing, losing his head and heart quite another. He clambered to his feet and offered his hand. Tonight he’d refrain from fucking this willing role-playing wench. When the time was ripe, he’d take her in his own bed, in the privacy of his own home. Without the chance of any interruption. On his own terms. The Ballentines were a lusty couple. There were probably several cameras trained on Chloe and him right now. She stood and brushed the heavy green velvet skirt into place, her gaze trained on the floor. What a priceless pout she wore. He was on to this pretty lady’s games. “Come dance with me, Gypsy. Your beauty has overwhelmed me. I must control my raging emotions.” “Emotions?” Their parting had driven her voice several octaves lower. With a toss of her slightly askew wig, she placed her hand in his. “Once again, I’ve fallen for a Jester. A man who toys with my affections and leaves me in the end. Perhaps, we can toast and say goodbye with a final glass of Dom?” He swatted her ass, the curves still detectable underneath the gown. “Guilty as charged. But after a few sips I can put it down. Not so a tasty pussy like yours. But tell me not any more tales, fine one. The lips that this Devil desires are wetter than the fountain bubbling in the Ballentine’s courtyard.” “But my handsome knave hardly sampled my womanly wares, despite the fact we’re all alone.” “All in good time. Tonight we dance. Another time, we’ll romance.” ***** Romance? What did playboy Mark Sloan know about romance? Legs leaden and thighs slick, Chloe followed behind her tormentor. Damn him. She’d take him to the very edge tomorrow night. Make him scream for more. Her trap was set for temptation, the stage for seduction. He only needed to come into the shop tomorrow morning for her to extend an invitation he couldn’t refuse. At reaching the top of the steps, he opened the lock and flung open the door. She stepped into the kitchen, Mark hot on her heels. Up here, the heat was so intense, edged upward by the escapades of the Ballentines’s guests. She turned and tugged at Jester Mark’s arm, but he failed to make eye contact. “Let’s see what mischief we can get into next.” His hot breath fanned against her face. Twelve chimes sounded on the grandfather clock. What perfect timing. “Not tonight. I’ve a busy day ahead.” She curtsied. The velvet and satin rustled. He’d made her body tenser than any bowstring. But she must leave him for now. Angie, her best friend, would be waiting in the driveway, idling away while cursing her tardiness. Mark milked her right thumb. “May I see you to your car?” “A friend is picking me up, but thank you. It’s been a most—” A half-naked couple playing Tarzan and Jane whooped past. Tarzan’s loincloth flapped

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and revealed at least ten hard inches. Jane would have her hands, mouth and pussy full with that wild man. “A most what?” He drew her so close, her next breath squeezed from her body. “A most enjoyable and enlightening evening.” “Care to give me a clue as to your identity now that the evening’s over? Just in case I’d like to grease more than your palm sometime?” Who cares about my palm? You’re well aware you make other parts of me wet enough. But my name and number are secret. Part of the plan. The plan I’ll carry out in several hours. The curtain was about ready to fall. Play your last lines to the hilt. “I believe mystery is always the best approach when a woman is faced with a handsome stranger. If Fate allows us to again meet—” His mouth pressed against hers, forcing the words back down her throat. He thrust his tongue between her teeth and probed along her cheeks. Seeking. Tasting. Invading. Making her melt against him in a deliciousness oneness. Upon releasing her, he cupped her face in his hand. “Hot blood runs through my gypsy’s veins.” “And soon a hot shower will run water over my naked body. Goodnight, Jester. Sleep tight.” The joke’s on you. She gathered the folds of her gown, turned away and descended the front steps. The hum of a car’s engine carried on the chilly air. Despite the click of her heels, no other footsteps came behind. Angie’s black Porsche appeared as she emerged from the portico. Without a backward glance, she climbed into the car and eyeballed her friend. “I’ll tell you all about it in the morning. For now, I just want to take a shower and fall into the arms of Morpheus.” ***** Fuck this game playing and nonsense. Mark slammed the refrigerator door shut and almost caught his finger in the process. “I will not let you cast a spell over me, Chloe Vincent. No matter how hard you try. I will resist your every attempt at seduction.” His words echoed throughout the first floor of the house. Hell, who cared if everyone on Prytania Street heard him this morning? After another sleepless night, his mood was a perfect complement to the organic grapefruit juice he sipped. Even while scrambling two eggs, he couldn’t get Gypsy Chloe off his mind. The harder he tried, the more the memory of her wet pussy drowned out all breakfast scents. A lick of his lips brought none of her cinnamon gloss. How soft her breath hissed as he sank several fingers into her wetness. ***** Eating the eggs directly from the skillet, he chased them with a half piece of charred toast and the rest of the juice. With a pile of dishes in and beside the sink, he grabbed his wallet and keys. As he flipped through the bills in the back compartment, something bounced on the linoleum floor. A gold-foil coin winked up at him. He scooped it into his palm and closed his fist over it. Forget about losing control last night. Blot out the coin and any memories. Damn it. He was falling hard for that carnal-minded columnist. But if she knew he was the man behind the jester’s mask, she’d slap his straight-razor-burning face. Too late to worry about women and their mood swings. His mind screamed for another

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hour of sleep. What day was it? Monday? Tuesday? He glanced at the wall calendar. A model in a thong bikini smiled at him. What was she thinking while she posed? He raked his hands through his hair. Who the fuck cared? How easily he was falling to pieces over one sexual encounter with Chloe Vincent. And that wasn’t an option. His gaze drifted to the bold black numbers on the calendar page. Tomorrow was Valentine’s Day. A day of romance. And he had no one to celebrate with. He blinked his bleary eyes. Chloe’s heart-shaped ass would look so good on his sheets. Cool white sheets warmed by her hot body. One number bored into his brain as he stared at the February page. Fourteen. The day for men and women to open hearts in the name of love. Bullshit. Bachelorhood suited him just fine. He’d didn’t need women any more than he needed today’s luncheon date with his mother. If she mentioned the impending release of her exposé one more time, he’d never speak to her again. If all she wanted was to drag out Edward Sloan’s dirty laundry and parade it before the gossip-loving public, then she could do so without his blessing. He glanced at his watch. The committee meeting wasn’t scheduled until ten o’clock. If he stopped by New Directions first, he’d have plenty of time to check out the selection of reading material and Chloe, though not necessarily in that order. Forget it, Sloan. You’re a lost cause. If ever there was a case of gotta-have-it, he had it bad. But that could be good, especially with a wicked-minded woman like green-eyed Chloe. ***** “Tomorrow’s the day. You know it, chér? Maybe you find that man and make him your Valentine?” The Cajun woman stirred her tea again. From his hiding place, Mark had overheard almost every word of their conversation. His heart hammered and his mouth was dryer than dirt. Don’t do something stupid. Remain quiet and calm. If Chloe catches you hiding here, she’ll slap the smile off your face. “I’m afraid not.” A whimper mingled with Chloe’s sigh. “I have a man in mind, but I don’t think he’s one who believes in romance. It’ll be another year just like when I was in forth grade.” “What happened back then?” Chloe’s tea guest took a long sip from her teacup. “I was the only one who didn’t get a single Valentine. My mother spent the whole weekend telling me how I was lucky to have the love of her and my father. She said I danced with the devil too many times and that God had kept score of my indiscretions.” His knee brushed against the rack and several crystal sun-catchers clinked together. Fuck. She has another man in mind. Someone else would be dating this delightful woman while he sat at home. Miserable. Eating a sub and some potato salad. Watching lame reruns. A piss poor way to spend Valentine’s Day. Her pain was so palpable. His gut wrenched at watching the anguish painted on her face. Screw his past beliefs. He’d get her a special Valentine. One she’d never forget. The brass bell on the front door jingled. His system seized at recognizing the balding businessman and his overweight companion who entered. Shit. It couldn’t be. But it was. Amos Breaux, one hard-nosed realtor and a royal pain in the ass. Followed by Johnson Delacroix, the building’s owner. Chloe rose. “May I help you gentle…” Her cheeks flamed as she studied their faces. “Hello, Johnson. Amos. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? I haven’t forgotten about

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the faulty plumbing in this place.” Pasty-faced and wheezing, Delacroix shrugged. “Please, don’t let us bother you. Carry on with your tea.” “I don’t need your permission or approval to do anything.” She stared at the men, her stance stiffening more with each passing second. If her looks could kill, there better be fresh holes at the Metarie cemetery waiting for this pair. They were goners. Amos Breaux yanked a length of tape loose and started taking measurements. Chloe strode over and planted herself beside the measuring man. “What are you doing? I’m not changing anything else in here.” With a loud hiss and click, the measuring tape disappeared into the metal casing. Breaux drew himself up to his full height. “You may be changing quite a bit, Miss Vincent. Including your place of business and residence if Mr. Sloan’s offer is accepted by Mr. Delacroix.” Her hands balled into fists. “Offer? What are you talking about?” “Mr. Sloan has already acquired the property next door. He has also made quite a generous offer to Johnson for this place—from foundation to roof.” Johnson Delacroix fidgeted with his gaudy red and yellow bowtie. “That’s right, Miss Vincent. His offer is one I may not refuse. After all, I could still rent out the apartment above. And make a tidy profit on the sale of the building. He said he’d retain me as landlord. I’d get thirty percent of the rent from any tenancy. If I didn’t relocate. Of course, you’re more than welcome to stay, but I don’t think—” “It’s quite obvious neither of you think of anyone’s welfare but your own. Why would I want to give my hard-earned money to Edward the Egotist? I’d rather flush it down the toilet.” “I understand,” continued Chloe’s landlord, “but I’ve been wanting to move to California for quite some time. I’m not all that interested in the rental monies. The sale alone will buy me a condo in Southern California.” “All the more you’re around when something needs attention, you might as well be a million miles away.” Chloe’s simmer was coming to a boil. She was one sexy hellcat when riled. Breaux, a cross between a wild boar and a man only his mother could love, squared off against the petite vixen. “Your business hasn’t been the best since Mary’s passing. I’ll hazard a guess you won’t keep these doors open much longer. Unless more people buy this, this, nonsensical junk.” Time to get out of here, but how? He studied the two men and Chloe. That’s right, turn your backs and head over that way. Amos cleared a path as three patrons entered the shop. With all eyes focused elsewhere, now was his chance. He paused, bent over and adjusted his pant’s cuffs. As he straightened, a shopper rounded the corner and collided with him. “Ouch. Dammit.” He gritted his teeth. And the countdown begins until she comes over here and tosses me out on my Armani-covered ass.

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Chapter Six

Chloe charged across the shop. After retrieving a few gris-gris bags from the floor, she stood toe-to-toe with a red-faced Mark Sloan. Slapping him would only create more scandal. “I hope you heard everything. What are you doing?” “Listen, Chloe, I knew my father planned to open a center for Behavioral Studies. But how was I to know he had his eye on your shop?” One thing, he looked her in the eye while saying those words. Maybe he was telling the truth? Or maybe he and his father were in cahoots from the get go? “Are you also out to undermine my credibility and column?” “Can we talk about this in private? Sometime?” Mark fidgeted with the topknot on his tie. “What I have to say can be said in public.” Damn and double-damn. Why did she have to pick him for the experiment? Why? Because he was the one she needed most—to prove her potion worked and to fulfill her sexual fantasies. Her smile hurt her mouth, so she offered her hand. A truce to past provocations. Let the game of seduction begin. First, she’d drive him to distraction and then through the ceiling by the time her experiment was over. The brass bell jangled, but this time only the backsides of people were visible. She straightened the rack. “As if business isn’t bad enough, those three women left without buying even a postcard.” “I’ll bet you lick a mean stamp.” His grin rivaled Satan’s. Stamps? Lick? Don’t be sucked in by his dirty talk. I’ll lick you tonight, and you’ll beg me for more. “I believe in being handy and taking care of my own clerical business. Saves hiring a secretary.” She turned as Amos and Johnson left. On the front counter, the measuring tape remained. Would serve Amos right if she tossed it and hit him square in back of his stupid head. “Care for a cup of me?” She swallowed hard. Were her mouth and mind that confused? If so, she’d just asked him to taste her instead of a cup of mint tea. ***** Mark sucked in a deep breath and blew it out. Not too tough a choice. No coffee or tea tasted better than Chloe. “I meant a cup of tea.” Chloe crooked a red-nailed finger and headed toward the tea service. “Why not?” And why is she being so friendly all of a sudden? “It’s mint.” And so are you. Better convince her, or at least her retreating ass, he wasn’t privy to his father’s plans. “Believe me, this morning’s the first I’d heard about my father’s plans to buy this building. I knew about the adjacent property. What can I say? He’s a smooth operator. An

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insomniac. Spends most of his waking hours dreaming up ways to screw others.” She wheeled on him, her emerald-green eyes narrowed into slits. “That’s not lost on me.” Full hips swaying underneath the tight pink skirt, she headed toward the far wall. “But never let it be said my manners aren’t impeccable.” Chloe patted the back of the sparkling white wrought iron chair in passing. “I’ll freshen up the pot. Make yourself comfortable.” The soles of her flat shoes slapped against the floor tiles. Mid-flight, she paused and shot him a backwards glance. “I like to use balls. They brew a better tea.” He nodded. Message understood. She could care less about any steeping balls—only if she were boiling his and his father’s in the hottest water possible. A chattering group of tourists entered the shop, and Chloe swooped upon them. With each move forward, she worked her heart-shaped ass like an instrument. An instrument of torture. If he didn’t soon look away, he’d fall prey to her power play. She knew he couldn’t resist her sex appeal. He studied a rack of greeting cards. But patience was for the weak and the follower. At her flirty laughter, he looked up. Today, her golden-blonde hair curled and skimmed the tops of her shoulders. No more jet-black bangs clinging to her forehead like when she wiggled on those pillows and parade float at the Ballentine’s. If any woman could turn a man to mush, Chloe Vincent could. Athena bustled from the back room, carrying several empty boxes. With a huff, she dropped the cardboard containers behind the back counter. Chloe started at the striking of cardboard against the floor. The helper’s whine and heady perfume carried to where he stood. Chloe excused herself from the customers and stormed in the direction of the noise. In less time than it took him to glance at his watch, Chloe helped Athena pick up the boxes and then stood in place until the disagreeable young woman vanished into the back room. What Chloe could do with her body language and eyes set most women to shame. The chattering women paraded past him, arms laden with motley purchases. Probably several hundred dollars worth of stuff. What made women collect so many dust-catchers? While the beaming Cajun lady bundled the knickknacks in rose-colored tissue paper, Chloe chatted with her customers and collected their payments. Sweet, beguiling Chloe. A body built for making love, but a mind made for making money. ***** Chloe leaned against the storeroom’s counter and held the tiny vial up to the light. We’ll see how much fight you have in that muscular body of yours tonight, Mark Sloan. But she’d give him a turn at control, once she had a turn. Or two. Or three. She replaced the vial in the rack. We’ll both have a Valentine’s Day to remember. For now, I’ll serve you some tea. Tonight, I’ll serve only me. After securing two steeping balls and filling them with loose-leaf mint tea, she removed a steaming carafe of hot water from the hotplate and headed for the table and Mark. She mustn’t keep her unsuspecting thesis subject waiting. He was a suspicious type. One who’d know the minute something devious crossed a woman’s mind. At her approach, his lips parted in another pulse-pounding smile. “That was quick. Congratulations on those sales. You worked those shoppers like a true professional.” Her hand trembled as she set down the water and placed the steeping balls into the rose-pattern China teacups. “Had to get a hot kettle. Unless you like drinking tepid tea?” She pressed her lips tight and swallowed a yawn.

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“I like it hot. Looks like someone didn’t get much sleep. Late night?” Don’t let him faze you. “I’m a chronic insomniac.” Leaning over, she brushed his earlobe with her lips. “I can’t shut my mind or my body off for very long. As for sleep, I don’t need eight hours. I run on reserve.” “And stay quite finely-tuned, don’t you?” “Pilates and brisk walks at dusk.” Scowl lines appeared beside his mouth and eyes. “That’s not wise. Someone might mug you.” Now that I have your attention, we’ll learn a little more about your nocturnal habits. “I might be petite, but I pack a mean punch and kick.” As she poured, scalding water sloshed over the edge of his cup and pooled in the rose-pattern saucer. “What, or should I say who, keeps you up nights?” “Dictation. Research. The pulse of the city. I’d rather be back in Baton Rouge.” Steam swirled up to her nose and made it twitch. “You haven’t always lived here in New Orleans, have you? That’s why our paths rarely crossed.” But she had his number from the start. “My family owns homes here and in Baton Rouge. I was born there thirty years ago. My father had just completed his doctorate. Mother prefers to stay in Baton Rouge, especially, since their separation. The house is bigger. And her friends there, and in Europe, are more forgiving.” With a shrug, she poured water into her cup and placed the teakettle on the metal trivet. “I spent some of my teenage years in Europe. Exclusive girls’ schools. Finishing schools. You name it.” She sat down and balanced on the chair’s edge. With his index finger, he traced lazy circles along the underside of her wrist. His tea remained untouched. “Tell me, Chloe. Did you wear those uniform skirts? You know, the ones with the pleats?” Oh, she did, indeed. “Yes, and I almost got expelled once because of those stupid things.” “Why?” “One day I decided not to wear panties during a visit to the museum.” She paused. Should she tell him more? “And what happened?” His penetrating cobalt-blue eyes blazed, and he licked his lower lip. “It was the end of the school year. A boys’ school also participated. A friend and I got tired of looking at the boring relics and listening to the curator, Mrs. Breighton, babble on about the Elizabethan period. We sought the front steps for some peace and quiet.” His frown brought out faint crow’s feet. “That’s all?” “Well, the boys, and by that I mean fourteen-year-olds, were getting onto their bus to return home. When the driver wasn’t looking, I called out to one cute guy. He turned and so did I and flipped my skirt up to show him my bare butt.” “Bet that got his attention?” She shook her head. “Got everyone’s. The headmaster went inside and found Sister Anne. That fleet footed nun charged out the main entrance like it was the running season at Pamploma. My parents were notified. I got the riot act, but they made amends.” “Amends?” He sipped the tea and studied her over the China cup’s rim.

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“They gave a sizeable donation. St. Agatha’s renovated the entire West Wing with that money.” “You? Behave so badly? Flashing schoolboys? Showing them a piece of prime, virginal pussy?” She nodded. “Such a lost cause, wasn’t I? But how do you know if it was virginal or not?” He looked away and toyed with his teaspoon. “I don’t. But I’ll bet you had more sense than to open your legs for just any pimple-faced guy. Open only by special invitation, probably?” With a slight tilt of his head, he pinioned her with a penetrating blue gaze. “Hey, speaking of invitations, were you invited to any of the French balls during Mardi Gras?” He’s getting too close for comfort. “I’m not popular with many of the society mavens. Just get me past tomorrow, then I’ll think about living it up to the hilt.” “Heard that. But Mardi Gras isn’t over for several days yet. I love the tourists, but there’s only so much room in the Quarter.” He tapped a spoonful of sugar into his remaining tea. “By the way, is that true?” “About what?” She regarded the slight sediment at the bottom of her teacup. Better not look into his eyes. The way he watched her with such intensity, it was a small wonder the makeup didn’t melt right off her face. “The French balls. You like balls, don’t you?” Between his fingers, he dangled the stainless steel steeping ball. You sly devil. I’d love nothing more than to rip open those designer trousers of yours and lick your balls like I did last night. Come upstairs and we’ll get shackled and spackled earlier than anticipated. “Certain types. I don’t travel in many social circles anymore. Those women, and the assgrabbing jerks they call husbands, don’t interest me. I rarely attend any gatherings. But, yes, I do love balls. Especially, truffles. So creamy. My mouth waters at the thought of those and anything covered in chocolate.” “With your fondness for sweets, how do you stay so…?” Keep talking and you’ll reveal more than you want, sexy Sloan. “So what?” “I’ll bet you never put on a single pound.” He leaned back and patted his taut abs. “Me, I have to be careful. Early-morning jogs only do so much.” “Is that the only exercise you do?” “I lift free weights.” He winked. “Sounds like you know how to keep in shape. You know, the mind is just as important as the body when it comes to fitness. I’ve gotten more books in. I’ll put them out later today.” “Any more of those books with the interesting positions?” Was he a slave to sex or a master of masturbation? “Plenty. A really interesting one on massage. If you’d care to look at it in private, I’ll keep a copy behind the counter.” The tension between them sizzled. So potent it smacked her between the eyes, swept over her and caught her in its unrelenting grip. An erotic, electric current. Don’t get carried away. Business now, pleasure later. She stood and smoothed the clinging skirt over her thighs. “Sure. I’d like that.” He laughed. “You know what they say about men?” Many things, but I’ll take the Fifth on those. “What?” “We were born to browse.” She circled behind him and placed her hand on his back. How sinful the way his body

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heat warmed her damp palm. “Peculiar way of putting things, I’d say. What you really mean is that they’re voyeurs. They love looking at naked women. Just don’t drool over the pages. I don’t want to have to peel them apart when you leave. I might have to blow them dry.” His shoulders stiffened. What she wouldn’t give to witness the faint ruddiness probably smudged on his smooth-shaven cheeks. Cheeks that wouldn’t chafe her thighs when he went down on her later. “I promise to keep my tongue and spit in my mouth.” He rose and approached her supply of potions and lotions. From a shelf, he removed a ruby-red glass bottle. The stopper made a loud popping noise as it slipped from the narrow neck. “What’s this for?” “Love lotion. Want me to demonstrate?” Before her could move, Athena appeared in her peripheral vision. Shit. Why couldn’t that nuisance stay in the backroom doing inventory or behind the counter ringing up sales like she was supposed to? “Somewhere we won’t be disturbed?” Mark’s brows zigged and then zagged. Underneath his narrow nose, he waved the bottle. “Smells good. Okay. Deal. I need something to boost me up before a big meeting later.” Oh, without a doubt, this will boost more than your mental wellness. Underneath my fingertips, you’ll moan for more. “Athena?” The loud groan was more than enough confirmation her beckon was heard. “Mr. Sloan and I have business to transact. We’ll be in my office. Only interrupt if there’s an urgent matter.” The biggest pain this side of the Mississippi mumbled something unintelligible before shuffling back to her spot behind the cash register. Chloe glanced at her Gucci watch. Sally hummed while stocking the shelves. Time to give Mark a taste of what’s to come.

