I’m a busy girl. I rarely have the luxury of time to sit down with novel and read it cover to cover. So, it’s natural I love to read short stories. My love of reading them led me to writing them, and eventually to editing my own collections of short stories. Here’s a snippet from a short story of mine that the British publisher Black Lace published, entitled “Have Sex Will Travel.”

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The Russian’s fingers did it for her.

As annoyed as she’d been with his arrogant set down on the train platform before they’d boarded, one look at his hands as he clutched his newspaper in front of his face and she was mesmerized, unable to drag away her gaze.

He had large hands, shaped like shovels, dark, sparse hairs sprouting below the second set of knuckles. His fingers were long—the tips blunt and thick. His nails were clean, trimmed, but not filed or buffed. He had a man’s large and capable, but unfussy hands.

Evie surreptitiously clenched her thighs. Two of those thick, blunt fingers would equal the girth of the last cock she’d had thrusting up inside her. Three would stretch her to the point of delicious pain. His palms would be slightly calloused, but she could already imagine the feel of them rasping over her breasts. Her boyfriend’s hands had been as soft as hers.

The newspaper snapped, and her gaze shot up to meet his over the top of the pages. The same narrowed glance he’d given her on the platform now seemed to hold a hint of challenge.

Evie’s cheeks grew warm. He’d caught her staring. At his hands. At the long fingers curling tighter around the paper he held in front of him. He probably knew exactly what she’d been thinking.

She glanced away, reaching for the backpack at her feet and pulled out her itinerary to review it for the hundredth time, staring at the pages, but not really reading.

Something deliciously unexpected arced in the air between them. An electric charge of sensual curiosity that didn’t dissipate the longer they sat, side-by-side, on their red-upholstered bench, pretending not to notice their deepening breaths or the number of times they restlessly shifted in their seat. It wasn’t the vibrations beneath them from the train ripping down the track, even though the steady even hum added a subtext to their restless movements.

Evie crossed her legs, wishing she’d worn something less comfortable than her favorite pair of faded blue jeans and a Three Doors Down concert T-shirt. She dressed like a grad school student in a state of arrested development, which she was. Or a teacher who’d saved her meager salary to splurge on museum tickets rather than a holiday wardrobe. Also true.

The Russian wore a dark brown business suit. A summer wool that fit him well without an overly tailored cut that would hug his frame. He’d left off the tie. His dress shirt was opened at the neck to reveal the base of his throat and give a hint of the dusting of dark hair that clothed his broad chest. Comfort seemed to be his priority over style.

The paper lowered to his lap, and Evie suppressed a groan, caught again. His gaze rested on her—telling her silently he knew she’d been watching him.

She lifted her chin. ‘It’s not as if I have anything else to do,’ she muttered, knowing he didn’t understand a word she said.

A soft snort was his response. Then he folded the paper and stuffed it into the handle of his brief bag. He crossed his arms over his chest, then began a slow perusal of her body that left her slightly outraged—and incredibly aroused—beginning with her breasts and sliding slowly down her body.

Was he truly attracted? Or did he think he could intimidate her into giving up her berth? That he hadn’t wanted to share the small compartment with her had been apparent in the low, heated argument he’d had with the attendant who checked their tickets and collected their passports.

Having been shocked that she’d been given such a nice accommodation in the first place, no doubt a mistake but one she wasn’t going to admit, they’d have to pry her cold dead fingers from the sides of the cabin door to remove her now.

She’d withstood her cabin-mate’s irritation, ignoring both men as they spoke and gestured toward her until The Russian had uttered a low curse, unmistakable by his tone, raked a hand through his straight brown hair before finally, grudgingly, taking his seat. He’d made a great deal of noise opening and slamming his case, drawing out his newspaper and raising it so high she knew he wanted to tell her she didn’t matter. He would simply ignore her.

Only it seemed he found it impossible to dismiss her. Was his predatory stare simply his new tactic to drive her out?

Oddly, Evie found herself growing amused. Let him stew. Let the tension grow so thick that neither of them could pretend something wasn’t happening here. ‘I’ll be out of your hair by morning, anyway,’ she drawled.

While his dark gaze lingered on her breasts, she eased back in the seat, straightening her shoulders so that her breasts lifted subtly. If he kept looking, he wouldn’t miss the sight of her nipples beading beneath the thin material of her bra and tee. She unfolded her legs and crossed them again, drawing his gaze down to her long legs. She might not have fully fleshed-out curves, but her slim body did manage to pull male glances everywhere she’d traveled so far.

One asset in particular seemed to hold their attention longest.

Knowing she was being a little devious, Evie bent over to rifle through her pack, pretending to reach deep for something while her cropped tee slid up her back to reveal the upper edge of her turquoise thong.

When she straightened, she caught his glance sliding away from her bottom. Feeling smug, she couldn’t help the slight smile that tugged at the edges of her lips and turned her head to lock her gaze with his, returning his challenge without blinking.

Only maintaining that stare proved hard. The longer she looked into his face the more she took note of his strong, square jaw, the dark, slashing eyebrows that overhung deep-set brown eyes, the thin sensual lips that firmed while she continued to look.

Suddenly, he stood, his height towering over her. He shrugged out of his jacket and folded it, laying it atop his brief bag. When he sat and pulled off his shoes and socks, Evie’s triumph wilted, wondering what he was up to now. Without glancing her way, he stood and opened the cabinet above her head to fold down the upper bunk.

