Happy Saturday! I hope you’re not working today. And that you don’t have a huge list of errands to run.
As for me, I plan to rush through my To Do List, get in a quick swim, and then head to my dd’s house to watch something spooky. Probably The Witch. I want a no-stress day after a week of chasing my tail and writing like a fiend.
This week, I finished one project, which is now in review/edits, but should be released early next week: With His Rock Band. Lots of naughty, over-the-top sexiness there! And I’m nearing the end of tweaks of my next SEAL story, Before We Kiss. It releases the 20th. If you haven’t already pre-ordered it, you should!
Comment for a chance to win your choice of
one of these stories! I’ll choose
three winners!
And if you haven’t read my shorties, check out the full list here!
The Morning Ride
A New York commuter shares lustful daydreams with another subway passenger…
Sophie played with the curls she’d formed in her hair, hoping he’d appreciate all the care she’d taken with her appearance. She wore a demure, sleeveless cloudy blue blouse, a slim navy skirt and tights—monochromatic colors were supposed to be slimming, and she wanted to be perfect. He was picking her up at her place, their first real date after a week of morning coffees.
Everything was going great. They’d agreed to take an earlier train each morning so they could stretch their daily meetings. They talked rapidly, in blurted confessions, then sat quietly drinking their coffee. Every day when they parted, he kissed her, each kiss more passionate than the one before. This morning, he’d drawn her hips close to his, and she’d felt his erection against her belly. He hadn’t minded when she’d pressed against it; his fingers bit into her hips.
He hadn’t said where he was taking her, but she hoped he didn’t have reservations he wouldn’t want to break. She’d spent the afternoon cleaning her apartment, changing her sheets, because she wanted him to stay. It was time to find out if reality matched fantasy.
Her doorbell rang and sent her heart racing. When she swung open the door, he was dressed casually in a long-sleeved, heather-colored Henley and jeans. In his hands were bags bearing the name of her favorite Thai restaurant.
His gaze slid down her skirt and silk blouse then back up. Heat glittered in his eyes. “I should have told you not to dress up. Sorry you went to the bother.”
She shook her head and spun. “Do you like it?”
“Very much.”
“Then it was worth the effort.” She pointed to the single button at the side of her skirt. “That’s all that’s holding it up.”
His chest rose. “Sophie, I’m trying to take this slow.”
She cocked a brow as she took the bags and walked to her kitchenette. “Bringing dinner to my apartment where we can be alone, that’s slow?”
He wrinkled his nose. “I was hoping to get to second base on the sofa.”
She laughed and reached for his hand. “We’ll eat after we’ve worked up an appetite.” Then she walked backwards down the short hallway to her bedroom. A single light shone on the stand next to her bed. The covers were turned down. “I was hoping you’d get considerably farther than second base.”
Daniel gave her a look that sent a rush of fluid to her pussy. His gaze was sharp, his cheeks tightening to blades. He gathered her closer, pulling her body against his, and bent his head.
She rose on tiptoe and met his kiss, winding her arms around his neck.
He raised her skirt, grabbed handfuls of her ass, and lifted her. She wound her legs around his waist and held tightly as he walked to her bed.
He came over her, roaming his hands over her clothing, squeezing her breasts, her hips, coming up between her legs to glide over her sex.
Sophie made a sound, a tiny mew, and he leaned away. “Too many clothes?”
She nodded, reaching for his shirt to drag it up partway until he pulled it over his head. His skin was pale as a stock-broker’s should be, but nicely muscled. Hair cloaked his chest, not too thickly, just right. She combed her fingers through it then circled his small nipples.
“You said there was a button.”
She guided his hand to her side and waited as he unbuttoned her skirt then unwrapped her like a present.
He stared at her tights.
“Not very convenient,” she said grinning.
“Not a problem.” He crawled off the bed then leaned over her, sliding his fingers under the waistband of her tights and peeling them down. When he bared her pussy, his gaze snagged, but he lingered longer staring at her thighs. “I’ve imagined them so many times. They’re lovely, rounded.”
She held her breath. Yes, she was carrying too much weight, and most of it landed on her butt and thighs. But his tightening expression signaled arousal. She came up on her elbows to watch him drag the tights the rest of the way off.