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Chapter Seven Once inside her mole-hole-sized office, Chloe closed the door. Why bother locking it? What did she care if someone walked in while she massaged Mark Sloan’s muscular shoulders and ego? Perfectly innocent to any prying eyes. She’d simply be making a sale to a skeptical customer and demonstrating the slip and allure of a particular scent of oil. She stroked the supple leather of the captain’s chair. “Try my chair. It’s so comfortable.” “I might get in and not want to get back up.” He eased his well-over-six-foot body into the chair and grinned. Ooh, you’ll get up. Hopefully, not too soon. Now for a trial run. But when darkness falls, Chloe Vincent will give you the ride of your life and demand the same in return. She’ll rock your world like never before. “Take your shirt off, please. Wouldn’t want to ruin the silk.” He looked at her and then at his watch. “But, I…” She gritted her teeth. He would put up resistance. Why try to imagine him otherwise? “Take…off…your…shirt. Please.” Into her palm, she poured the amaretto-scented oil. Between her fingers, she eased its slipperiness. A strange pulsing came deep inside. Maybe she should just forget the massage, wipe off her hands, pull down her panties, pull up her skirt and ride him right now? His gaze followed her every movement. “What are you going to do to me?” “If you’d prefer, we can forget about a demonstration? Or leave the door open?” “Oh, no. It’s just that I—” “You what?” Want me as much as I want you? Come on Mark, open up and I’ll do the same in due time. “I know a little Italian restaurant over in Metairie. Tomorrow night, we can get away from the hustle and bustle of the French Quarter for a little while. Celebrate Valentine’s Day together. If you don’t have other plans?” “Are you asking me out?” Her heart hammered. She sucked in a couple deep breaths, siphoning them out to quell the bounding. Another wink, this one lasting longer. “Looks that way.” Her nipples hardened, and she leaned toward him. “Undo those shirt buttons for me, please.” Without flinching, he flicked open the pearly fastenings, stripped off the dress shirt and draped it over the desk’s edge. While his attention was on straightening one sleeve, she straddled his right leg. He pivoted, grabbed her waist and pulled her closer. She smiled, lips closed tightly over the laughter behind them. She’d not worn any panties today. He’d probably have a wet spot where he least expected one. Up and down her spine, his hot fingers played. So pianissimo, his touch came. Tormenting and teasing her in the same wicked way he had last night. She shifted her gaze to his crotch. Only a couple inches lay between her hand and his zipper. He leaned back in the chair and released her. To the right of the zipper panel, his cock bulged. “Aren’t we supposed to be keeping this session aboveboard and above the waist?”

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Despite the friction of her palms as they rubbed together, shivers cascaded throughout her body. Moving closer, she ground her bare pussy against his trouser-clad leg and gently scraped a fingernail along the zipper. “If that’s what you want. And if you behave, maybe I’ll extend a Valentine’s invitation of my own?” His leg jumped. “Tell me more.” “You provide the dinner. I’ll provide the dessert.” Across his lips, she swiped her middle finger. As his hot tongue snaked out and made contact with the pad of her fingertip, heat rushed from head to toe. If he had that type of an effect on her clothed, imagine the possibilities naked. “You’re on.” Hands again fitted around her waist, he pinioned her to his leg. “Care to take a ride?” “I left my crash helmet upstairs.” Chloe laughed and flicked at his pebbled nipples with her fingernails. “Mmmm.” His nostrils flared and his gaze narrowed. Between her thumb and forefinger, she pinched the pink nubs of his nipples. He sucked in a deep breath and rolled his head. See how he reacts to this. She intensified the pressure of her fingers, and his chest expanded against her wrists. Once the nipples shone with oil, she massaged oil into the tanned skin on his chest. Would he mind if she fingered herself while rubbing him? While she kneaded his shoulders and upper back, his face bore a mien much akin to Caesar’s. She drifted her gaze over his lap. “Take me in your hot hands and mouth. Suck me, Chloe. Suck me till I shoot a wad down your throat.” Round one, Chloe Vincent. Time to pass him the baton and share the sexual spotlight. Mark Sloan wasn’t a man who would be content with being dominated for too long. He wanted in the driver’s seat bad—so bad her ass burned from the heat coming from his muscular thigh. “Sure that’s what you want?” The suede-soft material of his trousers rubbed her pussy the right way. “If we keep this up, you’ll wear my secret scent the rest of the day.” He shot forward as she tugged the coarse halo of mink-brown hairs surrounding his nipples. “Your touch is skilled, but I’m not your puppet. I want control. Now.” With a thrust of his hips, she bounced and gripped his shoulders. The beds of her nails throbbed. His breath rasped against her forehead and billowed her bangs. Edging forward, he pinned her ass against the desk’s edge. “Now I’ve got you.” “If you don’t behave, I’ll have to take more drastic measures.” “Like what?” His tone turned to a snarl. “Like this.” She squirmed free and buried her face in the crook of his amaretto-scented neck. Her mouth watered, and she licked a slow, teasing trail over his nipples. The left one puckered at the passing of her tongue. Each time he breathed, the muscles of his chest expanded and contracted against her lips. He eased back, and she gripped the chair arms. How low could she go? As low as he wanted? Over and into his navel, she licked, and his next breath caught. At the waistband of his trousers, she stopped. He’s forgotten all about wanting to dominate me. Score… “Time to switch places, Chloe. Assume any position you want.” They playfully struggled for a couple of moments neither willing to give an inch. Well,

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in his case, he had nine or ten to spare. She climbed onto the chair and straddled him, blood pulsing to her fingertips as he clutched the back of the chair. “You’re being a bad girl.” “Spank me.” She let go and left his warm lap. “Make me behave.” The leather crackled underneath him. Turning away from Mark, she hitched her skirt up an inch at a time. His hand glanced off her left buttock and her flailing arm knocked a stack of mail onto the floor. Into her ass crease, he worked two fingers, rimming her anus but not penetrating her tightest spot. Leaning over a bit more, she giggled as the skirt’s hem teased the fullest curve of her ass. Again, he smacked her, and cum trickled down her leg. As quick as she came, so did warm, wonderful kisses. “Feel better?” “Much.” Better if we were upstairs in my bed. The casters clicked over the plastic mat, and she stepped free from between his legs. Slipping the sandals off her feet, she straightened her toes against the cool plastic of the mat. The ceiling fan’s paddles wafted cool air over the backs of her legs and buttocks. As his fingertips fluttered over the curve of her hip, she moaned. Damn, he was good. “Don’t stop. Keep it coming.” Clambering up onto the desk, she scattered more paperwork. From beside her, he swiped the bottle of oil. One drop, then two trickled down her crease and tickled her pussy lips. “Hope you don’t mind me making a mess of your desk?” “That’s what the blotter’s for.” His fingers followed the path of the dripping oil, spreading it over her skin and kneading whatever he touched. “How’s my demonstration?” “Awesome.” Better if you’d put your mouth and cock where your hands are. Propped on fingertips and knees, she poised herself on the shamrock green blotter, the body-hugging skirt bunched at her waist. She spread her legs wide and thrust her ass toward the hot breaths. “Lick me. Make me cum all over your lips and fingers.” “And what if I make you wait until tonight?” “Do it now.” He bit her right buttock. “Do you always get what you want? Well, this is what I want.” He tongued her pussy, nibbling the swollen labia from time to time. One of his fingers worked her clit, and he licked the spot where her ass met her leg. A ball of heat wound from her belly and skittered down both legs. When his mouth met with her pussy, she rode out the orgasm and squirted against his warm lips. The tonguing ceased and he left her. “Should I take my time or eat you up?” Blood rushed to her brain. An aching filled her hands and wrists. “Lick me dry.” The chair’s spring creaked, and a current of air rushed over her bare lower body. But nothing cooled the heat between her legs. Strong arms scooped her body from the desk and eased her into a standing position. She looked up and admired the rotating fan paddles. Come on, Mark. Make your move. As she swayed sideways, Mark steadied her, turned her around and lifted her back onto the desk. Without a word, he knelt and clasped her heels in his damp hands. She closed her eyes. May her imagination take flight? “These little piggies are going into my mouth, not to the market.” Between each of her

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toes, his tongue teased. Soft sucking came from below. “Ahhh.” Pieces of the felt blotter lodged underneath her nails. Gentle bites came along her arch. What was this devil up to now? Opening her eyes, she started at his choice of passion play. His lips and teeth held her right great toe captive. With deft strokes of his tongue, he teased the fleshy underside. “A toe fetish? Are toes all you enjoy sucking?” He released her toe. “You’ll find out later. But, I have a meeting to attend shortly. And a new suit to put on. Pass me that pencil.” Pencil? Reaching behind, she latched onto one and placed it in his right hand. Each of his long fingers curved around the slim stick of wood, and he guided the eraser end over her belly and crotch. More cum trickled onto the desk blotter. Steady-handed, Mark inserted the nub of the eraser between her slickest lips, twisted his wrist and landed the cushion of rubber against her hard clit. Contact with the eraser, and his pressure, brought spasms to her lower body, and her toes curled toward the base of her feet. Calling his name, she rode out another climax. More papers crumpled underneath her hands, and she lifted her hips before resting them again. Slowly, he swiped the eraser along her wetness. “What are you doing?” She gritted her teeth and beat back another climax. “Erasing all those naughty thoughts. Now you’ll be an angel tonight. Can’t have any devil woman in disguise.” Wait a minute. No. It isn’t possible. He couldn’t know she was the gypsy to his jester. But why else did he keep dropping hints? “What makes you think my mind’s on sex right now?” “The proof is there.” With the unsharpened end of the pencil, he tapped the blotter space between her legs. “And you can just walk away and leave me here to finish up the job myself?” “Remember what I told you. It pays for me to delve deeply into research. Learn what makes men’s and women’s minds tick. Today, you’ve made me even more aware of the power of sexual denial. My meeting will be even more eventful because of your lesson.” She couldn’t let him walk away the victor in this match. Think quickly. Bring him to his knees and between your legs. After her toes straightened, she climbed off the desk and circled behind the captain’s chair. “Pass me that bottle of oil.”

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Taut muscle and tanned skin met with her fingers as she worked the oil over his neck and shoulders. The more she massaged, the more her thighs clung together. A pause allowed her a chance to admire his gleaming flesh. “How’s that feel?” He mumbled and rolled his head. Good. Rendered speechless at her slight seduction. “Pass me a couple tissues, please.” Grabbing the handful he offered, she dabbed away the excess oil. “Now for your shirt.” “My shirt?” “You can’t go to a business meeting without your shirt. What would people think?” A cursory glance over his chest revealed his pebbled nipples. She wiped off her hands and tossed the soiled tissues into the trashcan. His shoe soles scuffed against the plastic floor mat as he rose and rearranged his clothing. What a sexy grin playing at the corners of his kissable mouth. With her palms, she smoothed the shirt over his biceps and chest. Continued contact with his hot body was a definite bonus on this otherwise boring day. Button by button, she secured the shirt edges before tugging his belt loose from its fabric restraints. His erection pressed against the zipper. The trouser button yielded. Her fingers trembled around the steel tab of the pull. Zssspppp. If only she could be tasting him instead of sending him on his way to some business meeting. “I thought I was supposed to be dressing?” No mistaking how husky his voice had become since their sex play. “You are, but I have to tuck your shirt in.” Down over his slim hips, she tugged the trousers. Navy blue boxer briefs shielded his cock. Her mouth watered and she swallowed several times. This wasn’t the time to lose control. She smoothed the silken shirt over his back and returned his trousers to normal position. A deep breath burned her nostrils, and she heaved it out. Make your fingers behave. Focus on something other than sex. Fingers trembling, she secured his zipper. After refastening his tooled leather belt, she eased her fingers along the snug waistband. She played her gaze from his shoes to his scalp. What a mess she’d made of his left pant’s leg. “I’ll bet your father will be there. Too bad he can’t witness the mark I made on a Sloan.” Somber-faced, Mark shook his head. “I’m meeting with a group of psychologists. We’re reviewing my most recent findings on aphrodisiacs.” She pointed to the wet spot on his upper thigh. “Will you have time to change?” “I have a spare pair or two at the office. Can’t keep my colleagues waiting too long. They’ve traveled here from as far away as Boston for this meeting of the minds.” “Just what are you going to say about aphrodisiacs?” One look into those cobalt-blues

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provided her answer. “That they’re not proven to arouse men or women any more than plain water. As for seduction, I still believe—” “A man or woman can’t be compelled to react to sexual stimuli if they’ve set their mind against it.” His expression brightened. “Correct. Now you’re thinking is more in line with mine. Who knows? You may become an invaluable resource for my research. But I know you’ll keep doing your damnedest to discredit any of my theories.” Damned straight. A resource for his research? Just wait until dark. He’d change his mind about stimulants and seduction. If he didn’t, she might as well pack up everything and join a convent. “My eyes and intuition must have deceived me a little while ago. You didn’t seem to be fighting against your darkest desires. Not that you’d admit I’ve made a serious dent in your bachelor’s armor.” From the jacket pocket of the mega-buck suit, he removed the flashy platinumpatterned silk tie and fastened it at his neck. Had she checkmated him for the time being? Or was he searching his mind for the perfect comeback? “How about seven tonight?” Should she keep her options open or accept? Face it. You want to be near him if only for purely professional reasons. “Fine. Dressy or casual?” “Something in between.” He narrowed the distance he’d created between them and removed his suit coat. As he walked, the way he dangled the designer garment concealed her indiscretion. A faint hint of amaretto lingered on his skin. When combined with his clean-scrubbed maleness, it made for one heady olfactory experience. First, she’d make his desires surface tonight. Later, she’d deal with his beliefs and theories. “I’ll be ready.” Her hand froze on the doorknob but finally turned and permitted them exit. And you’d better be ready, too. For the most mind-blowing sexcapades and dessert possible. He flashed her a heart-stopping smile, raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I’m sure you will be.” With long, confident strides, he disappeared through the front door and out into the street. Like the day, her dream world became enshrouded in an impenetrable fog. But soon, she’d prove in life and on paper that she could seduce him—no matter how much he fought against it. ***** What a posh club. Chloe crushed the tuft of the black velvet jewelry pouch underneath her fingers. Even more chi-chi than the restaurant. Smoke sifted throughout the seating area and dance floor. With each note the jazz trumpeter played, she edged closer to Mark. What would he do if she performed a sexy striptease for him? She stroked the smoothness of the gift. Pink crystal glistened and winked at her. A soft shade, similar to the inside of a rabbit’s ears.

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Around the edges, she traced her finger, following each curve of the delicate heart. “It’s gorgeous. I can’t ever remember being given something so special.” Mark shot her another seductive glance. What was a girl to do when confronted with a pale pink heart and a handsome man’s unsettling blue eyes? She sucked in a deep breath and blew it out. Take that, tormented mind and raging emotions. He took a sip of merlot and set the goblet down. “Glad you like it. Something told me you would.” Have some fun with the skeptical scientist. “How many other surprises will you reveal?” His fingers laced with hers, hot flesh gripping hotter flesh. He always knew how to distract her. Low and moaning, the saxophone echoed her deepest desires. “Many. What’s on your mind?” Mark drew her hand to his face and feather-kissed her fingertips. “You really want to know?” “Yes.” The word muffled as he sucked her index finger. You asked for it. “I’d like you to play me like that jazz musician’s playing his sax. Slow at times, hard at others. Blowing your hot breath over my slick skin. Cooling it and driving me closer toward…” “Toward what, Chloe? Tell me how you’d like to spend the rest of our evening.” A-ha. A passionate reversal. She swallowed a squeal. He’d turned the evening’s erotic activities over to her. Placed them at her feet where she could wiggle her toes through the endless possibilities. But she wouldn’t fall into his trap. Mark may flash her the “go” sign, but he was all about control when it came to his bedroom guests. So be it. She’d share the spotlight. One last sip of merlot remained in their goblets. Drink to him and your desires. “Let’s toast what’s ahead, yet always remember that behind us.” “How could I ever forget a heart-shaped ass like yours? Or the way my father’s tried dragging your name through the mud?” He clinked his glass against hers, rim against rim. “To a beautiful woman. One who’s proud and defiant. One whom I deeply admire.” Defiant? “To an equally obstinate man. One I hope to convince the error of his ways and words.” “You possess powers of persuasion that strong, Chloe Vincent?” “If you’ll indulge me for the entire evening, I promise you won’t regret it.” At the approach of their waiter, she closed her mouth but not her mind. Let those indecent thoughts continue lurking amidst the gray matter. Mark signed their tab, pushed back his chair, stood and stretched. Every synapse fired as she admired his delicious body. Clad in a charcoal-gray silk suit, his excellent manners and breeding shone like meteor showers. Gold cufflinks, inlaid with mother of pearl, winked at her. He helped her up. “I’m sure I won’t forget anything about this evening.” Before buttoning his dinner jacket, he whipped back the edges and gave her an eyeful of his erection. While her left hand fussed with his lapels, the right one stroked his trouser front. How solid, yet vulnerable, the swollen flesh underneath her fingers. On tiptoe, she placed her lips next to his ear. “Ready for the next act to begin?” “Act? You won’t be acting. Neither will I. As for ready, what you’re touching should provide the answer. And from the way you’ve been swinging your crossed leg underneath the

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table, I thought that sandal would come off your foot.” “I’m not one who hides emotions and body language very well.” She inched away from him and admired his profile. Carnality and confidence. On exiting the jazz club, Mark swept ahead and held the door while she passed. Moonlight replaced candlelight. She sighed as his fingers found hers. The cooler night air was soothing, but the heat exchanged between them was far preferable. The hotter, the better. They continued onto the concrete banquette, alone on the street. Mark stopped and scooped her into his arms. “One thing before we get caught up in something we can’t and won’t stop. We’re at odds over our sexual viewpoints. Think that makes us bad bedmates? Speak now or forever hold your delicious tongue.” Damn. Why bring up such an obvious point? “That doesn’t need to factor into the erotic equation tonight. As for being at odds, what’s that got to do with our spending more time together?” “Won’t we build up too much static under those satin sheets of yours?” ***** Once inside her shop, Chloe kicked off her sandals. With each glance of the tiny brass bell off the door glass, her pulses pounded. “Leather seats always make me wet.” Mark molded his body against hers. His lips skimmed her center part, and his breath teased her bangs. They engaged in a slow grind on the makeshift dance floor of the extended foyer. She slipped her hand underneath the waistband of his trousers. “Mmmm. That’s better. You know, Mark? For a cool-mannered man, you have one hot ass.” “Ditto for you. One I can’t wait to lick from clit to slit.” “Keep those dirty thoughts for when we get upstairs. Someone might pass by the window and see us in here.” “Wouldn’t you like getting fucked doggie-style right here facing the sidewalk?” “Maybe, but I have a big bed upstairs waiting for us to muss those sheets more than a little. See how many sparks fly once we hit them. Actually you’d better be careful. Wouldn’t want your reputation sullied by having sex with a woman your father and colleagues scorn.” “To hell with that. I’m not worried.” His shirttail flapped over her hands and she squeezed his tight ass. Too bad he was still wearing those trousers. She stilled her swaying hips and stood toe-to-toe with the man of her moment. He cupped and massaged the sides of her breasts before clutching her buttocks. “Cotton or satin?” “I’m not wearing any panties.” “Again?” His fingers followed the curve of her hip, skimmed over the front of her dress and tickled her crotch. “I’ll bet you’re wet.” She shrugged free from his grasp, and pivoted in the direction of the stairs. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you, Mr. Smartass Sloan?” “Without a doubt. But you never told me about your sheets.” “Satin. Black as midnight. King-sized. I like ‘em large, along with my bed.” She crooked a finger and motioned him forward. With only a few strides of his long, lean legs, he stood beside her at the bottom step. As she turned toward him, the Newell post nudged her back. Reaching down, she unzipped his

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trousers. Heat from his hard-on flowed through the open flap. The brushed cotton of his boxer briefs caressed her hand. Her tense fingers fitted around his hard cock. “Large is the best way to live.” “Damned straight.” She blew him a kiss on air, turned and rushed up the staircase. “Let’s see how fast a hard man can climb these steps.” Upon reaching the upper landing, she spun and stuck out her tongue. “Are you coming or not?” “Not yet.” After removing his leather dress shoes, Mark mounted the steps in pairs. Positioning herself in front of the apartment door, she inserted the key and met with resistance. Any other time, the key fit without problem. As she silently cursed the bad luck, the key and fob clattered to the wooden floorboards. Not a bit out of breath from his fast trek, Mark knelt to retrieve it, his hair brushing against her calf. He rose to full height, drawing out the damned motion as though it were a major production. While his right hand clutched the key, the left eased the hemline of her dress upward until it lay even with her waist. Cooler air wafted over her bare legs. He wiggled the key under her nose. “Are you sure you’re putting this into the right hole?” Body temperature on slow boil, she traced the notches on the key. Why not toss the damned thing back in her bag and do him right here in the hallway? “I should know what fits where, shouldn’t I?” “We’ll soon find out.” She moistened her lips. Mark drove forward and pinned her against the door. His lips pressed over hers while his hand stroked along her left hip, just below where the dress’s hemline rested. Past his oregano-flavored lips and deep into his mouth, she thrust her tongue. He tasted as sexy as he looked. His fingers traveled across her belly and down to the tuft of hair she’d kept there for one purpose. Soon her pussy and mound would be bare, compliments of Mark and the razor she’d prepared. Bye, bye Brazilian landing strip. “My pussy’s hot.” Three of his fingers thrust into her heat. “Damned straight.” The thumb massaged her clit. “I’ll fuck you so well, we’ll turn heaven into hell.” What was up with him and the rhyming? That should have been left behind at the French Ball. She pushed his fingers out and examined the key. Her giggle got lost in his mouth. No wonder it didn’t work. Her mind was all messed up. This one opened the shop, not her apartment. Mark let her go, and she rummaged through her evening bag. Finally, the phoenix-head keychain and apartment key met with her fingers. She fitted the key into the door, and a slight turn of her wrist granted them access to her after-working-hours retreat. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she winked at Mark. “Enter at your own risk.”