Evie quickly ducked to keep from getting bumped. ‘You could have given me a warning,’ she said grumpily.

Another soft snort had her tilting up her face to meet his steady stare. His hands pulled open his belt, unbuttoned the top of his pants, and he efficiently pulled his shirttails free.Now, the air inside the compartment grew stifling. Her heart thudded dully in her chest as he stripped away his shirt and folded it neatly over his discarded jacket.

His naked chest drew her gaze. Helpless to resist, she conceded his body was attractive even if his behavior made him seem a total jerk. Broad, rather than lean, thickly muscled, his waist narrowing proportionate to his size—she knew he’d blanket her completely, press her deep into thin travel mattress if he lowered his body over hers.

Unwilling to let him mock her a single moment longer and needing to move now that excitement hummed through her body, Evie gave him a disgruntled frown and slid her bag along the floor with her foot. She stood in the small space between him and the bed, and then sidled toward the sink near the entrance of the cabin.

She watched him in the mirror, saw his gaze rake her back, lingering on her buttocks and thighs, and reached a decision she was sure she’d regret later.

Right now, however, her body was beginning a slow burn that quickened her breaths, tightened her nipples, and softened her sex. She’d started this journey needing to fill her life with experiences she’d never have back in her own prosaic little world.

Experiences. New challenges. Obstacles for her to overcome on her journey to discover herself as a single woman in charge of her own destiny.

Her boyfriend’s defection, which had forced her to make this trip on her own, had stung. Her self-esteem had dents large enough to park a Hummer inside—but The Russian had been checking her out. She thought, that just maybe, she was ready to put to rest any doubts she had about her ability to attract and seduce another man.

She quietly twisted the lock on the door to ensure their privacy. Then without looking back, she slowly drew her shirt over her head and dropped it beside her feet. Unfastening her bra, she let it slide off her arms, not caring where it landed either. She slipped out of her leather slides and unbuttoned her jeans, pushing them down to her thighs. When she bent to push them the rest of the way down, she heard a throaty murmur behind her, and her body reacted immediately, urgently, dampening the crotch of the panties that were the only item of clothing she still wore.

She straightened and tucked her fingers beneath the bands at her hips, and drew a deep breath for courage, then started to push them slowly down.

Hands closed over hers, halting her. Had she misread his interest? Evie’s breath rasped as her courage fled. Heat filled her cheeks, and she closed her eyes.

His large hands squeezed hers, pressing them to her sides, telling her to keep them there. Then he slowly glided up her ribs. When his long fingers nudged beneath her breasts, she couldn’t help the shallow, breathless moan that escaped her lips.

Heat encompassed her back and buttocks as his body pressed against her. They stood for a long moment, tension keeping both their bodies stiff and their breaths deepening. Evie waited to see whether he would follow through on the promise of his touch. Did he wait to see whether she would change her mind?

Wanting to make sure he understood her compliance, Evie clutched his hands and lifted them to cup her breasts.

His murmur—thick, guttural, incomprehensible—turned her on every bit as much as the way his fingers tightened on her breasts. He didn’t give her a tentative, exploratory massage. He held her breasts and squeezed while his knees nudged the backs of her thighs and his cock rutted at her bottom through the trousers he still wore.

Always a ‘talker,’ Evie let her head fall back against his broad chest. ‘Again. Do it again,’ she moaned, welcoming the rock of his hips with an undulating caress that rolled across his thick cock.

One hand dropped from her chest to slide down her belly. His fingers slipped beneath the elastic banding her panties and glided straight through her curls to cup her sex.

His fingers rolled across her pussy, tugging and tightening against her outer labia, coaxing more moisture to seep from her and coat his fingers with her honey.

Evie reached up, sliding her hand behind his neck, surrendering to his manipulations, widening her legs give him access to stroke deeper.

One finger slid between her lips and thrust inside her, swirling, circling, driving her crazy because she wanted that second thick finger, needed that fullness sliding inside her to get off. ‘More,’ she moaned, rolling her head on his chest, rubbing a hand atop the one clutching her breast, following the length of his arm with the other to encourage him to give her what she needed.

A harshly muttered epithet, one she understood, was all the warning she got, before he withdrew from inside her and turned her quickly in his arms.

Staring up into his face, Evie’s head fell back and her chest pushed against his, her nipples tangling in the hair furring his chest. Chest hair hadn’t been something she’d ever given much thought, but now, she knew she preferred a chest clothed exactly like his. The crisp curls abraded her spiked nipples and scoured her areolas. A delicious shiver shook her body. She gasped as he hauled her up, his hands gripping her waist.

And because there was no way in hell she was letting him change his mind now, she wound her legs tightly around his waist and swooped down to take his lips in a searing kiss.

His lips held firm, not opening.

Undeterred, Evie softened her own, gliding them wetly over his mouth, sliding along his cheek and jaw as she wound her fingers in his hair and tugged. She tightened her legs, pressing her open sex against the front of his pants, confirming his hardness.

Whatever his problem, it wasn’t because he didn’t want her.

She rubbed against him again, and lifted her mouth to stare into his narrowed gaze. ‘Don’t you want this?’

His stare was so intense, so dark, she hesitated for a moment. It was the same expression he’d worn on the platform, but now she knew it wasn’t annoyance.