His gaze darted to her face then back to her pussy. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around her ankles and pulled her sideways until her legs dangled off the side of the bed. “Take off your blouse.”
She sat up, reached behind her to open the button at her neck, then pulled off her blouse. Before he could ask, she opened her bra and drew it down her arms.
His chest rose. His hands went to his belt and he unbuckled it, opened his pants, and pushed them down his legs. When he straightened, she felt a little dizzy. He was large. Just as he’d been in her dream. Thick and curving upward.
He bent over her, scooped her mouth with his, then pushed her backward, lowering to take a sprung nipple in his mouth. He suctioned, drawing until her toes curled, then backed off to tease her with flutters of his tongue.
“They’re pink. I knew they’d be pink,” he said, kissing across her chest to capture the other nipple.
She petted his thick hair, combing it and digging her nails into his scalp when he nibbled her tip.
Then he backed away again, going to his knees and spreading hers. He draped her thighs over his shoulders and kissed her inner thigh, an outer lip, before burrowing into her, his tongue licking around her entrance then plunging inside while he tweaked her clit with his fingers.
“Daniel,” she said, groaning. Reality was so much better.
When he rose again, he shifted her, urging her to the center of the bed. He cloaked himself then turned her and licked a hot trail down her spine. At her bottom, he bit each cheek. Just hard enough to make her quiver. He kissed her cunt and moved behind her, his cock prodding her, then plunging into her.
Sophie screamed, unraveling in a moment. His girth stretched her, his length plundered. Moisture flooded her channel as she bounced back to greet his strokes.
A clap landed on one side of her ass. Loud, but not really hard. It surprised her, made her freeze.
He leaned over back and whispered in her ear. “Did you like that, Sophie? Do you want another?”
Her pussy flooded with moisture, as much from the silky texture of his voice as the warmth of her ass. “Please.”
Ready for something hot and quick to read this weekend? I have just the thing—a sexy little story about a woman who purchases an estate that comes with a butler she didn’t know she needed…
Enjoy stepping inside Kendall’s world as the butler teaches her the true meaning of service…
The Butler is just $0.99! And if you are a Kindle Unlimited subscriber, you can pick up a copy for free!
Plus, if you tell me your Saturday plans, whether it’s kicking back with a sexy story or grocery shopping, you’ll be entered to win a small Amazon gift card!
The Butler
Yes, the butler did it!
When a newly wealthy woman purchases a remote estate in Virginia, a butler comes with the contract. His subtle manipulations fuel a desire she never expected.
Melanie Bradshaw is driven to desperation by her torrid dreams. When she finally acts on her desires, things go horribly wrong, and she witnesses the murder of an overly amorous lounge lizard–whose body disintegrates before her eyes.
Detective Moses Brown isn’t thrilled to get another “full-moon case”…until he meets the delectable Melanie, who took a walk on the wild side straight into vampire territory. Moses doesn’t know why vamps are interested in her, but until he can discover the reason, he’s going to stick to her like glue, doing his best to ignore their instant attraction.
But pretty little Melanie has designs on his body. Her hunger for sex is voracious, even downright insatiable. As the mystery surrounding her begins to unravel, keeping her safe–hell, keeping himself safe from her–presents some interesting complications…
Grant stepped into the doorway, one of his small smiles curving his perfect, firm lips. “I was passing by, is there anything I can do for you?”
He rarely asked anymore. Was simply there, with whatever I needed. Hearing his voice, so deep and even, I was filled with the almost overwhelming urge to ask him to give me an orgasm.
Instead, I moved to make sure the computer screen, filled with a smutty love scene, was hidden behind me. “Do you like this room, Grant?”
He arched a brow, wariness entering his expression until his neutral mask fell into place. “Is there something that doesn’t please you? Do you need a lamp at your desk?”
Pursing my lips and narrowing my eyes, I stared. It had been a while since I’d been engaged in another of his manipulations over furnishings. The thought of engaging in one now made my nipples prickle. “There are too many books,” I said, and then grinned. I couldn’t help it. An edgy horniness was willing me to misbehave.