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Chapter Nine With a flip of the light switch, silvery-golden light provided Mark a view of Chloe Vincent’s private world. Vibrant colors and gaudy upholstery made his eyes and mouth water. He swallowed hard. Every shade of pink imaginable. And so much damned red it made him hot just standing there. Red silk scarves with beaded fringe trim covered the lamps on each end table. Smack in the center rested a beet-red leather couch she probably sank into after a busy day at the shop. Checkerboard carpeting spread from wall to wall, the sections in red and black. How he’d love fucking Chloe on every square. “Like my place?” She turned on the two smaller lamps and bathed the room in more of a ruby-golden glow. “I’ve never seen so many colors in one place before. Well, maybe in the paint section of the hardware store.” “I didn’t think my eclectic taste in design would appeal to you.” Hopefully, sex with her would prove every bit as wild as her decor. Faux leopard skins were flung over a black leather recliner. He loosened the topknot of his tie. Thrusting into her while in full recline would blow any man’s mind and wad. He shoved the tie into his dinner jacket pocket and unfastened the top button of his dress shirt. Too damned hot in here. He followed her hips as she sashayed across the room. From a small cabinet above the wet bar, she removed a martini shaker and became their mixmaster. “Looks like you could use something to drink.” She removed a vintage bottle of vermouth from another smaller cabinet and unscrewed the cap. She moved to yet a third cabinet door. From behind the varnished oak panel, her hand claimed two more bottles. He squinted at the labels. This petite siren knew her way around a martini. Top-shelf vodka and even a bottle of Kina lillet. “Bond would approve.” She flashed him a glossy pink smile and measured the liquors into the shaker. When she’d agitated him and the contents enough, her arm stilled and she filled each glass to the rim. Shit, shit, shit. Liquor was the last thing he needed. He had to keep one of his heads clear tonight. She held up a martini glass. “That’s how you like it, isn’t it? All the way to the top? Care for a lemon twist?” “Yes…yes…and no. Conducted many experiments for your Pharmacology thesis yet?” “A few.” She passed him a glass and wrapped slender fingers around the stem of her own. “Oh, really?” His cock stirred. “On people or in a laboratory? Don’t ever let science get in the way of terrific sex.” “Critiquing already, are you? We haven’t even finished these yummy martinis.” She consumed a portion of hers and set the glass down. “Actually, all of my experiments to date

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were performed in the lab at Tulane.” Mark took a sip. “If you do everything as well as these martinis, you’ll have no problem mastering your thesis.” “Glad you approve of my mixology. Go to many clubs?” “I don’t do the club scene. No time in my life for smoke-filled rooms and desperate women.” He set the glass down on the counter and admired the rise and fall of her breasts. Breasts he could suck all night long and fall asleep between, his face cradled between their softness. “Don’t say another word about critiquing.” Chloe plucked a jar of olives from the shelf, opened the lid and stuck one between her lips. After sucking the juicy red pimento out, she thrust her tongue into the hole remaining. A nub of pink flesh protruded through the opposite end. Too sexy. He closed the gap between them and sank his teeth into her tongue and the olive. Her eyes glistened and flashed with a green fire he’d not witnessed before. Soft and warm, her breath seeped against his upper lip. He drew in her delicious scent. Her pussy was primed, and the vanilla perfume she wore was more intoxicating than any vodka. Chloe pinched his arm and reclaimed her tongue. “What about critiquing? Will you do that with us?” “No way. My father always got off on that after sex with my mother. Recorded it in his journals. The Jade Journals, I called them. Leather diaries bound in the most stunning shade of jade-green leather. Those entries, penned by both, served as their post-coital pillow talk. Of course, he always told me she preferred the missionary position, if she was in the mood at all.” “My parents had sex all the time. In every room in the house. Sometimes even in the pool. Several times a day whenever dad returned from a business trip.” He stretched and rolled his shoulders. What lay ahead for Chloe and him? Would she turn him into a lab rat? A sacrificial lamb for her sexual slaughter? Was that her game for getting him here? One shrug and the rhinestone straps of her cocktail dress slipped downward. She was so damned good at getting what she wanted when she wanted it. Making men bow to her beauty. And he was powerless to deny his attraction. He had to find out what was on her mind. “Where’s your favorite place to fuck? Don’t say the balcony. I don’t do heights.” Already over the threshold of what was probably her bedroom, she cast him a backwards glance. “Do you do blondes with hot pussies?” Before he responded, she ducked out of sight. He followed the trail of her scent. That carpeted path led him straight into the most surreal bedroom. Every wall, even the ceiling, shone with mirrors. “You can close your mouth, unless you want my tongue in it.” She stripped the cocktail dress over her head. “There are more damned mirrors in here than in a funhouse.” “Welcome to Chloe’s World of Fantasy. I can’t wait to suck your cock and nipples until you scream.” A strange heat coursed through his body and brain like wildfire. Wanting her consumed him. Soon, he’d lose all control. She pranced over to where he stood, turned away from him and bent over. He parted her ass and squeezed each cheek. Where to begin when confronted with such a feast?

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Shuffling forward, she broke contact. At facing him again, she wore a wicked smile. Hands against his chest, she pushed and backed him onto the bed. The mattress dipped as she joined him. One smooth, creamy leg slung over both of his. His cock throbbed and his brain screamed. Damn, but she was hot. “Let me taste you, Chloe. Your clit wants my tongue to tease it.” She stood and positioned herself straddling his close-together legs. In what must have been record time, she whipped off his belt, unzipped him and shucked his boxer briefs and trousers down to where her legs pressed against him mid-thigh. “Time to get you ready for bed.” With a wink, she backed away from the bed. Another tug of her hands, and his trousers and briefs hit the floor. The ceiling fan provided some cool air. He stood and kicked the clothes from his feet. In his right hand, he secured one strap of her gold-satin garter belt. “Only if I can get you ready, too.” Golden-blonde waves tumbled across her cheeks as she shook her head. “I can manage fine by myself.” Lay back down. Wait. She’ll come to you. She can’t resist a cock this size. And you can’t resist her. He’d tried for two months, but failed miserably. Was it love? Lust? Male curiosity? He spread-eagled across the bed and admired himself in the mirrors overhead. Not missing a beat, she climbed into bed beside him. Only her stockings and garter belt remained. Her full breasts bounced with every move. A soft plop sounded as she collapsed onto a pile of pillows nearby. Tiny toes painted in a bloody shade curled against the quilted black satin coverlet. Like a crab, she back-crawled her way over to where he lay. Her soft toes tweaked his right ear. As he turned, they tickled his forehead. Below a narrow strip of blonde hair lay her damp slit and that wet pussy. Evidently tired of toying with him, she straightened and again straddled his body. A single flick of her fingers released the silvery-black stockings, and they fell to her knees with a whisper. She unhooked the garter belt and tossed it behind. Placing her hands on his chest, she steadied her body and rose to a standing position. Curvy Chloe towered above him like a living goddess. A naked one in need of a proper sexual healing. As though some tribal beat played in her mind, she swiveled her hips while he watched from below. With each undulation, her crimson-tipped fingers played with her wetness. While her tongue traced circles around her glossy lips, she slipped two fingers inside herself. His gaze froze on her crotch. Winking and giggling, she removed the sticky digits, crouched over him and swiped her cum over his closed lips. He licked it away. “Bend down here closer. Let me get a real taste of your pussy.” But she inched away and leaped off the bed. Was the heat of the room or her body making him crazy? He abandoned the bed for a spot closer to her. “What a wonderful guy.” She stroked the satin comforter. “You’re going to help me undo the bed linens before I do you.” “Ever hear of such a thing as a maid?” “Yes, but I don’t want any strangers sniffing around my bedroom. Once you’re comfortable, I’ll have to take certain precautions. Otherwise, you might slip away from me.” One snap of her wrist sent the satin coverlet flying over the end of the king-sized bed and past

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the cedar chest. “I’m not going anywhere for quite awhile.” “Glad to hear that. I’m not a woman who orgasms easily.” She puckered her pink, glossy lips and smooched the air. “Where were you when I needed someone sweet and warm in my empty bed?” “Working or studying.” She patted the mattress. “Climb back in here and make yourself comfortable.” His brain seized, but his body headed toward the bed. Settling onto the satin sheets, he admired the rise and fall of her breasts. Was she a woman who liked giving orders while a man obeyed? Won’t she be surprised when I… Soft girlish giggles filled the room. “Simon says lay with your feet facing that wall and raise your arms back toward the headboard.” Fire flashed through his balls. No need to wonder any further. With one swish of her arm, the pile of pink and red velveteen and satin pillows piled beside him sailed across the room. Each one hit the floor or a piece of furniture. The giggles got louder, and he assumed the position she requested. What was so damned funny? She crawled over to where he lay. Shiny crimson claws flicked against his right wrist. “Close your eyes, please.” He squeezed his eyelids shut. Something fuzzy struck his wrist. What the… Snap. A plush collar pressed against his pulse point. A slight flex of his wrist told the tale. He was chained up. She was up to the same tricks as last night. He opened his eyes, turned on the pillow and examined the black-fur-lined manacle. A slender cord of woven satin rope led behind his head. Sonofabitch. This babe was into bondage. Chloe stroked his forehead. “Put your other hand up here. Once I’ve played for a little while, you’ll get a turn.” Get a turn? He always took the lead in sex. Never had a woman supplanted his desire without so much as a decent debate. He wiggled the fingers of his left hand, and she leaned over him. Soon, both hands were secured. Caught like a wild animal in a trap. She sauntered away, her luscious heart-shaped ass making one helluva memory. “You can be glad I don’t have a longer tongue,” he shouted toward an adjoining room. The bathroom? “Or I’d stick it so far inside you, you’d never want it to come out.” Leaning through the doorway, she winked. “Promises, promises.” He strained against his bonds. Water sprayed from the bathroom tap. Here he was. Alone. Aroused. Almost ready to surrender completely and let her have her way. Several times he cleared his throat loudly, but to no avail. Only the faint sound of her humming floated over to where he lay. He had it bad. No doubt about that. But with Chloe, that might be good? ***** From the lower shelf of the medicine cabinet, Chloe removed the vial. The fiery liquid glowed when exposed to the fluorescent light tubes flanking the vanity mirror. He’d fall harder than ever before. Would she? The stopper finally yielded to her vigorous tugs. She sniffed the preparation. Peppery. But this wasn’t for dabbing behind the ears. Absolutely not. For weeks, she’d dubbed

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several ingredients together to make this stimulant. Not a single drop would be wasted. She placed her finger over the opening and inverted the vial. One touch of her tongue against her fingertip sent electric jolts throughout her entire body. Even her toes tingled. Resist this, skeptical Sloan. If my naked body doesn’t drive you to reconsider your theories, a brief exposure to this stuff will send you over the edge. From the bedroom, a sharp whistle emanated. “For cryin’ out loud, Chloe. This is a hell of a time for feminine hygiene.” “What makes you think I’m primping?” “Don’t all women?” Once she’d fitted the stopper into the neck of the vial, Chloe laid it on the silver salver with the other items. Glass bowl filled with water. Safety razor. Hand towel. She picked up perhaps the most important item. Twirling the purple feather, she laughed at her wickedness. What a perfect souvenir. Now for the whipped cream. After retrieving the canister from the refrigerator, she claimed the tray and carried her props over to the bed. His expression was priceless. Uncertainty mixed with raw lust. But if he thought it was time for breakfast, he was in for quite a shock. His head thrashed against the feather pillows. “You’re hungry? We just ate about an hour ago? Judas Priest, Chloe. Quit teasing.” “You think I’m going to feed you at a time like this? Nothing doing.” She set the tray down on the floor and turned toward the bedroom door. “I’ll be back.” “Famous last words. If you’re not, I’ll break free from these bonds and come up on you from behind.” Once in the living room, she weighed his words of warning. “Save all your strength. You’re going to need it. And close your eyes until I tell you to open them.” ***** Chloe sneaked back into the bedroom and smeared some of the pepper potion over her labia. The moment had arrived for getting up-close and personal with the man who dared doubt the value of herbs and natural sexual stimulants. The satin sheets whispered as she climbed onto the bed. From a position straddling Mark’s shoulders, she pressed her strip of golden-blonde fur against his lips. His tongue appeared and swiped up and down her sex. With each lick he delivered to the hard nub of her clit, blood beat throughout her body and temples. She drifted her gaze over his handsome clean-shaven face. His eyes remained closed. “My master tongue-lasher. Open your eyes,” she said barely above a whisper and tapped her leg against his warm ear. “But don’t let that tongue lose contact with my pussy.” She flicked a fingernail across her clit. Absofuckinlutely perfect. Like grease on a griddle, her moan zone was sizzling. But why toy with herself when she had Mark’s tongue nearby? Lowering her crotch to his face, she groaned as his tongue came out and delivered the best lick yet. The harder he licked, the more she moaned and rubbed herself over his mouth and chin. She bit her lower lip several times. No time for pillow talk or true confessions. As his tongue disappeared, she changed position. With her sex against his chest, she ground against his warm hairy flesh. Her gyrations loosened the orange gummy bear she’d

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placed in her navel while in the kitchen, and the piece of candy landed on Mark’s lips. She giggled at how fast he devoured the sweet treat. “Hungry, aren’t you?” After a few chews, he swallowed. “Tastes good, but you taste better.” “How would you like me bare?” She shimmied up and placed her pussy near his mouth. His eyes shot open. “Yeah.” Hot and heavy, his breath beat against her crotch. So far, so good. Delivering a kick-ass thesis and oral defense to that committee would be sweet success. But the fact that a handsome man was up to his eyeteeth in her research made reaching her goal even sweeter. He nipped and licked a path from her belly to her pussy. When he came up for air, she dismounted, reached over the side of the bed and grabbed the shaving gear. Brandishing the pink safety razor with an extra long handle, she tapped it against the narrow strip of blonde hair. “I have steady hands.” Sweat beaded his forehead. “Let me shave you.” Tiny furrows appeared beside his blue and blazing eyes. She could gaze into them for hours. She laughed. With his tanned skin and rugged good looks, he resembled a Ken doll. But this living, breathing hunk’s name was Mark. Mark Sloan. The man who would, for once, be on her side—of the bed and otherwise. “Make my pussy smooth like my ass.”

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Chapter Ten

Freed from the fur-lined cuffs, Mark stretched and stroked her bare ass. Chloe’s thigh muscles clenched against his flanks. Was fighting her a lesson in futility? He toyed with the gold heart dangling from the chain around her neck. Probably, she’d recognized him last night and was after making him admit playing jester to her gypsy. She laughed and reached over the side of the bed. When her arm reappeared, he bucked so hard, so swayed off balance, and he grabbed the canister. So icy cold against his hot, damp palm. He agitated the can of whipped cream. The soft hiss of the foam as it dispensed was the only sound other than that of his stupid heart and their breathing. “Want me to cover you with some cream?” “As much as possible.” Her tongue flicked at him. From her flat belly to the swell of her sex, he slathered whipped cream. He even tucked a creamy puff between her wet lips. After only a nanosecond of contact, her pussy melted the fluff. Aiming the can another time, his cock surged as more sweet-scented foam hit her crotch. “Faster, bad boy. Don’t let it all melt.” Damn it. Tonight he’d planned on taking his time and teasing the hellcat out of her. But it made no sense upsetting his rosy-cheeked seductress. After all, she was the host and he was one willing guest. Every time he pressed his lips together, a burning sensation built deep within. Ever since kissing Chloe’s pussy, a strange fire sizzled around his mouth. He accepted the safety razor. Slim and pink. Tipped with a sharp, shiny blade. “Time for us to trade places, isn’t it?” “Yes. Just let me know when I need to open wider.” She rolled away and settled onto the sheets, creamy skin against jet-black satin. The canister slipped from his grasp, continued across the bed and toppled over the edge, but he lunged and claimed it before it hit the floor. A quick glance at her dresser made his heart pound harder. There, nestled between two fresh pink roses, lay the crystal heart he’d given her for Valentine’s Day. He pulled himself back into bed and poised over her pussy. Instead of beginning her grooming game, he licked at the strip of cream-covered golden-blonde fur at the top of her slit. A coconut-cream mixed with her musk. His mouth and cock watered. Beneath his lips and tongue, her hips bucked and thrust. The burning intensified and carried onto his tongue. One glance at curvy Chloe revealed her crimson tipped fingers tweaking her nipples. He stopped licking and waved the razor at her. “Time to make that fur disappear.” Chloe sucked her first two fingers. Little by little, that’s how he’d shave and uncover her bare skin. Make her moan for more. He foamed her pussy again, worked the cream into peaks and sucked the rest from his fingers. “When I was sixteen I had sex with my French tutor. He was so stuck on himself. James Muniér. I called him Slim Jim because he couldn’t bring me to orgasm. He had no clue how to

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work my clit either. Actually, no man has ever satisfied me in the way I really want.” Her words hit his face like a hundred-mile-per-hour wind. Hard to believe he was the only man who’d brought her to orgasm. “I’m not like those other men.” The fingers of his left hand tingled around the razor. Such a perfect pussy. Good enough to eat. Like a ripe mango and just as juicy. The muscles in her stomach rippled as she stretched and forced her crotch against his hand. “Think we’ll both be bouncing off that mirrored ceiling when it’s over?” This was his wildest fantasy cum true. Steadily he guided the razor across the strip of cream-covered hair, sharp blade skimming across soft skin. How she quivered when he cupped her sex. Cum oozed from her pussy like lava. With the final swipe, he tossed the razor onto the floor and tightened his grip on the untamed woman wiggling under his ass and legs. She parted her pussy lips and then rubbed the slippery fingers over her bare belly. He joined in and clenched against coming a couple times. Together they lavished attention on her smoothness. She plunged three fingers into herself, pulled them out, and he licked them clean. Her scent was on his hands and mouth and pervaded his nostrils with each breath. He focused on her heaving breasts and taut pink nipples. Sweet, sticky Chloe. He rolled off, lay down and motioned to her. “Come over here and let my lips be the judge of whether or not you’re smooth enough.” She aligned herself over his face and crouched. “Now for the tongue test.” At the sight of her bare, pink lips, he gritted his teeth and gripped the base of his cock. After his lips and tongue got their fill, his cock would take their place. With each lash of his tongue, she jerked and moaned, rewarding his mouth with more glaze. And the burn continued, but what the hell was the source? She hadn’t used any lubricant. Only her own cum covered those pussy lips. When her breaths came out in pants, she backed away and returned to a position beside him on the bed. He lay beside her and licked her left earlobe. “You taste as fabulous as you look tonight.” Her green eyes sparkled. “Maybe so, but our passion play is far from over.” ***** Chloe stretched over the side of the bed and located the vial. While he stroked the crease of her ass and tickled the rim of her anus, she tilted the vial against the underside of both index fingernails. Upon contact, the tips of her fingers warmed. Sexual energy surged throughout her body. She’d share this sensation with him. Hopefully, he’d love every second of it. “Lie back and relax.” She reared against his hand, and his finger stilled. “My mouth can’t get enough of you. I have this uncontrollable urge to keep licking you. I want more. I don’t want to stop tasting you. You’re a combination of peppery fire and sweet pussy.” But once the mattress shifted at his departure, she sprang back into action. From where she’d tied them to the bedpost, she claimed the two long sapphire-blue scarves. A look of puzzlement painted his handsome face. After smoothing the strips of silk on either side of his body, she stroked his cock.

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Blowing him air kisses, she tugged at the halo of brown hair curling around the cock’s base and feather-kissed the head. “Time to return your earlier attention lick for lick.” “If you’re not careful, I might come.” “Oh, I’m always careful.” She pulled a condom from underneath a nearby pillow. Carefully she opened the gold foil packet and inserted the condom between her lips. A flick of her fingers sent the empty wrapper spiraling toward the headboard. Down over his erection she eased the rubber sheath. Underneath the latex, the engorged veins in his cock pulsed against her lips. Once the swollen head reached the back of her throat, she slowly released his length and admired her handiwork. A shove of her index finger and thumb drove the condom to the base. His eyes were closed tight, his jaw clenched. Playing the seductress was such fun. “Ride me like the fucking wind.” No mistaking his growl. “The best is yet to come.” Hands resting on his tight abs, she eased down over his lap. Her pussy consumed the thick pink head, and she fingered herself. She shifted forward and balanced her palms near his navel. Another wiggle of her hips and his cock drove deep into in her heat. “Do you want me to stay on top or is there another position you’d like better?” “Stay up there.” His eyes opened, and they blazed as blue as the silk scarves. “Ride me, Cowgirl Chloe. I’ve never had a woman like you before.” The more she forced her weight against his crotch, the more her pussy expanded to accommodate his length and thickness. She’d ride him raw. Milk every drop of cum from him. She grabbed the silk scarves, one in each hand. With each thrust of her hips, she drove him toward the part of her that most wanted to experience his hardness. Their moans mingled. The headboard wobbled with each jerk she applied to the silken tethers, but she pressed toward the ultimate victory. “I want to make both of us come.” “Judas Priest, you’re wonderful,” Mark said through clenched teeth, his hands gripping her gyrating hips. One of his fingers probed her ass. “Mmmm.” Sweat seeped from every pore on her body, and she released the scarves. Time to bring them both closer to the edge. Continuing to work him into a fevered frenzy, she held up her hands and examined them. Blood red, her fingernails flashed even in the demure pink lamplight. Over his entire torso, she traced her tongue. Licking. Lapping. Drawing energy from his body. His cock still buried deep inside her. The muscles in his thighs tightened while she kneaded the taut hairy flesh covering them. She admired the sweet spots where his legs met with his torso. Index fingers poised, she pressed them against the sensitive folds, never ceasing her thrusting while gently scratching her lover’s loins. Almost instantly, his body jerked upward and he scooped her into his arms. Their laps melded. Without a doubt, this was her best sex ever. She thumbed her clit and squirted. Mark strained upward, and her hand dropped from its fumbling. She clenched him with every ounce of remaining strength. “Come for me, baby. Fill that condom.”

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Legs locked around his waist, she rested her heels against his lower back. Her own release erupted deep within her pussy and spread throughout her body like wildfire. While her toes curled tightly toward the base of her feet, Mark jerked and shuddered in her arms. Soon, his body was limp as a rag doll’s, cast aside following an afternoon of play. Slippery from sex, they clung together. She looked into his eyes. A calmer, Caribbean blue replaced the cobalt fire that had earlier flashed there. For years she’d been missing the ultimate in sexual experiences. In less than two hours, Mark Sloan had delivered her desire in spades. He collapsed against the bed, and she followed his body’s descent. “I fought as hard as I could. My willpower is no match for your muscles.” His breath came in spasms. Her pulse quickened. “You fought your desires?” And possibly my potion? “And lost?” A lopsided grin stretched over his lips. “Fought like a man possessed. I even tried imagining you as Medusa.” At this admission, she laughed. “Medusa? I’m not that bad.” Covering her mouth with his, Mark kissed her softly. “Not bad, Chloe Vincent. You’re fantastic. The best sex I’ve ever had.” “Care to go a second round?” A flash of his palms told her otherwise. “You wore me out, cowgirl. Time for me, for us, to rinse off and…” “And what?” He stretched and searched the room, almost as though for a clue as to how to finish what they’d started. “That’s weird. I almost said crawl under the covers together.” She flexed her numb fingers. “What’s wrong with spending the night together?” “Nothing.” He nuzzled her cheek in such a romantic way. “Nothing at all.” “Afraid of getting too cozy?” She laid her head against his damp chest. The ceiling mirror captured their clinch. Her body draped over his. Almost as though their limbs were fused. Underneath her hand, his heart bounded. He stiffened. “Usually, yes. For some reason, tonight I don’t feel like budging from this comfortable bed or your arms. When our bodies are close, I get this burning sensation. All over. Deep inside, too. Well, not really a burning but warmth that creeps from my ears to my toes. Ends up in my balls. My lips and cock still tingle.” She sprang up and hugged herself. Her potion worked. Mark admitted experiencing an unusual fire. One he couldn’t pinpoint and didn’t want to put out. And she’d experienced multiple orgasms at his lips and cock. Tomorrow, she’d burn up that keyboard. Type out every explicit detail. Well, almost every one. The Thesis Committee didn’t need to know every sexy thing. “You’re not the only one feeling the heat. My pussy is still on fire.” And so is my heart. His hand made stinging contact with her ass. “You wrung every drop from me.” She plucked the overstretched and damp condom from his softening cock and tossed it onto the salver. Wiping her fingers on the bottom sheet, she settled back into the warm zone beside him. “Tell me what I want to hear.” The coarse coils of his chest hair tickled her cheek, but she remained in place, tucked against his calming body. “Right now, I’m not sure what I’m thinking.” “Maybe you’ll stay here all night?” His touch faded and he clambered from the bed. Only his sculpted buns confronted her

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as he padded toward the bathroom light. Once again, she’d forced a man’s hand. Driven him far from any possibility of commitment. But she didn’t want him to marry her. If only he would admit her theories and research showed promise, those words would suffice.

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Chapter Eleven Mark stepped closer to the full-length mirror affixed to the back of the bathroom door. Two crimson crescents flared on his groin. Where in the hell did they come from? He splayed the flesh taut underneath his thumb and forefinger. He’d just been fucked senseless by the ultimate seductress and then branded with crescent marks from her nails. And he’d been putty in her artistic hands. What had she done to him and his weakening heart? Driven him crazy and senseless, that’s what. Without a doubt, this encounter had to be part of some type of experiment. Face it, after such a wonderful night Chloe proved she’s the type of woman who could persuade him to leave his bachelor days behind. He dragged his hands through his unruly hair. Hell. What was he thinking? Settling down when he was on the cusp of becoming a well-known researcher and lecturer in the field of Behavioral Psychology? Mark squinted at his reflection. He looked like a vagrant who’d just been hauled from a dumpster. Spikes of hair jutted from his scalp. Stubble covered his face and chin like a bad brown dust. Yet Chloe thought him appealing. He pivoted and aimed his cock at the gaping porcelain orifice. Appealing as in sexually attractive. If he fell in love with her, he’d probably start thinking like her. And what about the television debate? Had anyone contacted her yet about participating in the head-to-head debate with his father on local television? Edward the Asshole would rip her character and theories to shreds as thousands watched. Still, he’d shun any and all silly emotional responses and keep his mind on the business of Behavioral Psychology. But he must prevent her from being further maligned. She didn’t deserve having more mud slung on her pretty face. If she knew of the program, she hadn’t mentioned anything. Maybe they got lucky and his father decided against appearing? Edward Sloan had better fish to fillet than savvy Chloe Vincent. He closed his eyes. She’d be madder than a branded bull at being pitted against his father in a heated debate about sexual responses and stimuli. He dragged his spent body past the threshold. A hellish way to end their evening, but he had to find out—about the program and what she was up to next. He slipped back into the bedroom. Across the bed she sprawled, milky skin against midnight-black sheets. A study in contrasts, sweet and seductive Chloe. “Ready when you are.” A few tendrils of golden-blonde clung to the side of her face. From the inner pocket of his suit jacket, he retrieved the chocolate coin and a condom. Caught between his first two fingers, the gold foil glistened, but he kept it hidden from her view. Her feet swished over the satin. “What are you waiting for?” He swallowed the laugh and flipped the condom onto the bed. “Isn’t there something else you, we, forgot tonight?” She sprang up, a frown wrinkling her nose and forehead. “There is?”

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He nodded. “Dessert. I could do with some chocolate about now.” “Do me instead.” He crawled over to her and stroked the softness of her thighs and breasts with his souvenir. “If you insist. This time we do it Sloan style.” “Sloan style?” He silenced her with a deep kiss. Their tongues tangled. A soft moan rattled in her throat, unable to escape. At separating from her, his lips burned more than ever. She huffed off a long hot breath. “What’s that in your hand?” “Something sweet and sticky, just like you.” Rolling the coin over her belly, he angled it toward her bare pussy. She opened her legs and allowed him to insert the coin between the slick lips. His cock strained to life. Quickly, he peeled the gold wrapper away and uncovered the disk of chocolate underneath. One swipe, then another, her wetness glazed the candy more with each pass he made. “What are you up to?” Her gaze remained riveted to the melting coin in his hand. “Trying to see if I can hit the jackpot.” “You can’t play this machine unless you put the coin into her slot.” “True.” And if there ever was a player, Chloe Vincent could be counted among the ranks. His fingers met her crotch. The once hard candy now oozed over her pussy lips and coated them with melted milk chocolate. His stomach rumbled and his mouth watered. “Chocolate-covered pussy. The best dessert a chocolate coin can buy.” He drew in a deep breath. Another whiff of her cum and chocolate caused a boiling in his balls. He licked away the chocolate. Her hips thrashed against the mattress, and she rewarded his tongue with more Chloe cum. The throbbing in his cock matched that in his skull. Straddling her, he applied the condom, lowered and thrust into her candy-coated heaven. Back and forth, over the whole bed, they rolled and tormented each other. Bound at the hip. He pulled out part way and drove in deeper with the next move. With a squeal, she shuddered against him. The room spun and his balls drew up tight. He closed his eyes, her open-mouth sigh caught in his memory. The spasms in his balls subsided, and he let go of her hips. Lying beside her, each of her soft breaths ratcheted his pulse up a few more notches. He stroked her shoulder. Would she admit recognition of the coin? “Why didn’t you bring me some of those chocolates to eat?” Her lower lip curled underneath the full upper one. Sonofabitch. She was smoother than chocolate. “I got that one last night at a party.” Her green eyes opened wider and stared him down. “What kind of party?” Either she was clueless about his jester role or she was one hell of a fine actress. He couldn’t be mistaken. She’d been the one to set him on edge last night. Hadn’t she? “A French Ball. The Ballentines host one every year.” “I don’t attend many social functions. Trying to complete my Master’s at Tulane keeps me busy when I’m not at the shop.”

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He banged his fist against the mattress. She would never admit to being the gypsy, but did it really matter? Soft fingers kneaded his neck muscles. “I think I found a spot you missed. Check between my legs and make sure.” He poked his tongue through the dangling heart pendant of her necklace. She’d turned each of his hundred and ninety pounds into jelly. Sweet ball-breaking love. Game, set and match—Chloe Vincent! ***** The following week . . . Rice-paper lanterns in the festive colors of tiger lily, tealeaf green and buttercup fluttered in the breeze. Chloe took a small sip of saké, drawing it through her teeth and shivering. Just like the man who’d poured this wine, its effect lingered long after no visible traces remained. “My thesis is complete, earlier than I expected. In four days, I’ll present my oral defense. Can’t wait to hear the comments from my hard-nosed professor and the Thesis Committee.” She took another sip. In celebration, Mark drizzled more duck sauce over her pussy and licked it off. “Hope they receive as well as I did. Especially, the oral part.” “That’s what I’m hoping. A great deal of time and sweat went into that research.” She accepted a bite of Szechuan beef, devoured it and the tips of Mark’s chopsticks. “Professor Davidson regards your narrow-minded father’s views highly. Old crab-ass even mentioned he was anxious to see how well my theories and research held up against Edward Sloan’s.” The chopsticks slipped from his fingers and clattered against the concrete of the balcony. Mark Sloan, nervous? Naked except for a pair of tight black boxer-briefs, he edged closer to her. His nostrils flared as though he sought either a sexual encounter or a fight. “Let’s not discuss my father. All I want is to hold your hot body against mine.” She rapped his knuckles with her chopsticks. “Not until I’ve finished this last bit of shrimp-fried rice.” “I’m not hungry for shrimp or rice.” “What would please your palate?” “This.” He edged her backwards on the straw mat. Not only did he take care of her clit, but he banished her worries as well. Every time his tongue made those rude slurping noises, she bubbled over and drenched his lips with her own brand of hot sauce. She stared beyond the balcony. A magical night and a man catering to her every sexual whim. In the midnight sky, a few stars winked. Did they enjoy the erotic encounter below them? The four beach towels Mark had affixed to the railing as screens flapped now and again. They were caught in the breeze much as she was in Mark’s embrace. “Put your money where you mouth is.” She drew her knees up against her chest. At this, Mark pulled back and sat on heels. “Money? Honey, I don’t have any more coins. I spent the last one the other night.” Time for a little fun. Maybe she’d prompt him to admit how much he enjoyed her gypsy performance. She rocked upright and ensnared his head in her hands. “Surely, you jest? A handsome man, so worldly and wise, must have another coin to his name? A mere coin for a wealth of satisfaction.” Underneath her fingers, his ears flamed. By

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now, they must glow like embers. Without fumbling, he unfastened each of the frog closures that held the top of her emerald-green silk pajamas together. His hot breath fanned over her nipples, and he claimed one of them between his lips. His mouth popped free of her flesh. “I’m a working-class stiff. Penniless. Still in pursuit of academic acclaim.” His palms met with the mat as she playfully pushed his backwards. Flesh against flesh, their nipples touched and ignited an even wilder fire in her loins. “You’re stiff alright.” She grabbed his cock and laced her fingers over it in a tight cage. “But, for now, I’m in pursuit of hot sex, not higher learning.” Together they rolled. Touching straw. Skin prickling at the sudden contact with the cold cement. Limbs enmeshed. Hearts hammering. Allowing their passion to take them down whatever path it chose. She stilled, momentarily separated from him, and peeped up and over the railing. A few strolled the streets below. Were they searching for a romantic spot or simply returning home for the evening? When Mark tickled the top of her foot, she turned away from them. Bracing her backside against the towel-covered wrought-iron railing, she beckoned to Mark. The man who’d turned her life upside down. The man who’d brought her to climax countless times since their first time between the sheets. “Fuck me hard. Then slow and deep. Drive my ass and hips against this railing like there’s no tomorrow.” ***** Was she crazy with desire or just plain crazy? Mark stirred at the street noise. Below, cars crept along, meandering as though they cared less when they delivered passengers to a given destination. His body seized at noticing the pavement. She wanted him to fuck her against the railing? He lived on the top floor. If he thrust too hard, she might topple over the side and… Judas Priest. A razor sharp pang shot through his system. She’d plummet to her death if that railing gave way. She was so much like him. Determined to succeed professionally despite opposition. “What are you waiting for?” A crooked smile played on her lips, inviting him to tease it away with his tongue. Sweat beaded on his brow. He couldn’t deny her, but he couldn’t risk her life, either. How could she get off while half of her body was suspended in space? Only her slender fingers making contact with that railing while her legs wrapped around him? She gripped the railing and rubbed her breasts against his heaving chest. “Cat got your tongue?” “No.” But I wish he had yours sometimes. He slipped a small pillow behind her squirming bottom. Seizing her hips, he hoisted her up until her ass met with the railing and legs locked around his waist. Play along for a couple minutes and then pull the hell out. Every muscle in his body strained. Conquer your fears—of committing to Chloe and of heights. But that fear paled when put next to the possibility of losing her forever. Just don’t look down and it’ll be fine. You’ll be able to talk her out of this silly idea. Those bold green eyes stared into his. From beyond the patio, her cell phone chirped, and he swallowed the mouthful of spit.

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“Damn.” She lowered herself to a standing position with his help. He tossed the pillow out of the way. “Better get that. Might be important.” Her damp, soft hands fluttered over his chest. “You better get ready for when I hang up.” At the swish of her hips and the patio door, he heaved a long, hot breath. “What? When? Two weeks from now? What do you mean you didn’t contact me before now because you weren’t sure Mr. Sloan would participate?” He pressed against the glass panel and listened. This had to be the call. It was far better he had decided against mentioning this subject last week. And there was a way to protect her from further embarrassment. He’d sound a false summons to Edward the Asshole and get him out of town before the debate. Surely, she wouldn’t mind squaring off with him as opposed to his father. This would work. It had to. Her free hand clenched in a fist, she cut a crooked path across the room. Instead of making eye contact with him, she stared at the carpet as she approached. “Fine. I’ll be there.” She closed the phone case and mumbled something he couldn’t make out. For several minutes, she paced the entire living room and then paused. Her arm extended in his direction, the phone’s silver casing gleaming in the moonlight. She flung the phone aside and sprinted toward the patio. “You damned joker. Why didn’t you tell me?” Play ignorant. “Tell you what? Who called?” “Miles Brentwood from the television station. Edward Sloan has been invited to present his views on human sexuality and sexual stimuli. He’s finally agreed to participate.” Were those horns poking from her scalp? “So? What’s that have to do with you?” “As if you didn’t know. The esteemed Edward will be squaring off with me on live television. The hot topic seems to be my newspaper column and theories on aphrodisiacs.” He rubbed her arm, but she swatted away his hand. “And you’ve agreed?” No way would she resist this chance to let her views be known to a larger audience. “Yes. This time, the joke’s on you…and your father. I won’t back down.” A-ha. Now they were getting somewhere. “Let’s sleep on this tonight. You can’t leave while you’re this upset.” “Oh, no? Just watch my ass as it splits!” In less time than it took him to blink, she’d gathered her clothes and her wits. Like a proper lady, she exited and closed the door gently. Only the sexy scents of vanilla cologne, Chinese food and her pussy remained. Remained to remind him of a good evening gone bad.