“It is a library, ma’am,” he said, his tone dry.
“Kendall, Grant. We share a house. You can use my name.”
“I’m in your service, ma’am.”
I blew out a breath and wished instantly that I’d bothered to slick my lips with something more dramatic than a pale gloss.
His head tilted to the side, those intelligent green eyes narrowing. “Ma’am, are you bored?”
“And if I am?”
“There are horses in the stable…”
I gave a long dramatic sigh. “It’s cold outside.”
“I could build you a fire in the hearth, bring you a brandy.”
A warm fire, brandy, him naked on a soft, sheepskin rug… I straightened and shook my head to clear the image. I didn’t dare let my thoughts stray any further. “A fire and a glass of brandy would be nice. Maybe you could choose something for me to read,” I murmured. “Something without too many big words.”
His lips pressed together, but then he chuckled. “All right then, a fire, a brandy, and a good book…without too many big words. Ma’am.”
I grinned back at him, feeling comfortable with his amusement and attention for the first time. “This house was too much for me, wasn’t it? I don’t know why I bought it.”
“You have good taste,” he said, rubbing his hands together and entering the room. He strode for the fireplace, set three logs in the stand at the center of the large hearth, and placed kindling beneath it. Minutes later flame licked at the bottoms of the logs.
Moving toward a walnut sideboard, he poured a snifter of brandy, swirling it as he cupped the base to warm the liquid. “Would you like to move to the couch?”
I stood, my body feeling fluid, my hips swaying as I approached him. Our gazes locked, and then his flicked downward to the glass he held.
“Why not pour one for yourself?” I said softly. “Join me.”
Again, his gaze narrowed, but he gave a slow nod. “If it pleases you.”
“It does.”
Together, we settled on the dark leather, on opposite ends, me with my knees drawn up and sitting sideways to stare at him, while Grant sat, one arm draped on the back, the other holding his glass, his gaze studying me.
Suddenly, I was uncomfortable. Didn’t the man know how to make polite conversation? Or did he really want to be somewhere else? Irritated, I said, “You should ask me how the writing is going?”
He arched a brow. “How is the writing going?”
I nodded my approval. “Slowly. I thought I’d be able to write with the peace and quiet in the country.”
“But you’re bored.”
“Not precisely…”
“Not precisely bored…?”
“I keep thinking about your butler’s buttons,” I blurted, letting my gaze drift away as a blush warmed my cheeks.
“As a clue or a thread in your story?”
I shook my head. “I guess the problem is that for the most part we’re alone in this house. You off in your quarters. Me, alone, in mine.”
His head rose then slowly dipped. “I see.”
Did he really?
“You haven’t used the buttons. Not once.”
Why, oh why, had I mentioned the damn buttons? It was as though I’d released the floodgate holding back my words. The next sentence escaped before I could hit the edit button. “Because I’m afraid I’ll be tempted to use them for more than the…customary services.”
“As you’ve said,” he murmured. “We’re alone in this house. And I am here to serve…”
I know you wanted the old Spice Girls song in your head first thing this morning! In fact, the video’s at the bottom of this page in case you really, really want a quick SG-fix. 🙂
Four of my most recent stepbrother shorties have shot straight to #1 on the short read list on Amazon. But I’m not certain what the attraction is. Do readers love the short, inexpensive (just $0.99) format, the taboo stepbrother angle, or the menage theme? Or all three?
Readers have been asking me for more of Sara and Hunter’s story in With His SEAL Team, in particular. And I do plan a sequel, or maybe more, of stories featuring those two and their extended, sexy SEAL family. Sara still has to find a job she likes and that doesn’t make Hunter crazy. And what about Harley and his rehabilitation?
So, I have these questions. And because I like more than anything in the world to please my readers, I’m asking you what you really, really want. Take this poll. You can choose up to four different answers. If you don’t see an answer you like, write your preference in the comments.
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Contest
Win a free shorty from my short story webpage by simply leaving a comment. You can either tell me the kind of story you want most or tell me which of my stepbrother stories you’ve liked the most. I’ll choose three winners!