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Chapter Twelve

Mark’s gut clenched. The countdown began to Chloe’s learning of his presence here in the television studio. Murray Mendelbaum huffed past, having just undergone a pre-filming make-up and wig adjustment. “Can’t wait for you two to go at it live. Should boost the ratings significantly.” Mark’s stomach rumbled louder at Chloe’s approach. She started at making eye contact. Gone was the vibrant green, muted by a gray mist that appeared when something provoked her. “What are you…your father…what’s going on?” He traced around the beauty mark on her cheek. He’d rather whisk her away for an après-breakfast between-the-sheets. “I managed a quick maneuver last night. My father’s been summoned via e-mail to a meeting that won’t take place. There was no way I’d let him ridicule you on public television.” “You sent him on a goose chase?” “Yeah. Told him I’d fill in for him. He’ll be pissed when he finds out I duped him, but that’s life.” She fanned the pages of what appeared to be her thesis until he stilled her fumbling fingers. Fingers tipped with crimson claws. And Chloe loved using them. No doubt, he had the fever, but not from any scratch. Only making Chloe his forever would cure his fever. “Can I see that?” He reached for the paperwork. She shrank from his extending arm. “You’ll tear my research to shreds like your father.” At his coaxing and massaging of her mid-back, she heaved a long sigh and shared the document. Together they perused the pages filled with findings culled from countless hours of research. He kissed just above her right ear. “I’m sure this will be a day we’ll always re-” “Showtime in five minutes.” A stage assistant hustled them toward their swivel chairs in front of the cameras. “I have to make one final adjustment.” Chloe headed toward the dressing table while he followed the assistant. What was she up to? In short time, she strolled onto the stage with the confidence of Cleopatra. Like the gypsy she portrayed with such passion, Chloe Vincent was a study in everything mysterious. Today, she’d worn a crisp pink linen suit. But one accessory screamed for attention. Despite the golden Omega necklace and pricey panther-link bracelet, she’d chosen to pin the purple feather from his mask onto her left lapel. Was she truly taken by him and his performance or just trying to unnerve him? “And we’re on in five…four…three…two…one.” The cameraman pointed to a shinyfaced Murray, now sweating much as a sow awaiting slaughter. “Welcome to Newsmakers in New Orleans. Today we welcome Mark Sloan, son of worldrenowned Behavioral Psychologist Edward Sloan. Unfortunately, the esteemed Mr. Sloan was unable to join us, but Mark has graciously agreed to present their collective views. He’s joined

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by the charismatic Chloe Vincent, a local businesswoman in pursuit of her Master’s in Pharmacology at Tulane University. Her research into Aphrodisiacs and Sexual Stimuli will serve as our topic of discussion and debate.” Together they aired their views, never once raising a finger or voice. On and on the drama unfolded as the blistering heat from the stage lights bore down upon them. Chloe never missed a beat in the conversation, defending her views and theories without breaking a sweat. But he couldn’t wait for a glass of water and chance to escape this media circus. Murray turned to him, wearing a perverse grin on his puffy lips. “So, we may actually conclude that you concur with most of Ms. Vincent’s findings? It was my understanding your views mirrored your father’s?” Now it was his turn to really turn the tide in his relationship with Chloe. Say it with feeling. Let her know how you really feel about her and her findings. “Actually, I’m intrigued by much of Ms. Vincent’s research. I’d like to take this opportunity to ask if she’d agree to collaborate with me.” Murray tugged at his tie. “Will this be a short or a long-term collaboration? I’m sure our audience is anxious to know more.” “Oh, definitely long-term. It will become a Mister and Missus mission for the scientific truth.” Chloe flashed him a broad pink-lipped smile. “I welcome that opportunity.” Murray frowned and hastened the discussion to a close. After thanking them both for appearing, and announcing an upcoming autograph session for his latest book, Murray signed off. He stomped off the stage, and only the stench of cigars and hair tonic remained. “What an insufferable idiot.” Chloe stood. “I hope to never have to deal with him again.” “I hope you don’t say the same thing about me.” He tucked his arm in hers, and they headed behind the curtain. Glancing sideways, she blew him a kiss. “About the collaboration. Surely, you jest?” She stroked the feather. “Wore this as my good-luck talisman. Thankfully, it worked.” “This time, I’m serious.” He drew her close, their breaths mingling as his lips claimed hers. At parting, he gasped for breath. “About what I said and you.” “Me?” She broke free of the embrace. “What do my views have to do with yours?” “Let’s just say I’ll remain open-minded as long as you remain openmouthed and accept my French kisses.” “French kisses for a French Ball?” After descending a flight of steps, they reached the exit leading to the parking lot. He opened the door and let her pass. Not a cloud in the sky today. “Not French this time.” He let the door close and cupped his crotch. “These balls are all-American. Not made of crystal like your Valentine’s heart.” “When did you know it was me underneath the black wig?” Pulling her close, he kissed Chloe hard. So hard, her lips throbbed underneath his. A soft moan gurgled in her throat and he let the love of his life go. With a fingertip, he traced along her brow. “The scar. The mole. The sweet scent of your cum. It’s far more effective at seducing a man than anything you might concoct in a lab.” Was that a natural blush on Chloe’s cheeks? On tiptoe, she kissed him on the chin. “Care for some brunch? I make a mean omelet.”

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“How mean?” “Mean enough to make you beg for more.” “As long as it’s served up hot and in your bed, I’m helpless to refuse such an offer.” ***** Three and a half months later… Chloe carried the box past a sleepy-eyed Mark. “Clear the way. I don’t want to drop this. My best moods are on Saturdays. Don’t spoil things.” “Who was at the door and what’s that?” “A present from your mother.” She collapsed onto the couch, the cumbersome parcel balanced on her lap. “You were still sleeping. She wouldn’t accept a cup of coffee.” “So much the better.” Barefoot, Mark padded over to where she sat. “Since you moved in with me after graduation three months ago, I don’t want any other women in here.” “Including your mother?” “Especially my mother.” “I thought I’d miss my old apartment above the shop.” One deep breath brought Mark’s clean-soap scent and apple-spice tea into her nostrils. “But this is a nice place.” The leather couch cushions dipped as Mark grabbed at the package and won possession. “Once we’re married we’ll leave Prytania Street behind. Who knows, maybe we’ll become world travelers?” “I don’t think Wilson Pharmaceuticals would appreciate one of their chemists trotting around the world while in the midst of clinical trials.” The box lid sprang above his fingers, and white plastic peanuts spilled over the carpeting and his feet. “Hell. There’s more crap in here than present.” “Impatience will get you nowhere.” She leaned over and rifled through the puffy packing material. Her fingers struck upon something rough and solid. “I win.” His brows slanted, but a grin curled his lips. “Pull it out.” “You never say that to me when we’re having sex.” As her hands relaxed, Mark capitalized and claimed the contents. She scooted closer and hugged him around the shoulders. Caught in his was a peculiar piece of pottery. “What the…?” Mark held the ugly urn close and swept the box onto the floor. It landed with a soft thump, and more peanuts scattered underneath the coffee table. “An urn.” With each pass of her fingers over the rough surface, she shivered. “Look at the image on there. It’s a couple…mmmm…satisfying their desires.” One glance between Mark’s legs revealed him ready for something other than art critiquing. “Care to try that position?” He stroked the length of the raised relief. “Only in your dreams, lover boy. That’s next to impossible. I’d have more blood rushing to my brain than to my lower body where it belonged.” Mark fished inside the urn and extracted a small piece of paper. His lips and jaw worked in concert as he read. “Looks like my mother thought of everything.” “A note?” She tried grabbing the paper, but he pulled away. “My mother has put your name in this ancient pot.” “So?” Fingers tingling, she reached for the urn and claimed it from his loose grasp. “Maybe that’s because she wants to give this to me rather than you?” “No. The fact the paper has you name written on it is of significance. Mother is trying to

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recreate a Festival of Lupercalia right here in this living room.” “Festival? Lupercalia?” Mark stood, the leather cushions crackling at his departure. “Single women in Ancient Rome placed their names in the urn during this celebration. On a day we now recognize as Valentine’s Day, bachelors picked a name from the urn and paired up with that woman. It was a festival celebrating fertility.” Laying the urn aside, she sprang at him, and they toppled onto the carpet. “Come, Caesar. Your Cleo awaits.” ***** Mark opened another archived file and read the contents. The cloying whistle of the teakettle split the silence. The acoustics in this historical Garden District home were second to none. Where in the hell were those photographs? Chloe set his snack on the desk. “I can’t believe she gave us something that valuable, just because it isn’t from Tiffany’s and doesn’t match her décor.” From the plate of sharp cheddar cheese and grapes, he removed a mouth-watering wedge. The morsel melted against his upper palate and tongue. “She’s snobby like that. But I really think she gave it to us to piss my father off.” “He doesn’t know she has the vase?” “Oh, he does, but he probably isn’t aware she parted with something so precious. That’ll be one of the things he reclaims during the divorce.” Chloe, clad only in a smile and a pair of pink thong panties posed next to the computer desk, bathed in the reddish-pink glow of a floor lamp she insisted on salvaging from her old apartment. “Bet that’ll be another media circus?” He nodded. “I forget who gave him that piece, but it was someone in a high place. The National Archaeological Museum in Naples has urns similar to this one.” “I said it looked Italian.” She popped a grape into her mouth. The sucking noises she made shattered his concentration like a sledgehammer between the eyes. “From the ruins at Pompeii, if I’m not mistaken.” He closed the file and logged off the system. “Come here a minute.” “I thought you wanted peace and quiet to research?” “Right now, I want a piece of you.” ***** Chloe’s leg muscles strained. The sole of her foot dug into the hardwood formal dining room chair’s back. While her fingers knitted through the thick mink-brown hair covering Mark’s scalp, his tongue swiped at her clit and poked into her pussy. The rasp of his breath dried her damp skin. Strong hands pulled her onto his lap. The head of his cock prodded and thrust into her. She strained against him, riding his lap. The coarse hairs on his legs swiped against the backs of her bare legs. His teeth nipped her shoulder, and the tips of his fingers bit into her buttocks, and she ground harder against him. He continued, nibbling and licking over her neck and chest. She broke free and leaned back. A growl rattled deep in his throat. The smell of sex hung in the room, overpowering the vanilla candle she’d lit and placed on the wet bar. His teeth ensnared her left nipple, and he slapped her left buttock. As she lifted, their connection broke. With a laugh, he eased her from his lap, stood, and scooped her up. Faster

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than normal, he headed them toward the bedroom. Sweat shone on his face and neck and mingled with the faint scent of vetiver from his cologne. “I’m going to miss you more than anything while I’m away. But I’ll call you every day.” One lick of his chin brought his scent upon her tongue. “You’d better or I’ll track you down one way or another.” ***** Chloe spooned a liberal portion of mocha frozen custard into Mark’s favorite beige ceramic bowl. She’d really miss this mansion’s super-sized kitchen. Licking off the remains, she plunked the tablespoon into the center of the creamy confection. “How long will you be in London for your lecture?” Mark stuck his finger into the custard, dabbed a bit on her lips and kissed it off. “Two days. I’m leaving on Monday, though.” “Monday?” She placed her empty bowl in the dishwasher and pressed the door closed with her hip. “Your conference doesn’t start until Friday?” “Right, but I want to take a sidebar to Naples. That urn has me intrigued. I have to know more about it.” She hugged him from behind and massaged his shoulders. “Why don’t you research it online? Wouldn’t you rather spend time here than in some airplane and hotel room?” He shrugged from her touch, turned on the steel deco chair and pulled her onto his lap. The white marabou slipper on her right foot flew off. “Sure, I would, but remember what we discussed? I’m a man who lives for you but also for my research. Looking at the artwork in those lupanars will make our reunion even sweeter the first of the following week.” Snuggling close, she inhaled the spiciness of his hair. “Is there anything I can do to help your research?” His index finger traced a lazy circle above her heart. “You have enough research to conduct at Wilson. If you insist, I’ll leave the password to my archived files behind. The library won’t be of too much help in cataloging that urn.” One look into his eyes and her pulse spiked. Such raw passion flared her eyes whenever he spoke of his career—a career gaining him more exposure and acclaim each day. Golden flecks flashed deep within each cobalt iris. The set of his jaw said it all. No doubt about it. Mark Sloan researched as hard as he loved. “If you’re giving me access to those files, it can mean only one thing.” He teased his finger along her collarbone and over the gold mesh necklace he’d given her two days ago. “What’s that?” “You love me and won’t ever leave me.” Nose to nose, he stared her down. “You’ll never get rid of me. And my plane will land back here at Louis Armstrong before your fingers ever itch for those sex toys.” ***** Tires howled in the street and Chloe roused. What a racket for the wee hours of a Sunday morning. Beside her, wrapped in the cotton sheet, Mark lay snoring. After a soft kiss on his bare shoulder, she left their bed and headed for the bathroom. A half glass of water and two aspirin should help this pounding in my head. From the medicine cabinet, she claimed the plastic pill bottle and pried the cap off. She dumped two tablets into her palm, replaced the cap and set the bottle back on the shelf. Not

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bothering to close the cabinet door, she tiptoed toward the kitchen and took her time navigating the creaking linoleum. Her fingers fused around the metal lever, she jerked it upward. Water frothed from the faucet and into the stainless steel sink. From the dishwasher rack, she plucked a clean glass and directed it underneath the stream. As she jerked the lever to a neutral position, a dull ache drummed in her temples. She downed the pill and a liberal amount of water. No sense in losing more sleep. It was almost one now. Six o’clock would come soon. Besides, Mark promised they’d stroll the French Quarter in the morning. Rain pelted against the kitchen window, and she peeped through the buttercup yellow curtains. Or maybe they wouldn’t get to walk at all. She glanced at her left ring finger. The diamond solitaire winked up from the platinum setting. Chloe hugged herself. Gooseflesh met with her fingers, and she hastened to the living room. Would summer and warmer temperatures ever arrive? The leather couch and the leopard-print plush throw would draw her into dreamland. Halfway to her destination, her foot struck the packing box. Spiraling off track, she toppled onto the couch. She gritted her teeth and started a silent countdown. Mark never cleaned up his messes, only his research papers. Regaining an upright position, she stretched toward the end table. With a flick of her fingers, the brass based lamp blazed. She pulled the urn from the Styrofoam curly cues. The mantel clock chimed, and the pottery slipped from her fingers and bounced on her lap. “Ouch.” A quick glance revealed a widening red bead on the tip of her left index finger. She lifted her hand and stroked her palm. The stain billowed and trailed down the digit. She licked the slight wound and stared at the present from Mark’s mother. Who had held this relic in days past? She wrapped both hands around the urn. It might be priceless to some, but not to her. How could she display anything this god-awful ugly? Mark mentioned donating it to a museum. Tilting the opening toward the light, she peeped inside. The small piece of paper containing her name rested against the bottom. With arms extended, she examined the raised relief couple. Copulating as though they hadn’t a care in the world. Buried among the ash after Mt. Vesuvius vented its wrath. A crimson smudge marred the male figure. Oh, well. A yawn filled her mouth and she opened her lips and let it escape. A little water would wash that away in the morning.

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Chapter Thirteen

A soft kiss landed on her forehead, and Chloe stirred on the couch. Opening one eye, she stared at Mark’s smiling face. “Good morning, Sunshine. How would a glass of fresh orange juice taste? Oh, and one of those French pastries I picked up yesterday.” He tossed the throw over the back of the couch. “Mmmm.” She swallowed and grabbed for his neck. “I know something that would taste even better.” “Breakfast for two in bed.” The leather cushions shifted as Mark settled beside her on the edge. His fingers teased along the neckline of her fuchsia satin nightshirt and then tucked inside. They tickled lower, tracing around her right nipple. She propped up and kissed his unshaven face. Mink-brown whiskers mottled his otherwise smooth skin. Her body roused from head to heel, and she trailed her fingers through his combed hair. “I wish the library were…” She yanked her hand from the unruly waves above his sideburns. “Were what?” On inspection of her injured finger, not a scratch remained. “Get up a second.” Mark stood and landed a kick to the packing box. “You better go back to sleep for another hour. Something’s playing heavy on your half-awake mind.” No. This was impossible. No cut on her finger and no blood smudges anywhere on her sleep shirt. “Pass me the urn.” He reached into the cardboard box and drew the disgusting pottery into view. “What’s gotten into you? You seem obsessed with this thing.” A quick peek confirmed the finger prick wasn’t a dream. “See?” She held the urn near Mark’s face. “That’s my blood. I cut myself last night. When I prevented the urn from falling, my injured finger swiped over the front.” “Blood washes off. No big deal.” Mark placed the urn back in the box and resumed his spot on the couch’s edge. Underneath his aquiline nose, she waved her left index finger. “That isn’t, but my finger is. I’ve never clotted easily. I have to even watch waxing my bikini line and plucking my eyebrows. You know. I bleed like crazy. Last night, I fell asleep and didn’t have a chance to put anything on my finger. No pressure, no bandage, no nothing. Now, this morning, it’s healed over as though nothing happened.” Mark scooted closer and bundled her trembling body against his. The woodsy scent of his shower gel lingered on his skin. “This time you healed more quickly. I’m glad my baby isn’t sporting a bloody finger this morning.” Untangling from her grasp, he kissed the end of her nose. “You were sleeping like a log when I came out here earlier. Didn’t have the heart to wake you.”

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She sat upright, curled her toes into the carpet’s tuft, and laid her hand on his warm bare leg. No better way to start the day than admiring Mark in those gray boxer briefs. Reaching down, she cupped his crotch. The softness stirred at her touch and grew against her fingers and palm. “At least my headache’s gone.” She walked her fingers away from the front panel of his briefs and tucked them underneath the elastic leg band. “For some reason, I don’t want any breakfast this morning.” He squeezed the sensitive spot above her knee. “What do you want?” She opened her mouth, but the words caught in her throat. Heat coiled deep within her belly. Her clit pulsed at Mark’s gentle knee massage. He eased her back against the velvet decorator pillows and straddled her. Inch by inch, her nightshirt climbed toward her neck. She glanced down. Bare thighs. Her navel. Both nipples hard, and he hadn’t even sucked them yet. Where his hands traveled, his lips followed suit. Licking. Teasing. Laving attention over every patch of skin. She drew in several deep breaths and blew them out. “Oh, yes. You know what I want.” And this morning she wanted him worse than ever. A thousand or more times worse. Mark let her nipple pop from between his lips. “Sure do. No sense in chancing you waking up on the wrong side of the couch.” “Wrong side?” She thrust her hips against his and splayed her fingers over the furriest part of his bare chest. “There is only one side on a couch.” “My bad.” He poked his tongue into her navel and probed. Raising his head slightly, he winked. “But you’re good.” ***** The small chandelier’s crystals sparkled. Mark drew his finger along the edge of the mahogany library table. Mrs. Denholm dusted this place to perfection. They really shouldn’t have come here. Edward the Asshole never liked people hanging around when he wasn’t home. Chloe glanced up from the wieldy tome opened to page four ninety-seven, face flushed. “Your father’s into archaeology, too?” “He’s into lots of things.” “Not your mother anymore.” “No.” Steam rose from his mug of hazelnut coffee on the green marble coaster and twisted toward the frescoed ceiling of the family’s smaller mansion on Prytania Street. “She’s off his social calendar, out of his bed and out of his life. I can’t imagine how he’ll react when he realizes she gave us the urn.” “Suppose he’ll want it back? From what you showed me on the tour, he has more objet d’art than he’ll ever miss.” Mark eased the book away from her. “My father only wants things he can’t have.” The leather covers slapped together at his urging. A bit of dust danced, its performance caught in a shaft of sunlight. “He’s busy in Boston for a little while—with his conference and his mistress.” “Convenient.” Chloe walked the chair backward and rose. Slender fingers smoothed the wrinkles from her butterfly-print skirt. She could make a death shroud appear sexy. Drawing her hand to his face, he inhaled the touch of lemon lingering on her skin from the slice she’d squeezed into her tea at lunch. A trace of the almond-scented hand lotion also remained.

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From palm to fingertip, he played his lips and tongue. Would she pull away or let him play longer? When he reached the tip of her left index finger, he paused and splayed her fingers wide. Barely a scratch at the place she claimed to have been injured. “I believe you’ll live.” She snatched her hand away and let out a long sigh. “Very funny. That damned urn cut me. It cut my finger just like your father cuts up my column. He probably put a curse on that piece of ancient pottery.” “Did you find anything of interest in that book?” He bundled the hefty volume against his chest and carried it toward the staircase. “A lot you’ll care. I suppose I’m finished with any research.” The soles of her ivory leather ballet slippers slapped against the polished wooden floorboards. “Where are you going?” He mounted the steps and Chloe gave chase. Whooping like two on the warpath, they climbed to the second floor. His head and heart pounded. Don’t slow down. Keep her curious. From behind, she tugged his shirt free from his trousers. “I don’t know what’s come over me. Ever since I woke up this morning, I have the overwhelming urge to…” “To what?” “Have sex.” Leaving her and the top step behind, he dashed toward the most familiar door in the mansion. As his fingers fused around the knob, he released the heavy volume. With a thud, it met with the woolen hallway runner. Chloe slammed into him and giggled. “Did you hear what I said? Why are we stopping?” He wheeled and knocked her off balance. She teetered and snatched at his arm. The trousers that fit fine earlier pressed against his crotch. As he straightened, the floorboard groaned. “You’ve always wanted to get even with my father for all the things he’s said about you.” “What did you have in mind?” Her glossy lips parted, and her tongued toyed along the plush pillow of her upper lip. With only slight pressure from his hand, the door opened. How about a tour of my old bedroom, without the Old Fart around to see or hear us?” “Sounds like a plan. Then, when we’ve messed up your sheets, we’ll mess up Edward’s.” “And Mrs. Denholm will change the linens long before he returns.” He stepped over the threshold. The sheets rustled and something whizzed past his face. He flipped on the light. Another object struck the floor in front of his foot. Chloe screamed. Trembling and wide-eyed, a naked brunette clutched the sheet around herself. “What the hell are you doing here?” The porcelain pitcher-bearing lady lay in shards. That figurine had been in the Sloan family for several generations. His father’s weekend slut not only soiled the Sloan sheets, she’d destroyed a priceless piece his father held near and dear. “I might ask you the same.” Blood boiling, he approached the antique canopied bed. “But then, I don’t suppose a dirty bitch like you would give me a half-decent answer.” ***** The St. Charles streetcar bumped and clanked its way along the track. Chloe snuggled

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closer to Mark, his heart beating underneath her ear. She stifled a yawn. “Care to guess how many times we’ve ridden this tonight?” Warm fingers fluttered over her lips. “All that matters is we’re together and enjoying ourselves.” “Thanks for going to the craft store for me earlier.” Mark cupped her chin in his damp palm and tipped her head toward him. “I still don’t know why you want those tiny paint brushes. We’re lucky we finished in time to take our walk in the French Quarter. What are you going to do with them while I’m away?” Laughter burst from behind her lips. A glance in the driver’s direction showed her outburst hadn’t fazed him. He hummed a sassy tune. Mark was so nosy. “I’m going to go over—” Another passenger pulled the cord, and the streetcar lurched to a stop. Several bags and a sizeable purse bundled in her arms, an elderly lady swished past. Mark stood up and eased into step behind her. “Need any help with those?” The petite woman’s head snapped to the side, and her crepe-skinned cheeks crinkled. “I can manage fine by my own self.” Mark shrugged and took his place beside her, and the self-sufficient grouch clomped down the steps. The door slapped closed and the streetcar continued along its route. The driver’s chuckling wafted to the back where they sat. “Don’t take no help from anybody. Always goes about her business like she’s the only one in the world. Guess she don’t trust nobody.” “I guess not.” Chloe placed her lips next to Mark’s ear. “At least I found myself a gentleman.” “Gentle?” Mark’s eyebrows did a wicked dance, and he squeezed her thigh. “Appearances can be deceiving.” ***** “Need any help packing?” Chloe called from their living room. Mark smoothed the dress shirt into place. Time to have some fun with her. She’s so sexy when she’s pissed off. “I can man—” “Okay. Don’t be a wise guy.” She sauntered into the bedroom and planted herself next to the dresser. From the hand propped against her cocked hip, one of the paintbrushes peeped between her index and middle fingers. The panels of her satin robe lay open. Skin resembling the clotted cream his mother served with scones lay bared for his tongue and touch. No one wore tangerine-orange like hot Chloe. Zesty as the seasonal fruit, she was one temptation to which he’d succumbed from the start. He zippered the garment bag and laid it over the burgundy velvet boudoir chair, another of Chloe’s domestic touches. His lady had such an eclectic taste when it came to design elements. “Why are you staring at the chair?” She stood beside him and stroked his cheek. “Just thinking about what you’ve brought into my life.” One of her nails tracked along the outer curve of his earlobe. “What did I bring?” “Lots of animal-print pillows and throws. An awesome stereo system. But I hate the octopus floor lamp.” “Octopus?”

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“That lamp has more than enough arms. Some of them in the most awful neon colors.” He crossed to the bed and she followed, hotter on his heels than a pair of ill-fitting sneakers. With a soft plop, she landed on the black satin comforter. The fine-bristled brush left her hand and landed on the carpet. One smooth leg raised and draped over the other, and she swung it with gusto. “Is that all I’ve brought into your life? A few pieces of artsy furniture, one of which you can’t stand?” Mark held up his hands and shrugged. “Can’t think of anything else. No, wait. That isn’t true.” Her green eyes twinkled much like Christmas lights. “What else?” The king-sized mattress shifted as he flopped down beside her. Bundling her body close, he inhaled the juicy pineapple scent from her body scrub. Her lips sought his in a hard kiss. Mmmm. Some lime still there from the farewell margaritas they shared. Her breath came in gentle puffs against his nose, and moans rattled in her throat and chest. He drifted his hand underneath the robe and caressed the softness of her stomach. Softer than any cashmere sweater. Chloe pushed against his chest and separated them. “You never answered me. What else?” Her breathing deepened, and her breasts rose and fell at a rapid pitch. “What were we talking about? I forgot. There’s a lot on my mind. I have the—” She lunged and knocked him sideways on the bed. His head impacted the pile of fluffy feather pillows. Before he could straighten, she straddled him and lowered her face to his. “You’re a man who can keep more than one thing on his mind at a time.” He reached up and tucked a few tendrils of honey-blonde hair behind her delicate ears. “I suppose there is one thing you brought I couldn’t live without.” One manicured fingernail cut a swath from his collarbone to his left nipple. With each pass she made, Chloe increased the pressure slightly. “You are the devil in disguise.” A couple tickles coaxed her to switch places. He leaned down and rained kisses over her cheeks and forehead. “This devil couldn’t do without you, Chloe. You’re the most important thing in my life. Today and always.” “Same with you. Wonder if that woman will tell your father we interrupted her beauty sleep?” “Not after the lecture I gave her about keeping her whoring ways to herself. She’s gone. Hopefully for good.” “Your father…” “No, she really wasn’t a prostitute. Just a woman he sees from time to time. She’s a travel consultant who happens to have arrived right before he was due to catch his plane. He told her she was welcome to stay. But I put the fear of God in her. She’ll be the one telling him she had the accident with the porcelain doll.” “I wouldn’t trust her anymore than I’d trust your father.” “Speaking of artwork, you never told me why you bought those brushes.” Her body bucked against his. “Let me up, and I’ll show you.” ***** Chloe kissed Mark, but let go as another announcement blared through the airport terminal. “Let me know when you land.” “Will do. Guess you’ll cuddle up with that urn and brush? Laundry is usually as exciting as it gets on Monday nights. Happy researching. I’ll find out more in Naples.” His

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flight call came. “Time for me to board.” Someone bumped her arm, and Chloe broke free from his embrace. “I’ll miss you.” More than you’ll ever know. “But you’ll be busy with pharmaceutical and personal research. Bet you miss being at your shop?” “After leaving here, I’m stopping to check the receipts. Candace is such an angel. Does a great job managing things there. She’s my favorite cousin and as honest as the day is long. Can’t wait to unravel the mystery of those particles I brushed from the Pompeiian urn.” “Good luck. Amazing to what degree some women go when hot on a trail.” “I went to the nth to earn my Masters, wouldn’t you say?” He adjusted the strap of the garment bag on his shoulder. “If your analysis of that dirt proves as effective as your love potion… Actually, I’m more interested in your theory about the sexual powers of that urn. Still, I doubt mother’s gift had anything to do with your libido. I think you’re just ready for settling down with a good man.” “Anything’s possible, but I’ll bet you ten steak dinners at Brennan’s that urn is to blame for my sudden nymphomania. And let me know if you find a good man in Naples.” Latching onto the lapels of his suit jacket, she pulled Mark closer. “Just don’t go pinching anything but your tube of toothpaste while you’re away.” “Wouldn’t dream of it.” The aroma of cinnamon wafted her way, and he pinched her. “What if you get busy and forget to call me?” Stop playing the clinging vine. It’s so not you, Chloe Vincent-soon-to-be-Sloan. “I won’t.” He kissed her again and turned away. “I never forget those I love.” With a swish of his garment bag, the clatter of Pullman case wheels, and the pleasant notes of bergamot and amber filling the air around her, her husband-to-be headed in the direction of the waiting plane. Here she stood. Alone. If not for her work at Wilson Pharmaceuticals, she’d be forced to nurse her loneliness with hearty helpings of chocolate-mocha-fudge ice cream and hard pretzels. The more salt, the better. Who cared if she bloated more than usual this month? Nothing looser-fitting clothing couldn’t conceal. “Missing him already?” Chloe’s body went on high alert. Only one man’s voice sounded as though he’d consumed equal parts of gravel and whiskey for breakfast. She wheeled and winced at coming face to face with her New Orleans nemesis. “Don’t you have better things to do than stand around airports bothering women, Edward?” “I do, and one of them is reclaiming the urn my soon-to-be-ex gave Mark…and you.” She pulled herself up to full height. “Mark’s out of town for the next week. You can speak with him when he returns.” “Oh, I will.” He narrowed the gap between them. “You may have influenced him in the bedroom…” The caps on his teeth gleamed. Dark-brown eyes flashed beneath bushy brows. “But I influence him in other ways your mind will never comprehend.”

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Chapter Fourteen

“You probably didn’t cut yourself deep enough to bleed much. Why make such a fuss over something that’s over with?” Candace sucked the stick of peppermint candy and snapped off the end. “Be thankful you didn’t bleed all over the place.” Chloe spooned the last of the mocha-fudge ice cream into a custard dish and claimed a clean spoon from the dishwasher rack. “You know me, girl. Once I get the urge to do something, I don’t quit.” Candace snapped off a section of candy. “Guess Mark’s found that out in more ways than one? Remember that azure-blue gazing ball?” “The large one I kept on the black velvet display cloth?” Clutching the bowl, she plunked down next to her cousin on the couch. “A lady from Mississippi bought it. Said she’s giving it to her daughter as an early birthday present. Supposedly, the daughter’s into mystical things and psychic phenomena.” “Hard sell or easy one?” “Easy.” Candace aimed the remote control at the VCR. “Ready to watch Maneaters?” “I’d rather do a bit more—” “Oh, no.” Candace stuck out her arm. “You’re not getting back on the computer. You’ve surfed enough for ten people. Drool now, research urns later. Watch this sexy flick. Maybe you’ll pick up some pointers for when Mark gets back?” “I don’t need any sex tips from triple-x film stars.” She shoved a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. “There was a man snooping around the books today. Looked like a real clinical type. I’ll bet he’s a closet freak.” Her gut churned. Closet freak? “What did he look like?” Please, dear God, don’t let her describe a certain person. “Tallish. Kept his big nose up in the air the whole time. Had these sinister brown eyes. Maybe he was a shoplifter?” She set the ice cream bowl down with such force the spoon bounced and landed several feet away. “Did he buy anything?” “No, but he asked a bunch of questions. Wanted to know about the shop owner and if you were in at the time. Once, I caught him heading up the steps and I stopped him.” “Shit.” Evidently, Edward didn’t know she’d moved in with Mark several months ago. Better to hide her reaction to Candace’s revelation. “Let me turn out the lights.” Crossing to the far wall, she twirled the dimmer switch. Candace elbowed her as she settled against the leopard-print throw pillows. “Out with it. Don’t tell me that man means something to you?” “I probably don’t know him from Adam.” “Sure, Eve. You turned out those lights plenty fast. Why don’t you want me to see your face? Is my sassy cousin blushing?” “For cryin’ out Christmas. Are we going to watch the rental video or sit here talking

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about some perverted twit?” Her carnal-minded cousin poked her leg with the remote. “Oh, he wasn’t a twit. Far from it. Like I said, he seemed the intellectual type. Kept muttering about this, that and the other. A couple times I caught the words ‘inane’ and ‘vacuous’. Twits don’t talk like that.” But Edward Sloane did. “You didn’t let him know my current address, did you?” “Absolutely, not. He might be a murderer or rapist masquerading as a harmless sexboutique shopper.” The fringed ends of the pillow’s tassel frayed underneath her fidgeting fingers. “Just start the movie.” Girlish giggles came from Candace. The newsman’s skinny body disappeared, replaced by that of a buff fantasy man. “I took the liberty of scanning past the bimbos. Thought you’d be more interested in the movie’s star.” Poised atop a bar counter, a cowboy-hat-wearing guy pumped his cock while swigging from a bottle of beer. A busty redhead kneeled on the stool and licked up his left thigh. Chloe shot a glance in Candace’s direction. But the man-crazy brunette’s gaze was glued to the wide screen. A slow trickle dampened her panties. The harder the modern-day cowboy pumped, the more her sex ached. No, he wasn’t Mark. No man was better looking and better in bed than the man who would soon be her husband. Still, this blond-haired bench-presser could coax any number of fantasies from her subconscious mind. She crossed her legs and squeezed. If only Candace weren’t so close. But enough is enough. Reaching between them, she claimed the remote and pressed the topmost right button. The navy-jacketed weatherman again appeared, spouting his latest predictions for rain overnight. “What did you do that for?” Candace fought for possession of the remote but failed. Tucking the remote behind a nearby pillow, she snapped on the table lamp. Shoving her feet back into the new Birkenstocks, Chloe dashed toward the den. Opening the desk drawer, she sifted through stacks of paper and several small picture frames. At finding the one with the faux-cherry finish, she pulled it free and closed the drawer. Edward Sloan leered up at her. Posed beside him, Mark’s mother smiled as though suffering the aftereffects of a dreadful trip to the dentist. Crabapples. This wasn’t the right one. Sliding the drawer open halfway, she tugged another frame from the bottom. A baseball-capped Mark, bat and body poised, grinned. The handsomest man in the world was all hers. She clutched the keepsake to her chest and shut the drawer with her hip. Picture in hand, she marched back to the living room and waved the pose under Candace’s nose. “I’ve found something far better to stare at.” Her cousin edged closer and reached for the frame. “You got it bad. Are you sure you’re the one who has him under your sexual spell? From the looks of your white knuckles, I’d say it’s the other way around.” ***** Steam floated around her face. Droplets of water spewed from the showerhead and pelted her skin. Lather bubbles frothed on her breasts, and she trailed her fingers over them. Where was Mark? His plane had a delay leaving Louis Armstrong and didn’t take off until almost three o’clock. Even stopping by the shop and later the lab failed to keep her mind

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off him. Cash receipts and clinical trials just couldn’t compete with a hot-blooded man. Why hadn’t he called yet? The loofah struck her right foot. She kicked and it bounced off the ceramic tub surface. His plane should have reached Atlanta by now. Before she hopped in the shower, the clock hands cowered at five after nine. Even with the delay, he should have landed an hour ago. Well, eight-thirty at the very latest if taking into account possible heavy air traffic. Bile washed into her throat. She swallowed hard and sluiced the remaining suds off her body. Some of them trickled down her inner thigh, tickling as they floated toward her toes. Wet strands of hair clung to her cheeks and she combed them back. With a twist of her wrist, water sprayed harder and colder, almost blinding her but jerking her awake. Her numbed body braced, and she sifted through various possibilities. Mark simply forgot to call. No other possible reason. She turned off the faucet. Or maybe his cell phone was malfunctioning? Still, he could always use an airport or hotel phone and his calling card. A loud thump sounded on the shower door. “You gotta dry off.” Candace struck the steam-covered door again. “Get out here to the living room quick.” ***** The newswoman’s whine carried to where she lay curled in a fetal position on the leather couch. Chloe blinked several times. Her fingers split another damp tissue. “Flight 733 made an emergency landing at LaGrange Callaway. Several of the passengers sustained injuries. We have yet to learn of any fatali…” The woman’s voice and lights faded. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks and struck her arms. She rolled forward and grabbed for another tissue but her entire body met with air. Her right hip struck the floor, and she sank to her belly. Footsteps thumped behind her. Soft hands came upon her scalp and forehead. Chloe swallowed a scream. “Mark. That was his flight. I have to get to him.” Candace helped her into a sitting position and rocked her heaving body. “Ssssh. You can’t go anywhere in your condition. You’d kill yourself trying. When you think you can stand, I’ll help you. I’ll pack a few things—” “My toothbrush. Sweats. Navy Birks. Two sets of underwear—” She struggled against her restrainer. “I have to call my boss. It’ll be a major favor, but I’m hoping he’ll grant me a couple days off due to the circumstances.” “I know what to pack.” Candace stood and grabbed her hands. “On the count of three. One. Two.” The doorbell chimed and her cousin muttered a string of pig-Latin profanities. “You stay here.” As if she had the strength to resist or do otherwise. “Fine. Just see who it is, but don’t open the door.” “How dumb do you think I am? I never open the door after dark, unless it’s my boyfriend.” Candace walked her over to the couch and waited until she was seated. When the slap of Candace’s flip flops faded, Chloe clambered to her feet. The muted television flickered, and she gulped in air. Several deep breaths later, Candace reappeared. Even the heavy layer of make-up glamour chick wore did little to conceal her pallor. Her hands and lips worked in concert, swiping together. Back and forth. Back and forth. Like

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windshield wiper blades gone manic. “Well? Who is it? I can’t stand around here wasting time. I have a plane to catch.” Candace looped the cord of her jogging jacket around her index finger. “It’s the man from the shop. He must have followed me here somehow.” ***** On the master bedroom’s dresser, the pink crystal heart outshone the fresh red roses she’d laid around it earlier that morning. So much for Edward not knowing she’d moved in with Mark. Chloe stripped off the cotton nightshirt and put on a bra and panties. The slap of beach shoes against bare soles stopped. One glance over her shoulder revealed Candace planted in the doorway. The former college basketball star stirred the air with her hands. “He just won’t leave. He knows we’re in here. Keeps telling me to open the door. I’m calling the cops.” The bottle of cologne slipped from her hands and bounced on the carpet. “Wait. Describe him to me.” Chloe zipped up her jeans and donned a Tulane University tee shirt. “I already have. It’s the man who was at the shop. The creep—” “That creep is most likely Mark’s father, Edward Sloan. Don’t get him more pissed off at me than he already is. If he doesn’t leave by the time I’m dressed, I’ll take care of things.” “Please do. If looks could kill, I’d be dead countless times from checking the peephole.” A fluff of the Turkish hand towel removed most of the dampness from her hair. She paraded past Candace and into the bathroom. Every nerve ending tingled as she shoved the towel through the brass loop. Stay calm. Everything will be fine. Everything, except for the fact she had Edward Sloan camped on the doorstep and a fiancé laid-over in a hospital instead of an airport. “Need anything else? A sandwich or snack to tuck into that suitcase-sized flight bag?” Candace remained in the doorway, blowing a pink bubble she sucked back in her mouth. “No, thanks.” After a brief embrace, she skirted the brunette blockade and headed for the living room. “Grab my sneakers and a pair of socks from the top dresser drawer, please.” Almost as soon as the words left her mouth, Candace appeared, beaming and bearing the goods. “Already ahead of you. Your big suitcase and carry-on are by the front door in the foyer. Your cell phone is on your carry-on, and I made sure your keys were there as well. Computer’s off, too.” “You’re the best, Des.” “No problem. I’m more than a financial planner.” “I know. You plan everything. I’m glad my boss approved my sudden travel plans. I owe him big time for granting me the next couple days off. There’s no way I could have focused on work not knowing Mark’s condition.” Another extended chiming of the doorbell rocked her to the roots of her hair. Damn him. Why doesn’t he go away? After a cursory inspection of the house, they turned off the interior lights and switched on the porch lamp. Chloe squared her shoulders and narrowed the distance between the nuisance at the front door and herself. “Now he knows somebody’s home but about to be far away.” “Good thing you were able to book that flight. You won’t have to wait even two hours once we get there until it takes off. Here’s praying there’s no delay.” Candace grabbed the suitcase and rattled her car keys. “Don’t even think about insisting you drive to the airport.

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I’m the pilot for this late-night trip.” The doorbell rang yet another time. How she’d love to wring Edward’s neck. But why do jail time when ignoring him served the same purpose? “Once I program the alarm’s keypad, I’ll open the door. Make as fast a break as you can without tripping over the pain in the ass.” Adrenaline, keep pumping. Feet, don’t fail me now. Chloe slung the carry-on strap onto her shoulder. Flinging open the front door, she braced her body against the frame. “So, you decided to stop playing games?” Edward encroached on the free space between them. “Don’t make me late for my flight?” “Flight?” His laughter laced the silent night air. “Where are you going? Off on some spendthrift vacation while my son’s in Europe?” Five, four, three, two, one. “Mark’s plane was forced to land unexpectedly at an airport in LaGrange. I’m on my way to catch a flight to Atlanta.” When Edward’s posture relaxed and his mouth flopped open, she sneaked past and onto the porch. Candace followed suit, the wheels of the suitcase clattering over the concrete. The closing of the front door followed. “When?” Edward gave pursuit. “I must know more.” Only inches from Candace’s Chevy Blazer, she wheeled on her future father-in-law. “As of the latest news report, there were no fatalities. However, practically all of the passengers were injured in the emergency landing.” Candace, tugging the suitcase, edged Edward in reaching her. Edward sprinted toward them, his leather shoes scuffing across the concrete banquette. “I must get a flight out.” Bathed in the glow of the streetlamp, he fished in his inner jacket pocket and removed his cell phone. Candace slammed the rear hatch and aimed the remote at the driver’s side door. Two blips sounded. “Ready when you are.” She eyed the gaunt god-in-his-own-mind standing at the rear of the Blazer, drew in a deep breath and blew it out hard. Why think otherwise? He wasn’t the type you could get rid of easily. More tenacious than Custer or any STD. “I can’t understand why I wasn’t called.” Edward headed toward her. She flung open the passenger-side door and climbed inside. “Why would someone call you and not me?” The famous Sloan snarl appeared. “Why? Because I’m his father and you’re nothing.”