And thanks to those of you who bought my two latest releases! It’s much appreciated. And I am hearing loud and clear that y’all want sequels for With His SEAL Team! A couple of you are hoping Harley comes into the picture, too! Naughty girls! If you haven’t picked up a copy of either SEAL story yet, just click on the covers…
The Question
When is it too many? In a menage, I mean. I’ve written menage scenes with as many as 6 people in a very large bed, although most often it’s three or four. And I don’t seem to have a problem keeping all those moving parts connected to the right player. So choreography isn’t the issue. 🙂 So, you tell me.
What is your favorite number?
One lucky commenter will get a small Amazon gift card! Don’t be shy!
UPDATE: The three winners are…Galina Sulaiman, Jen B., and Pansy Petal!
* * * * *
I am at my desk today. No babysitting. How did that miracle happen? The 7-year-old didn’t need 3-4 days of recovering in the hospital! The doctor sent her home the next day. He told her he’d had football players who’d undergone the same surgery and they hadn’t been able to stick the pain like she could. They were “weenies” compared to her. So, she’s home, ensconced in her “infirmary” (the living room). Her poor mom is exhausted, and I will spell her, but not until after I get one bit of work completed first! So, the cancer-filled tibia is gone. Completely. We hope that took care of the issue, but she will be checked for recurrences of her cancer pretty much for the rest of her life.
In the meantime, I have a brand new naughty stepbrother story out! I had so much fun writing it. My heroine’s a phone sex operator whose SEAL brother catches her “on the job”. Let’s just say, he’s not pleased… 🙂 Don’t have your copy?It’s only $0.99! And KU subscribers can pick it up for FREE!
Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His SEAL Team
When Sara’s stepbrother surprises her with an early return from
a mission, he brings two of his Navy SEAL teammates along…
CONTEST UPDATE: The winner of the free download of Conquests is… DebraG!
UPDATE: Such a strange week. Some of you had asked for updates. So, quickly, this is what’s happening with the 7-year-old. This week’s tests ruled out cancer anywhere else in her body but her tibia. Yay! Feels so weird to be happy that she only has cancer in one spot. And they’ve set her surgery date for Thursday. She’s undergoing a brand new procedure and will be in a cast until after Christmas. We’ve been going crazy trying to think of all the things that have to be done—get a ramp, wheelchair, move her bed to the living room… The lists go on and on. I’ll keep you posted.
*~*~*
From Delilah’s “How to Train Your Skjaldmaer”
So, time for some fun!
Are you taking any trips this summer? Going to the beach? The lake? Going someplace cold to escape the heat? Comment for a chance to win a free download of Conquests: An Anthology Of Smoldering Viking Romance!
Conquests
Vikings. Fierce warriors who terrified all in their path as they raided and marauded, enslaved and murdered during Europe’s Dark Ages.
But these rough men from a rugged land were also sailors, explorers, craftsmen, and highly sought after mercenaries.
Conquests: An Anthology of Smoldering Viking Romance will transport you to the realm of fantasy where such fearsome and loyal men are relentless potent lovers. Whether the lady of the keep demands a few stolen hours of pleasure with a captured Viking warrior or the handsome Northman is the one seducing his captive, you will find plenty of lusty adventures in settings as far-flung as Ireland, Iceland, Norway, Byzantium, Moorish Spain and the New World.
Let your fantasies run wild to a time when men wearing bearskin shirts and shining iron helms could capture a fierce maiden’s heart!
Here’s an excerpt from “The Captive” by Lizzie Ashworth…
“Dane, do you know why you were brought here?”
Elspeth, Lady of Hystead, gathered her thick red skirts and sat on the curved stool at the side of the room, opposite the spot where the broad-shouldered man stood. Her hungry gaze drank in the powerful strength of his legs, the ripple of muscle in his chest and arms, the iron line of his jaw. Even wounded, even smeared with the grit and gore of battle, his body glistened with male vigor.
Candlelight reflected off the lime-washed walls and framed the warrior’s furious stare. He strained against the bonds holding his wrists behind him and stretched the short length of rope between his ankles. Animal skins covered the stone-paved floor under his feet, one of few luxuries in the humble room with its bed, bucket of hot coals, and side table.