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The Gypsy and the Jester

Chapter Fifteen

Chloe stepped into the aisle. She’d flown with the same airline as Mark—the airline that added another FAA statistic after making an emergency landing with a different flight. She grabbed her suitcase and heaved the cumbersome carry-on strap onto her shoulder. Candace was right. Small wonder she didn’t suffer the ill effects of packing everything but her favorite leather couch in there. Following behind the other passengers, she advanced toward the disembarkation area. Forward movement was far preferable to sitting still. Each step she took brought her closer to the man she loved. At least the airline provided a fair amount of information regarding Mark’s landing. A mechanical malfunction caused his plane to land before it reached Hartsfield-Jackson. Luckily, the skies were clear, and air-traffic controllers were able to guide the plane to LaGrange, about forty miles southwest of the capital city—mere minutes from where the plane would have landed had misfortune not intervened. “You’re nothing.” Nothing. Nothing. Edward’s words echoed in her mind, and someone nudged her from behind. Apologizing, she picked up her pace and nearly collided with the elderly man dead ahead. Only her quick reflexes and skid-resistant sneaker soles saved the slight man from being bowled over by each of her hundred twenty pounds. ***** The tires of the rental Ford Taurus impacted the speed bump, and the contents of her stomach churned faster. Not too much in there. Some peanut butter crackers and a diet soda. Mostly acid. If she went any slower, the sun would shine before she made it through the hospital’s front door. At noticing the somber expression on the attendant’s face, she opened the window and delivered a prepared speech. When he softened and accepted her story, she heaved a long breath and siphoned the stale air from her mouth and lungs. After collecting the lot ticket, she entered the bowels of the parking garage. At nearly four-thirty in the morning, no other visitors likely remained. Only those souls working graveyard shift occupied the narrow strips allotted for hospital employees and the public. She steered the sedan into a parking space, shifted into park and turned the key toward herself. The engine was off, but the same couldn’t be said for her system. Every nerve ending tingled and her temples throbbed. From the carry-on, she removed two aspirin and swallowed them straight down. A few gulps of diet soda remained in the cup, and she drained it to the last drop. Caffeine was a necessary evil if she wanted to remain functioning over the next several hours. Legs leaden, she grabbed the carry-on, climbed from the car, and stretched. From his booth, the attendant studied her. Newspaper cocked at an odd angle, his entire body had pivoted. Fine. Get a better look at the bedraggled young woman who’s chosen to visit this medical facility well after visiting hours have ended.

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She aimed the keyless remote at the door, and a harsh beep sounded. One foot in front of the other, she headed toward the medical center and Mark. In her peripheral vision, the paper fluttered as he cast it aside. “Let me drive you up there in the courtesy van” “No, but thank you.” She plastered on her best smile. “I’ll be fine. It’s only a short distance.” He muttered something she couldn’t make out and removed his glasses. While he polished them, she quickened her pace and dashed into the crosswalk. No cars prevented her passage, and her shoes soon landed on the opposite concrete banquette. She drew in a deep breath and blew it out. Nighttime’s scent was unlike any other. Mysterious and unsettled. No exhaust fumes evident. Only a slight tang from a rain that had long since fallen and was mostly absorbed into crevices in the concrete. The exterior lights of the complex blazed and illuminated her path. She glanced around. Why not? Who would see her? Chloe tossed back her head, straightened her spine and sprinted toward the main entrance. The cargo bag slapped her side. Only inches from the automatic door, she slowed. Not since her days on the high school track team had she acted on such an impulse to split the air surrounding her. To leave everything in her wake. But she’d never leave Mark behind. Not the man who meant the world to her. Stepping in front of the emergency entrance’s track, she smoothed her hair into place. “Open sesame,” she whispered as the sliding mechanism engaged. Stepping onto the all-weather mat, she hugged herself. Mark was in good hands here. He just had to be. Ahead, a man dressed in aqua scrubs shuffled past, a cup of hot brew in his hand. Steam curled from the cup, and he smiled. A glance to her left revealed the security area’s window. Yes. That’s what she needed. The security of knowing Mark was unharmed. The stiff-backed man with a bushy black moustache glanced at his computer screen and then at her. “May I help you, ma’am?” Chloe swallowed hard. Spit it out. He can’t help you if you don’t tell him how. “My fiancé was one of the passengers involved in the emergency airplane landing a few miles from here. I was told the passengers were brought here. My fiancé and I are from New Orleans, and his flight was bound for Atlanta when it had to land unexpectedly at LaGrange Callaway.” Slow down and stop rambling. She drew in a deep breath, blew it out, and flexed her fingers several times. The guard emerged from his cubicle and approached. “If you follow the blue strip down this hallway and veer left, you’ll reach the Emergency Room’s waiting area. A nurse will assist you. All of those folks were processed through there.” Gut roiling and eyes bleary, she thanked the security guard and followed his directions. Processed? Only meat and foodstuffs were processed, weren’t they? People were triaged. With each step, the soles of her sneakers squeaked against the polished flooring. Beside one public phone, a woman clutched a child’s hand and bawled into the receiver. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she blinked them back. She quickened her pace. To her left, a lemon-yellow stripe stretched along the wall’s length. She glanced down at the maize and gray tiling. She closed her eyes and said a quick prayer. Please, Lord, may this yellow-brickroad lead to a living and well Mark. *****

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Her stiff neck screamed for one of Mark’s massages, but Chloe shook off the pain and her sleepiness. She glanced at her watch. Six forty-nine. No use staying in this hard-seated chair in the third floor waiting area. She stood, stretched and approached the two nurses in the hallway who were chatting about something or other. Both glanced up, but the one clutching a stainless steel chart to her starched uniform front held out her hand. “Are you looking for someone?” Her tone, soft as the beat of a butterfly’s wings, floated down the corridor. “Yes. Mark Sloan. He’s my fiancé.” “Oh, yes. Mister Sloan is one of my patients. In three nineteen. It’s almost time for me to do his morning assessment.” She motioned forward. “Follow me, please.” The nurse proceeded down the hallway. Chloe followed and took shallow breaths. She’d never forget the odor of this place. Somewhere, two pieces of equipment beeped in a discordant rhythm. EVACs. When she suffered the neck injury four years ago, hers had become occluded and made the most god-awful bleeping sounds. Silence was unbearable, but those devices were even more so. With a swish, the woman in the crisp white uniform vanished into a patient room. Chloe kept on track, heart pounding and stomach spewing more acid. Please, Lord, let Mark be okay. But if he was okay, why was he admitted? For observation? From the doorway, she drifted her gaze to the bed near the window. Propped up and talking in a low tone, Mark chatted with the nurse. Her heart thumped into her throat. He wasn’t swathed in bandages from head to heel. He hadn’t suffered a concussion. She stared harder. And he hadn’t suffered facial injuries, either. The nurse glanced at her watch and then at Chloe. “Come on in. We kept this young man for observation. He bumped his forehead. Good news is the CT scans were unremarkable.” The side rails clicked and slipped downward. Mark turned at her approach. “Think we can talk the nurse into leaving us alone for a few minutes?” With a flick of the smiling nurse’s hand, the top sheet and blanket sailed toward the foot-end of the hospital bed. “Few minutes? I believe that can be arranged. Heaven knows, you can’t get into too much trouble in that short a time.” She skirted the bed and swished past Chloe. “You don’t know Chloe. She the fastest…” A cool current of air floated past as the nurse spun toward her patient. “The fastest what?” Multiple replies flipped over in Chloe’s mind. “The fastest talker in the South.” Especially this morning. ***** Dorothy was right. There is no place like home. And Mark’s home here on Prytania was the best one, next to the one where she’d been raised. The ringing phone carried to the kitchen. Their best sauté pan struck the linoleum, and Chloe pumped the air with her fist. Twirling in time with her pulse, the lid rolled underneath the kitchen table. Home sweet home. But no Whipped Cream Wednesday tonight. Not with Mark being thousands of miles away. She shot a glance at the disarray. Cookware could wait, Mark’s call couldn’t. The kitchen counters, dining room table and buffet blurred as she raced toward the living room.

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Sinking into the padded leather computer chair, she pressed the speakerphone button. “Who’s calling please?” As if she didn’t know. “Hey, sexy lady.” Mark’s bass tone seeped from the console. “You still haven’t told me who’s speaking?” Shivers teased icy fingers along her spine. Their long-distance dirty dialogue session had begun. “A man who wants to know what you’re wearing.” “Why?” “Because I want to pretend I’m there with you. Watching you touch yourself. Sticking my fingers into your hot pussy. Feeling your heart pound underneath my hand.” “I’m wearing a white lace bra and matching thong. Talk dirty to me. Make me wet for you.” “Cross your smooth legs.” She obeyed, swinging the left over the right. “They’re crossed. Tight, too.” “Tight? Is your pussy or ass tight?” “My ass is. What do you want to put there? Something big?” “My cock. Right now, I’m stroking myself. Press your fingers into a fist and pretend you’re pumping me. Can you feel my heat?” “Yes.” A carnal current sizzled in her sex. “You’re so hard. I want to suck on you.” “Play with your clit.” She reached into her panties and slipped two fingers between the slick lips. “I’m massaging my clit. It’s so sensitive. It wants your tongue.” “My tongue is long. I can lick you from front to back. Are you wet? Will you squirt for me?” Rubbing harder, she worked her clit into a taut nub. “Yes. First I want you to tongue me. Then I want you to stick your fingers in me.” “Stick your fingers in now. Put them in deep and pull then in and out. Fast.” “Oooh, I wish you were here with me.” The sluicing noises mingled with her moans. “Lick your fingers off. Tell me what you taste like.” Mark was so good at this game. Making loud slurping sounds, she rubbed her fingers over her mouth and lowered her face to the speakerphone. “I’m such a bad girl. I came all over your computer chair. There’s a puddle under my ass. I’m licking off my fingers. So sweet and sticky.” The sound of his lips smacking together came over the phone line. “Damn, you taste so good. My balls want you to suck them.” “Mmmmph. Mmppph.” She stroked herself harder and continued her mock lip service. “They taste so good. So soft in my mouth. You’ve washed your body with that vetiver soap, haven’t you?” “Yes. I’m almost ready to come. Open your mouth wide. I’m gonna fill it. Aaahhh. Aawwwww.” “It’s all over my lips and dripping down my chin. You taste so good.” “You, too…b-baby.” Her body drew tight as a bowstring, and she shuddered under her own climax. Hand numb and trembling, she pulled it from between her legs, swiped several tissues from the box and plastered them on her wet thighs and crotch. “You give good phone, Mark.”

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“Thought you’d enjoy that. Miss you.” “How’s London?” “Damp. Rainy. Boring that you’re not here with me. Hellish bad luck with that plane landing before it reached Atlanta. Those controllers did a fantastic job. That plane bounced on landing, but they and the pilot prevented a crash. Only some minor injuries to some of the passengers.” “When Candace called me out of the shower, I didn’t know what to think. Thank God you weren’t killed.” The background television noise faded. “Like I said, you can’t get rid of me that easily. Suck your nipples for me now. That always makes mine sensitive and hard.” Her fingers fumbled with the bra’s front clasp. The panels parted and freed her breasts. She tucked her chin and laved the right nipple. When a rosy peak tented underneath her tongue, she switched sides. She ground her bottom into the chair and refastened the bra over her tender breasts. “Both nipples are hard. They wish you were here to kiss and lick them.” “Don’t worry. I’ll be home before you know it. I’ve been playing catch up with some colleagues. Learned some interesting things about that urn. Whatever you do, don’t let my father get hold of it. Doesn’t surprise me he came after you and it. My mother really lit his wick with that move.” “Don’t worry. He won’t succeed in separating us from her gift. While I was away, Candace stayed here. Hope you don’t mind that I gave her the access code to the alarm?” “Nah. If she’s as fiery-tempered and trustworthy as you claim, my father won’t get within a hundred feet of that urn before she drop-kicks him out the front door.” “What did you find out about the urn?” “It may have been used at a lupanar.” “One of the brothels in Pompeii?” “Yeah. Did you have a chance to analyze that particulate you brushed off the surface yet?” She swallowed a giggle. Keep him in suspense. “We’re performing clinical trials on an anti-hypertensive drug, and I’ve been buried in paperwork.” “Are you still horny?” “When have you known me not to be?” “Tomorrow I’ll scan some data in for you to read. I’ll forward it to your desktop.” “Too bad you didn’t make it to Milan.” “There’s always another time.” His smooches sounded into the phone. “Love you.” “Love you, too.” “What do you love best about me?” His husky tone swept her higher with each word spoken. Oh, to reach through the phone and pull him through. Clutch his body close. Feel his skin against hers. “That you aren’t a bit like your father.” “Do me a favor? Get the urn and bring it over to the desk.” She left the desk chair, rounded the couch and skidded into the foyer. Climbing the steps in pairs, she reached the second floor parlor. A quick scan of the shelves revealed the burgundy-leather-bound volume of Voltaire. She removed the book, laid it on the reading chair and pried open the small panel at the rear of

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the shelf. Pressing her finger against the smooth white button, she listened. A soft whirring sounded and the bookcase swung out from the wall. Dust floated in front of her face, and she stepped into the gaping space left between the bookcase and Mark’s hiding place. The fat steel body of a six-foot-high safe held court dead center of the recessed area. She knelt and twirled the combination. At the familiar click, she blew out the held breath. From the top shelf, she removed the box in which they’d stashed the urn before Mark’s departure. With the box cushioned on the plush parlor carpeting, she closed the safe and flicked the dial out of sequence. A slight shove sent the bookcase toward the wall. Pressing her body against the storage unit, she sighed as it bumped back into its normal resting place. After filling the hole left by the missing book, she picked up the packing box and left the parlor. With mincing steps, she made her way down the stairs and into the living room. Why did Mark have her retrieve the urn? The box shifted in her grasp. Her heart raced. Please, God, though I’d love to smash this silly thing, don’t let me drop it now. At entering the living room, she giggled and placed the box next to the computer desk. He’d hear her. Even though he was on the speakerphone, Mark could hear a pin drop on the porch with the front door closed. Collapsing into the padded computer chair, she reached down, peeled off the tape, and opened the box panels. Gripping the urn, she drew it toward her face. A pricey but ugly gift if ever there was one. “Got it?” Mark’s voice quavered. “Sure do.” Wait a minute. There was no need to deviate from their normal Wednesday evening routine. Mark might be in Europe, but their games could continue as always. “Be right back.” She set the urn on the desk and sprinted toward the kitchen. From the fridge, she claimed the fresh can of whipped topping. After giving it a few vigorous shakes, she returned to continue the long-distance call. One flick of her finger, and the clear plastic cap glanced off the side of the computer and landed on the floor. She flopped into the chair and shook the cold container several more times. Pulses pounding, she placed it between her legs. “Okay, lover boy. I’m back. I have the urn and something else. A surprise.” “Surprise?” His laughter came louder. “I love those, and I have one for you. May I go first?” “Sure thing.” What was he up to? “Pick up the urn and look at the front of it.” She did as instructed and studied the acrobatic couple carved into the clay. “Those people are still going at it. Don’t they ever stop?” No, and neither did the wetness between her legs. “Rub your finger over them and close your eyes. Pretend that’s us. Together tonight. Sharing our love and the same bed. Are you rubbing the urn yet?” The abrasive surface chafed the pad of her index and middle finger. “Mmmm hmmm.” Without opening her eyes, she found a safe place for the urn and set it down. Every synapse firing, she reached for the spray can and flicked her finger against the nozzle. Aiming the can near the opening of her mouth, she giggled. “Remember what night this is?” “How could I forget? This is our first Wednesday night apart since you moved in with

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me. No foam fest until next week.” “Think again. I just finished rubbing that urn. Open your mouth with me. I’m gonna squirt now.”

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Chapter Sixteen

Chloe snatched the remote from Mark’s hand and tossed it across the room. It landed with a soft thump on the oxblood leather recliner. “You just got home yesterday. Why do you have to go out of town again?” Okay. So she was throwing a tantrum? Tonight, whining became her on Tuesdays. Mark scooped her into his lap and popped open the first three buttons of her sage-green cotton blouse. “I thought we might head up to Manhattan a few days early. Since you’re on vacation all next week, I’ve planned the perfect romantic getaway.” Romantic? She was there—in less time than it would take a new coat of petal-pink nail polish to dry. “Did you speak with the Metropolitan’s curator?” “Yes. He’s very interested in examining and acquiring the urn for the museum. I can’t believe my father let me keep the thing.” She traced a finger along his unshaven jaw line. The stubble pricked the pad of her finger. “You should have seen his face when I told him about your plane. He went whiter than those thousand-thread-count sheets in the guest bedroom. Maybe that’s his way of calling a truce in a war that never should have happened? After all,” she said and shifted position in his lap, “you can’t control what your mother does.” “True.” Mark reached underneath her blouse and cupped her left breast. Heat from his fingers warmed her flesh through the lacy panel. “I’m not surprised you want to get rid of our present. Why do you think it’s bad luck? You never told me what you found out at your lab.” Get his mind on something else. Damned urn. She stretched and lay across his lap, giggling as he stripped off her panties and peeled them down over her legs. When they reached her knees, she wiggled back into position against Mark and worked them to her ankles. A slight shuffle of her feet, and the damp black satin panties landed beside the leopardprint couch pillow. “Once I tell you what my botanist friend said, you have to promise to drop the conversation for a little while.” He nodded and winked. “There was poison once stored inside that urn.” Mark nudged her from his lap and sprang from the couch. “What are you…? Poison?” She reclined against two of the animal-print pillows. Now to make sure he pays attention and doesn’t reclaim that remote. Opening her legs, she flung the right one over the back of the couch and inched the left toward the edge. While she sucked her right thumb, with the fingers of her left hand, she played with her wet pussy. When he started stroking himself, she pulled the thumb out. “Relax. Tom said there might have been herbs, but what remained was only dirt from the excavation. But some poison-happy prostitute might have possessed that urn. Wouldn’t your mother be upset? Regardless, there wasn’t any viable plant or other compound isolated.” His face screwed up as though he’d sucked several lemons. “Too bad. Would have been cool to find something.” He tapped his head. “Hold onto those dirty thoughts.”

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While she stroked her clit, Mark left the living room. The grandfather clock in the foyer struck seven times. She licked her lips. Traces of cinnamon from the tiramisu lingered. For their dinner, she’d prepared an Italian feast complete with Chicken Limoné, angel-hair pasted sautéed in garlic butter, Caesar salad and crusty bread. Several heartbeats after the clock finished chiming, Mark reappeared bearing the canister of whipped topping. Each time he tipped the container, her sex drive shifted into higher gear. “What are you doing with that? Are you still hungry after the dinner I prepared?” “You bet, I am. Last Wednesday you had your fun. Tonight, I’m going to have mine.” “Tonight is only Tuesday.” He blew her several butterfly kisses. “Sue me for being a day early.” Condensation beaded on the canister, and he set it on a Tarot-card coaster. With a push of his hands, the sapphire-blue satin pajama bottoms snaked over his hips and traveled to his feet. He stepped free, and folded them over the arm of the couch. With each movement, his balls swayed underneath his erection. She closed her eyes and inhaled. Tomatoes. Garlic. A soft swish sounded near her left ear. Warm fingers caressed her face and ear. A soft thump came beside the couch. “The love of my life.” His warm breath billowed against her cheek while he planted feathery kisses in a haphazard pattern. She squeezed her eyelids tighter together. This was so delicious, not knowing what he was up to. An orchestral selection seeped through the speakers. As his finger trailed across her lower lip, she teased it with her tongue. “My bad boy is being very good tonight.” Gentle flicks of his fingers opened the three remaining buttons on her blouse. She moaned and squirmed. Underneath her bare buttocks, the couch’s warm skin became wetter. His lips and hands stilled. Her pulse quickened. A current of cooler air floated across her bare stomach. Swoooossssshhh. Swooooosh. She squealed and shot upright. Clutching Mark’s shoulder and the back of the couch, she examined his handiwork. Two blobs of whipped topping, one on each bare breast. From below, his left hand appeared and pointed the white nozzle at her pussy. “Don’t you dare.” Like he’d listen to that lame warning. Mark deposited another pile of fluff on her crotch. He cast the can aside and winked. “Time to play connect-the-dots, devil woman.”