She turned to the two armed men who’d brought him. “Go now and bar the door until I call.”
An angry string of words followed the men as they departed. Elspeth heard the bar fall into place with a heavy thump.
Pale blue eyes flashed toward her, defiant.
“What of our language do you know, Dane? Can you speak?”
“I know enough,” he snarled, his words heavily accented. “What is your intent, woman?”
“My name is Elspeth, and it pleases me to see you.” His anger excited her, although she tried not to reveal any hint of her swelling desire. She sipped from her cup of ale. “Will you drink?”
His tongue slid over the crease of his narrow lips, but he gave no answer.
“You must be thirsty.” She poured another cup from the ewer and carried it to his mouth, tilting it forward.
He drank deeply. The line of his jaw slackened slightly, and she remained beside him, more intrigued than ever by his bristling strangeness. The grime of battle still coated his face and arms, but elsewhere, his body had been covered with clothing and armor, now mostly removed, so that he stood in rough pants that hung from his hips. Blood smeared from cuts on his arms and hands did not disguise the inked design scrolling over his tanned arms. A section of his yellow-white hair clumped against his scalp in a dried, darkened mass while the rest fell in tangles around his shoulders.
“Are all your kind so beautiful?” she asked quietly, trailing her fingertip across his chest. His nipples lay flat on the domed pectoral muscles and more ink patterned a fantastical beast between them. Hardly a hair curled there, although lower on his abdomen a faint line of darker hair collected downward to disappear at the waist of his pants. Her gaze lingered there briefly as her pulse quickened.
He made no answer, but inhaled as her finger stroked over one of the nipples. His posture shifted slightly.
“Is this beast meant to say something about you?” she asked, fingering the tattoo.
“It honors the gods,” he grumbled.
“Have your gods served you well today?”
He did not answer.
She brought a basin and set it beside him before pouring water warmed near the hot coals. With a linen cloth, she bathed him, wiping the sweat-stained whisker stubble on his face to remove blood and dirt. A strong straight nose traveled from his smooth brow and centered between prominent cheekbones. His firm jaw cut sharply to a bold chin, oddly contrasting the cruelly sensual curve of his narrow lips.
Her breath stuttered as she worked, each freshened part of his body even more stunning than she had first considered. His skin, marred by various scars from previous battles, stretched like warm silk over bronzed muscle. She sponged carefully around a gash on his cheek and another shorter mark on his forehead. Bruising on his jaw had turned purplish-blue, and more bruising colored parts of his chest and back. Nicks and scrapes laced his forearms, and a crusted gash on his bicep caused him to jump when she pushed the wet cloth against it. The scalp wound proved more troublesome. His height forced her to stand on tiptoe to reach it.
“Bend over,” she demanded, pressing his head forward so that the water could soak the matted hair. He made no sound as she cleaned his injuries. At length, she set aside the basin.
“Will you take food?” She cut a piece of the cheese and broke a part of the loaf of wheaten bread.
His gaze had become speculative, watching with an almost bemused expression that softened the strained lines of his face. “Why do you trouble over me, when I am to be killed?”
“Perhaps that isn’t your fate, Dane.”
“Do you have the power to determine my fate?”
“It seems I do, does it not?”
“Things are not always as they seem,” he replied.
But he accepted the stool she pushed behind him and sat to eat the food she fed him, and after a time, with the loaf, cheese, an apple, and considerably more ale consumed, she noted a certain relaxation in his frame.
“You mean to have me,” he observed and raised one eyebrow in question.
“Yes.” She noted the hint of a smile, which pleased her.
“My hands…” He shifted his shoulders to struggle with the bonds holding his wrists.
She laughed lightly, swallowing past the growing tension in her neck. How she would love to release him, let him tear at her, throw her down, and take her to the ends of her reckoning. “Dane, surely you don’t think me foolish enough to release you?”
He smirked. “My name is Magnus, and I don’t think of you at all,” he replied. “I was not aware the Saxons gave over the task of torture to their women.”
Anger swept up her cheeks, and she held her skirts to kick out the stool from under him.
Unsteady, he gained his feet as the stool flew back.
“Torture?” Her face burned. “You see pleasuring me as torture?”
She thought them of equal age. But she was no maid, rather the wife of a doddering old man who couldn’t keep from dribbling on himself when he pissed. On her, alone, lay the full array of tasks necessary to run such a large estate. Even the thanes sworn to her husband’s service knew she ruled Hystead. Many had made suit to her, surreptitiously, for standards required decorum in such matters. In these uncertain times, she could not risk loss of respect for herself or her husband.
Torture. Her nostrils flared as she met his insolent gaze. Her copper-red hair and green eyes received regular comment from the flatterers, and she knew her form remained comely. This man meant to provoke her.
“To what end do you taunt me, Magnus?” she challenged, standing next to him so the swell of her bosom grazed his chest. “Shall I slap you, cause you pain? Would that please you more?”
He laughed, revealing white teeth and creases in his cheeks. “Battle pleases me.”
She ran her hand over his chest, stroking the smooth skin and lingering over the nipples to toy until the flesh thickened. Her own nipples hardened against her bodice as she noted a hitch in his breathing. He may have seemed carved as the finest work of metal, but he was made of mortal flesh. Her hand slid down to the bulge pressing the front of his pants, and a sly smile grew on her mouth.
UPDATE: The winner is Emily K!
See comments for instructions!
* * * * *
You’re weekend’s begun. What are you going to do? Errands? Dinner out? Will it be hard to find time to read something long at a single stretch? How about picking up a copy of a short story anthology. Something delectably sexy and satisfying, but filled with stories you can linger over for a short time, then get up and go again?
I love reading short stories. They’re bite-sized, mind-candy—perfect for busy people who still crave a satisfying read. Have I said satisfying twice now? To be sure, you’ll find something to love in this delicious and extremely reasonably-priced anthology written by some wonderful authors you may or may not have ever heard about before!
Tell me you’re doing this weekend for a chance to win a small Amazon gift card!
Rogues! Even the word conjures a special sort of hero—a playful bad boy with a heart of gold—at least when it comes to his lady love.
This volume is filled with the Jack Sparrows of old—pirates sailing the high seas, Regency-era highway men, modern day jewel thieves, like Cary Grant in To Catch a Thief—men doing bad things, bending or breaking the law, but in a very sexy way.
With fourteen stories sure to satisfy the reader who craves that ultimate bad boy, prepare to have your heart stolen!
Determined to search the kitchen and back rooms before heading home, Harper flushed. The door opened and a giggle accompanied two sets of shoes. Reaching for her matching lace thong, she continued righting herself.
“But someone’s in here,” a woman whispered.
Harper hurried to smooth her dress and split before the chick pulled out a bag of smack. There was only one person worth arresting tonight, and his voice was deeper than that.
“I know,” rumbled the voice she’d swear her mind conjured.
She’d listened to that gooey caramel tone for hours on end. Following along with the translations hadn’t diminished its panty-dropping effect. But that couldn’t be Declan. Not after the stunt he’d pulled.
A throaty moan split the air. Harper flushed rooftop-in-July-hot and clamped a hand over her own mouth. She didn’t want to get caught in the middle of a fuck-fest, unless she was center stage. If it was in fact Magnus Declan, she had to know. Yet, she couldn’t risk chasing him away by barging out of the stall unprepared.
“Ooohhh, yes,” the woman groaned, “right there.”
Curse her body to hell and back. Harper’s lady boner swelled to life as though it garnered the attention being awarded another. Releasing her mouth, she inhaled a deep quiet breath and steadied one hand on the metal wall. With the other, she grabbed her clutch from the top of the paper rack. One more fortifying breath and she leaned toward the two-inch gap between the door and stall.
Her heart ping-ponged between her belly and throat.
Baron Magnus Declan’s hips nestled in the V of a woman’s legs. Her blue dress fanned on the counter around her bare bottom while her panties dangled from the tip of a jeweled, white Manolo. Only the angle allowed the full view because his breadth could easily hide a slight woman or two. The broad’s head arched toward the ceiling, missing the best part of the whole damn experience.