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Chapter Seventeen

“I’m surprised we both survived the flight without being medicated.” Mark opened the door to their suite and gestured to Chloe. But she shook more than the leaves on any ten trees. “Ladies first.” Chloe swept past, giggling. What a perfect woman she was. Not just beautiful, but brainy. A woman who understood some of the most complicated chemical formulas yet still enjoyed watching Scooby Doo with him on the Cartoon Channel. The tiny nub of her nose twitched. “Mmmm. Do I smell roses?” Twelve dozen of them to be exact. “Guess you’ll have to find out.” With each step forward, the heels of her sandals slapped against the soles of her feet. The pink linen skirt hugged her hips in a classy way. At his invitation, she put a great deal of distance between them. He stepped into the suite and closed the door. Time for a bit of quality time with the woman he’d marry in less than four months. Her muffled scream carried to the living room area. “In here.” Posed in the doorway of the adjoining bedroom, she slumped sideways and caught herself against the frame. “Oh, Mark!” After removing his leather dress shoes, he dashed to her side and swept her into his arms. Over her flushed cheeks, he placed kisses he chased with promises. She backed away and reached for his hand. “Come on.” As she pulled him into the room, she never broke eye contact. “Let’s indulge.” “But we’re not undressed yet.” More girlish laughter. “Who cares? We can always grab something from the garment bag and change.” She jerked harder. “Come on. Don’t spoil this party.” How could he resist? Her glossy lips parted in a heart-stopping smile. The scent of the red, white and pink roses saturated the air. He shook his head. Was he giddy from the petals or from looking at Chloe? Together, they collapsed onto the cinnamon-red satin comforter. Chloe scooped a handful of colorful petals and puffed them in his direction. “This is the best surprise ever.” Her breasts heaved, and she scooted to the center of the king-sized bed. “No mirrors in here.” He drew her close. “But, who needs them. I memorized every detail of your face and body long ago.” Her mouth formed a sexy oval. “Really? What are you going to do to me once we get back from our meeting with Mr. Federman?” Both sandals thumped against the plush carpeting. Tracing over the curve of her hip, he let his hand take a leisurely journey until it reached the skirt’s hemline. Her spearmint breath came heavy against his cheek. Keep her guessing. “I have a confession.” “What now? Don’t tell me you’re married?” She searched his face, her gaze drifting away from his eyes to the scattered petals.

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“Nope. Never got the urge until meeting you. Remember how I told you I came here for business?” Her body burrowed against his, both stocking feet scraping against his calves. The top of her head teased underneath his chin. “Mmmm hmmm.” As he stroked the side of her neck, her pulse thrummed underneath his fingers. “Well, that wasn’t true. Except for meeting with the curator, the pleasure of your company will fill every spot on my agenda. I plan to spend every waking moment loving and making love to you.” ***** Chloe stepped into the cab. Mark pinched her backside, and she lurched toward the front seat. “If you don’t stop fooling around, we’ll never make it to the Metropolitan in time.” She righted herself and settled against the back seat that had seen better days and countless backsides. Mark eased in beside her and closed the cab door. “The Metropolitan. Fifth and eightysecond.” His hand found hers, and he drew it to his face. Soft, wet kisses landed on each of her fingertips. “Not to worry. Maurice won’t mind. Our driver will take a shortcut.” Mark tapped the front seat. “Won’t he?” A crooked grin filled the mirror. Above the man’s mouth, a bushy graying moustache twitched. “Sure thing. I know this town like nobody else. Been driving it for thirty-seven years.” Myriad stale odors lingered in the cab. Better not to breathe too deeply. More bacteria here than in any lab culture. Mark nudged her. “What are you thinking about?” She leaned over and whispered her concern in his ear. “Leave it to a lab analyst to come up with something like that.” Traffic snarled, but their jovial driver kept humming and weaving his way into the narrowest of openings. She shifted on the seat and settled against Mark. Damn the humidity. She lifted the hemline of her skirt to give her clinging thighs respite from the viscose lining. One glance at the rearview and she let it fall. Keep your eyes on the traffic and off my legs. “We should get out and take a carriage ride.” Mark kissed above her left ear. “In this heat, I’d rather visit the reservoir.” “Too many crimes committed there.” Mark tightened his hold on her shoulder. “Daytime ain’t bad.” The cabbie adjusted the rearview another time and braked to a halt. Chloe tucked her hand under Mark’s suit jacket and rested her hand over his crotch. He could claim what he may, but something about cutting her finger on that urn had her craving sex far more often than before. “Daytime ain’t bad, but you are.” Mark’s whispered words settled against her scalp and barely reached her ears. A loud chirping sounded, and she jerked upright. Speaking of reservoirs and water, if that was Edward Sloan, why didn’t he go soak his head? Mark pulled out the phone, glanced at the display and answered the caller. “Hello, Maurice.”

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After far less than a minute of conversation, Mark’s left hand struck the seat, and his body stiffened. His lips swiped together, and he stared straight ahead. And if he pressed the phone any harder against his head, the casing would split. “No.” He turned to look out his window. “We’re at Fifth and East Sixty-ninth. When did this happen? You say he’s badly burned?” “Burned? Who? Edward? A friend of Mark’s?” Mark cleared his throat. “Hope he doesn’t…no…no. We’ll head down there ourselves. If they’ll let us on the scene, I’ll provide identification. Talk to you later.” He shoved the cell phone back into his inner jacket pocket and caught the cabbie’s attention. “Change of plans. There’s a big tip if you can get us out of traffic and downtown pretty quick.” The humming stopped and the driver nodded. “Where to?” Downtown? The Metropolitan Museum wasn’t far from where there were now. Heading Uptown. What was Mark talking about? Nothing ever rattled him. Mark’s left hand clutched her right. “Union Square.” ***** Chloe cursed the fashionable gold sandals with the kitten heels. Of all days to wear new shoes. Getting to Union Square would definitely prove a challenge and a blistering one. Traffic from that section of Lower Manhattan was being diverted and had forced them to abandon the cab in favor of travel on foot. Mark’s damp fingers bit into the back of her hand as he pulled her forward. “Of all the damned luck.” “What makes you think they’ll let us near the accident scene?” “Those calls Maurice and I made to New York’s finest. There’s a priceless piece of artwork involved. I’m not taking any chances with it being broken or stolen.” Smoke swirled down the street. With every breath, the acrid stench choked her. From her shoulder bag, she pulled several tissues and placed them over her mouth and nose. “You go ahead. I’m going back down to that little coffee shop. I’ll meet you there.” She removed the tissues only long enough to kiss him goodbye, afterward clamping her hand even tighter against her face. “That’s probably best. Your asthma will flare. Have an inhaler along in case?” She nodded and tapped her shoulder bag. “Always carry two in case one won’t work or becomes empty.” “Wish me luck, honey.” Worry lines creased his shiny forehead. Luck? That damned urn had brought then nothing but misfortune. She backed away from Mark and waved. There was only one way to break the spell cast by that relic. ***** Chloe accepted the cup of water from the officer and sipped it slowly. Behind the closed door and beyond the office’s opened window blinds, Mark and Lieutenant Mitchelson were engaged in conversation. A glance at her watch revealed it was almost one-thirty. When would this day end? Her clothes reeked of smoke. Her head throbbed. The run in her right stocking was traveling north. Were she and Mark victims of some sort of curse surrounding the urn? The men stopped talking, and the office door swung open. Mark bore the box containing the urn. Of course, that damned crock wouldn’t perish in the fire. A man had lost his life, but that pottery from Pompeii was heartier than any cockroach.

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Mark set the box down on the desk beside her. “Watch this while I finish some business with the Lieutenant. Love you.” The overpowering scent of someone’s cologne wafted her way, and she sneezed. Mark slipped away and resumed the discussion with the police and representative from the courier company involved in the accident. What made that van go up in smoke? No other vehicle was involved in the accident. Witnesses testified to the fact they heard an explosion of sorts and then the front of the vehicle was engulfed in flames. How much more suffering would occur before someone did the right thing? She turned and surveyed her surroundings. No one was paying her any attention. But that was all for the best. The affable officer who’d delivered her water disappeared into an adjacent office. She stood and slowly pulled the box closer to the edge of the desk. Inserting her fingers into the gap between the overlapped box flaps, she pulled. The newspapers rustled as she unfolded each layer from around the urn. Every nerve ending in her body tingled. Pulling the urn free from the packing, she pivoted and gritted her teeth. One by one, she loosened her fingers until they only touched air. A loud pop echoed as the urn struck the floor. Mark’s long legs devoured the distance between them. “What’s happened?” “I was admiring the urn. The day must have taken a toll on me and my nerves. Before I knew it…gone.” For good. Forever and ever. Amen.

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Chapter Eighteen Mango-scented bubbles foamed on their skin. Chloe leaned into Mark, and teased his shin with her toes. Pure bliss. “I’m glad that urn is gone. It’s better in a dumpster than causing more bad luck.” “Are you superstitious?” His hands molded around her hips and massaged them. “About some things. That Pompeiian pottery was bad news from the beginning. You could have been killed during that emergency plane landing. The courier of the van was while transporting that supposedly precious relic. Why didn’t your mother give us a gift certificate?” “She does everything in a grand manner, especially now during the divorce proceedings. She’s out to wring every cent possible from my father, and drag him through the proverbial mud.” She shifted between Mark’s legs, her backside slipping against the marble bottom of the Jungle Suite’s tub. Leaning toward the wall, she reached behind and claimed his soft cock. “I can think of things I’d rather have than money.” “Like what?” Water sloshed over the side as he stood and scooped her from the suds. With his assistance, she turned around. As she licked his sudsy nipples, he rubbed her lower back. “Care to get sweaty all over again?” His words fell warm upon the top of her scalp. “Thought you’d never ask.” “You know what happens to bad girls?” “They get to play all day?” Slick hands pried her body from his, and he maneuvered her toward the taps. “They’re punished.” What did he have in mind? From the wall bracket, he pulled the hose attachment. With a flick of his wrist, a fountain of water sprayed forth. “What’s that for?” “For me to know and you to find out. Close you eyes and open your legs.” She squeezed her eyelids shut. Why couldn’t she watch? His free arm laced around her waist, and she braced her toes against the butterfly grips along the tub’s bottom. His breath came soft and rasping. A sharp click sounded, and water gurgled down the drain. Now what? “Did you fall asleep?” “Far from it.” No sooner did he finish the sentence than water pulsed against her crotch and thighs. Metal struck porcelain. Now his hands were free. Chills chased up her spine. “It’s been quite a while since breakfast. I’m hungry.” He licked a trail from her knee to the sensitive spot where her leg met her torso. “Eat me.” “Your wish is my command.” At first his tongue tickled and tapped her belly, sliding up and down until she tugged his hair. A low growl reached her over the spraying hiss of the water he never turned off. The

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warm tip of his tongue glided over her clit. “Stop toying with me.” “Toying? You’re a living, breathing woman. I don’t consider you a plaything. Only a woman I love and want to marry.” Water swirled against her ankles as it headed down the drain. “And I love you, too.” Hands clutching her thighs, he splayed them farther apart and fitted his mouth over her crotch. One more touch of his tongue against her clit, and a fire caught in her belly. Spasms followed, wracking her lower body, and she bucked against his face. As the orgasm reached its peak, she opened her eyes and grabbed for his shoulders. He looked up and into her eyes. Gone was the serious mask he usually wore, replaced by a broad grin and eyes that shone like chocolate diamonds. “You mean the world to me.” “So do you. Care to take this to another level?” He stood and the tip of his hard cock prodded her belly. “As high as you want.” His mouth found hers. In a swirling pattern, he massaged her back, and she melted against him. Wet strands of his hair caught in her fingers. He’d turned a troubled day into a romantic one in less time than it took the tub to empty. Such lovely children they’d have together. He pulled away and drew up two handfuls of remaining suds. He winked and traced the tip of his tongue over his upper row of teeth. From her breasts to her belly, he smeared the foam. Her laughter blended with the sizzling of the soap. Water glistened on his shoulders and she stood on tiptoe. With a press of her palms against his shoulders, she sprang onto him and fastened her legs around his waist. Burying her face against his neck, she drew in his scent and licked away the water droplets. Palms fitted against her hips, he drew her back and plunged into her wetness. His thick cock stretched her, filled her like never before. Writhing against him, she flung her head back and screamed. “So you like this ride better than the one in the cab?” “Yes.” She squeezed his shoulders and cock harder. “Don’t let this one ever end.” ***** Chloe spooned a liberal portion of apricot preserves from the glass jar. Let’s see how Mr. Mark enjoys this feast for the senses. That bath only served one purpose—making them both want each other more. Down over her shoulders, the straps of the black-lace demi bra slipped, uncovering more of her breasts. In combination with the matching crotchless panties, this outfit was one he wouldn’t resist. He plucked the muffin from the plate and put it aside. “I love waking up each morning beside you.” She settled beside him on the suite’s living room floor. Onto her inner thighs, she dabbed the apricot glaze, licked the spoon and tossed it aside. “Care to sample something sweet and sticky?” Swift as a lizard’s, his tongue lashed out, lapped away all traces of glaze from her skin and flicked against her crotch. “What’s the next course?” A flick of her fingers unfastened the bra. From behind them on the glass-topped table, she grabbed the purple feather and knelt in front of her fiancé. She passed the plump feather over his cock and balls. “You.” “What am I going to do with you, Chloe?”

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“I’m open for suggestions.” Lips parted, she ducked, drew his soft sac into her mouth. When she released him, he pulled her body onto his and the feather floated away. The slap of his hand against her bottom carried a current of heat from her belly to her legs. “Do me from behind.” He tongued her cleavage. “Assume the position.” She wrenched from his grasp and got down on all fours. He peeled down the panties and eased them off over her feet. His fingertips pressed into her hips. Opening wider, she wiggled for him. “Make me beg for more.” As he entered her, she screamed. Who cared if anyone heard her? Clutching the carpet, she rode out his every thrust. His right hand left her buttock and two of his fingers worked her clit. Each pass of his fingers brought her closer to the edge. “I, unhhhh.” He slowed his stroking. Her knees weakened as warmth seeped from her belly to her sex. Bottle rockets burst in her belly and brain, and she rode out the climax. Mark drew her trembling body up and shuddered at his own release. He eased her back down. She collapsed spread-eagled onto the carpet, and Mark rolled her over. He rubbed noses with her. “You are my desire, Gypsy Chloe.” While the ceiling fan hummed, she combed his hair to one side. “I want to be closer to you. Even closer than we are now.” “Not a problem.” He held her tight and rolled her body atop his. Despite wobbly elbows, she maneuvered upright and sat on his lap. Mark laughed and his damp body shot upright. Strong arms laced around her, and those blue eyes stared her down. He winked. “Are you sure you’re ready for me to rock your world and become your husband?” She kissed his smiling lips. “Ready for the rest of my life.” ***** After an abbreviated breakfast that wouldn’t nourish one human let alone two, they retired to the king-sized bed and zebra-print sheets. What a lucky woman you are, Chloe Vincent. You’ve found a man to satisfy your body, mind and soul. Mark twisted a section of her hair around her finger and released it. “I still can’t believe you used that potion on me our first time. I’ve never been anyone’s sexual subject. Capsaicin resin, right? That extraction must have really been quite a trial and error?” She snuggled against his chest. “Not easy getting the proper proportions of pepper, ginseng and other spices. I performed multiple extractions and used a variety of diluents to lessen the pepper’s fire.” “Actually, it’s time for my confession.” The words caught in his throat. Were they held prisoner there by his male pride? “I did my damnedest to spurn your seduction, Chloe. I’ve been attracted to you for some time. Though your potion had an effect on me, quite a profound one, your beauty and brains had just as much. That day when you demonstrated the dildo…totally hot.” “I have a confession, too. Too often I’ve always allowed others, my parents included, to control me. During that experiment, I was in control of the outcome.” She kissed him softly. “Men have always forced me to submit to their desires and neglected mine. You thought

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enough of me to ask what I wanted. Where I wanted to be touched. How soft? How hard? That meant a lot. That’s why then, and today, I achieved multiple orgasms. No man has ever done that for me. No man except you.” “When I walked away from my last steady relationship, I never wanted to face commitment again.” He tipped her chin so that her gaze met his. “I never believed in love and marriage until getting to know you. You’ve made a believer out of me in more ways than one.” “I’ll never stop loving you, no matter how many times our egos clash.” “You got that right.” She propped on one elbow and flicked a nail against his left nipple. “I should have brought some of those new toys along for us to try out.” His left eyebrow arced. “Where are they?” “Back at my shop in New Orleans. If I go back there, I might run into old skinflint Johnson. He’s hired a crew to clean the front windows and touch up the lettering.” “You’d better catch the next flight back from La Guardia. They might be stripping off New Directions and putting something else on the glass?” She settled onto the pillows, turned and kneaded his right bicep. “Screw the landlord. I’m staying put.” “Okay, if that’s what you want.” Mark lay on his side and brought her right leg over his hip. “I said, ‘Screw the landlord,’ not you.” “Meet your new landlord.” He rained hot kisses over her cheeks and lips. “As of next Monday, that building is under new ownership and management. Johnson’s gone and Sloan’s in the house.” “Promise you won’t raise the r-rent?” Her words landed on his unshaven face. “I’ll promise that along with loving, honoring and cherishing.” “Really?” “As real as it gets. Promise you’ll be mine forever, Chloe. You know I’m not falling for any more of your tricks.” He swatted her buttock and kissed her harder. “Me? Play tricks?” She tickled his earlobe. “If not for my tricks, what are you falling for?” “You, cunning Chloe. You and everything about you.” Why couldn’t they stay here always? “When I heard about your plane, I hated the fact I ever touched that urn.” “Turned you into a real nympho, didn’t it?” “Not sure. Or maybe just the fact we’ll soon be man and wife caused the reaction?” “I wish I could have made that trip to Pompeii. From what research I managed to conduct, that pottery may well have had an effect on you.” She stared into his glistening brown eyes. “How? Don’t tell me you really believe in magical potions and herbs?” “I didn’t believe in the power of your potion until I actually experienced some arousal from it. As I’d mentioned on the phone, that urn was likely found at the site of a Pompeiian brothel. They stored herbs and aphrodisiacs in there.” He could roll her over with one of those feathers from his Mardi-Gras mask. “If that’s so, I don’t think the original owner of that vessel wanted me messing with her sexual powers and karma.”

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Mark’s hand glided up and over the swell of her hip and came to rest against her middle back. “Something allowed your finger to heal. Heal faster than any medical science or application available today. We’ll never know for certain.” She tugged at the hair surrounding his nipple. “We both lost a great deal of sleep due to my sexual energy.” Softer kisses came on her nose. “I suppose you don’t want to go to Rome and Milan as we’d originally planned for a honeymoon?” Lying on her back, she snatched his hand and placed it above her heart. “Anywhere but. I don’t want reminders of something that might have separated us forever.” From the nightstand, Mark’s cell phone chirped. He climbed over her and reached for the ringing nuisance. “Hello…yes, mother. We’re fine…Yes. Just discussing our honeymoon plans. You what?” His right hand compacted a portion of one fluffy pillow. “No. I don’t think so…because. No…I appreciate your generosity, but we can’t accept. We’ll be back in Louisiana in two days. Thanks for thinking of us…Mmm. Love you, too. Bye.” The cell phone thumped against the floor. He lay back down and enfolded her in his arms. “Where were we before the interruption?” “Talking about our honeymoon. What did you mother want?” He sniffed in a long breath and heaved it out against her bangs. “She wanted to let us know one of our engagement presents.” “What?” She tickled him. “Tell me. Stop keeping secrets.” “You’d never guess it in a million years.” She found more of his sensitive spots. “If you don’t tell, I’ll keep this up.” He wiggled free and stilled her hands. “She came across a pair of chalices in a curio cabinet in the upstairs parlor.” “We could use them for a first toast after returning from our honeymoon. Why did you decline her gift?” “They’re too valuable. They date back to the Seventeenth Century and were gifted her by someone in a high place.” “Who?” “It doesn’t matter who. Only that they are from Italy. I think we’ve had enough bad luck without entertaining more.” She smoothed her hand over his cheek. “Here’s to my job at Wilson Pharmaceuticals and your rise to prominence in the field of Behavioral Psychology.” “I’ll drink to that.” Leaving the warmth of the bed behind, she raced to the bathroom and returned with some water. “Here. It’s in a plastic cup. Who needs those chalices anyway?” He sprang from the love nest and knocked the cup from her hands. Together, they toppled onto the carpet. “Forget the chalices and forget the water. All I need is you, superstitious and scientific minded Chloe. You forever.”