The man’s face was the only thing in all of Manhattan worthy of being called art. His wide jaw looked like it could take a solid punch, while his lips could kiss any hurt away. And those azure blue eyes…
Oh god, he’s looking right at me.
Thinking she may have been mistaken, Harper didn’t move. She didn’t want to draw his attention. But the longer she watched, the more clear it became. His fingers worked the woman splayed on the counter, but he stared into her eyes. The woman’s hips rocked. His gaze did not.
An orange, spray-tanned hand coasted over his shoulder, and his gaze snapped away. “Grip the counter,” he demanded.
Harper covered her heart with her hand, trying to stop the frantic rhythm. She only succeeded in stimulating her nipples. In a flash, his blue eyes returned to her. The attention seared hot in her core. He flicked the woman’s clit and finger fucked her to the most intense orgasm Harper had ever experienced—and he hadn’t even touched her. She hadn’t even touched herself. Well, not much. Yet, her fingers bit into the clutch, her breath stalled, her body quaked. The lace of her bodice crushed under her grip. All the while, he watched her through the tiny slit. And she didn’t dare blink.
Weak-kneed and close to tears when the woman straightened her dress, Harper stumbled backward and gripped the metal bar she’d never before dared to touch in any bathroom stall. Her heart stormed inside her chest, which was minimal in comparison to what her brain did. Guilt and confusion assaulted her for a long minute, but stubborn pride lifted her chin. Manolos clacked across the short room. Air shifted, and the door met the frame with a thud. Though she couldn’t see him, she knew he remained.
The bastard.
Determination straightened her shoulders. She had done nothing wrong, though the wetness between her legs called her a liar.
Lusting wasn’t illegal.
The water turned on at the sink. Harper exhaled and stepped out of the stall. Declan’s knowing gaze held her own as she walked to the nearest sink. She turned the faucet on and lathered soap, nearly mimicking his movements.
“What kind of name is Magnus, anyway?” Harper asked.
The corner of his mouth quirked before thinning. He dried thick hands, tossed the cloth into a wicker hamper, and then snagged hers and did the same. His gaze considered her like she were an intricate puzzle. “The only thing my mother gave me before divorcing my father for a younger hotter version with less baggage, taking her money with her, and leaving me and my siblings destitute.”
She hadn’t expected that, but tried not to show it. Probably wasn’t true anyway. Just something to sway her feminine emotions. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? Is that your excuse for using women like disposable rags?” She nodded toward the hamper.
“If you’d paid attention, and I think you did,” his pink lips spread wide at that, “you’d recall mutual using going on. Women and men have been using each other for piles of centuries. It won’t stop anytime soon.”
“What does your wife think about that?”
“Ex-wife,” he corrected, smoothing his dark blond brow.
Of all things, her pulse skittered at the stroke of his finger across the coarse hair. He rubbed a thumb over his lower lip, taunting her. “I wanted a title. She wanted security.”
“Security?” Harper swallowed.
“In the bank account and bedroom.” He stepped forward, brushing the lace of her dress with his high-end suit’s buttons. His breath tickled her cheek as he leaned down. “Her extravagant lifestyle and first marriage left her in need. Do you know anything about need, Harper?”
“Detective Lang,” she snapped. Or at least, she tried. His manly scent and proximity screwed with her senses. She breathed deeply, fighting to ignore the brush of her nipples against his chest. “Why did you give me the diamond?”
“Have it tested. It’s not the piece from her family’s collection, which she sold five years ago, but one I purchased to replace them on our three-year anniversary. It’s a quarter carat larger.”
Harper collected every speck of self-control she possessed, planted two hands on his chest, and shoved. The big man only moved an inch, but it was enough that she squeezed between him and the wall and hurried toward the door.
“Aren’t you going to cuff me?”
She didn’t have anything to hold him, but still she stopped with one hand on the door.
“No, you’re not,” he said, drawing nearer. “You don’t want anyone to know I made you come without a single touch.” Looming over her shoulder, the heat of his large body shot a wave of gooseflesh across hers. “I’ve never seen such an honest reaction in my life, and that’s a treasure too exquisite to share.”
Happy Saturday! I hope you’re not working today. And that you don’t have a huge list of errands to run.
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