by Anne Rainey
Haley had both taken their respective turns, but this was getting ridiculous. Lisa swore she was fine and
Jeremy believed her. Her arm was in a cast, her ribs were healing right along, and her fractured
ankle—the most troublesome injury—was kept immobile with the cast. The doctors had let her know the
lung was fine as well. Besides that, Lisa didn’t have a stressful or physical job. She sat and typed at a
computer pretty much all day long, so Jeremy didn’t see why she should stay home. It was clear she
wanted to get back into the swing of things. Being cooped up for three weeks was wearing on her
nerves. But Brad wouldn’t budge an inch.
“Brad, Lisa’s a smart girl. I don’t believe she’d go back if she didn’t really feel she was up to it. What’s
the problem?” Brad wouldn’t look at him. “Unless there’s another reason for you to keep her in bed.”
Brad’s gaze swung back to him, his eyes holding him in place with barely repressed anger. Jeremy had
hit one helluva hot nerve.
Jeremy crossed his arms. “Spill it. What’s going on?”
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“I don’t like her boss.”
Brad’s voice had gone cold and distant. He’d never heard that tone from Brad. Not ever.
“She’s too naïve for her own good, Jay. That asshole only wants to get her into bed.”
Jeremy was beginning to get the picture. He rubbed his jaw and tried not to grin. “Did she tell you that?”
He rolled his eyes and pointed toward the closed door of Lisa’s room. They were standing out in the hall
having their conversation about Lisa’s boss while she slept, oblivious to Brad’s growing anger and
possessiveness.
“Hell, she thinks he’s so nice. Just the best ever.” He clenched his fists at his sides and groused, “He’s a
fucking barracuda waiting to strike.”
The words were no sooner out of Brad’s mouth than they heard a noise. Jeremy and Brad turned. Lisa
stood in the doorway to the bedroom. The light from a window illuminated her blonde hair, making her
look like an angel. Jeremy noticed the setting sun also made her white cotton gown appear nearly
transparent. He quickly looked away. The last thing he wanted was for Brad to turn all that possessive
anger on him.
Huh. Who would have imagined the oversized sweatshirts Lisa always wore hid all that? Then again,
Brad had apparently seen right through her bulky disguise.
He cleared his throat and made a show to look at his watch. “Uh, Haley will have dinner for me, so I
think I’ll be leaving now.”
Brad stood frozen in place. His eyes hadn’t once strayed from Lisa’s silhouetted body.
“And don’t forget about going for the fitting next Tuesday. Haley will have my ass if something goes
wrong with this wedding,” he added for good measure. Brad merely mumbled a distracted yeah and
Jeremy quietly let himself out. He was anxious to get home to his own luscious woman.
His cell phone rang. Jeremy snagged it off his belt loop and glanced at the caller id. He smiled.
“Hello there, Mrs. Pickett.”
“Soon-to-be Mrs. Pickett, you mean.”
He heard her husky laughter and his body clenched in reaction. “Yeah, real soon.” Jeremy couldn’t help
but imagine Haley in a white gown walking down the aisle toward him.
“Are you headed home?” Haley asked, her voice going all soft and breathless. The woman had a very
sexy phone voice. And he was getting a boner on Lisa Quick’s front porch.
“Yeah, just leaving Lisa’s now,” he answered as he walked the short distance down the sidewalk to his
truck.
“How’s she doing?”
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He laughed as he thought of his brother. “Oh she’s just peachy, but Brad’s not feeling so great these
days.”
“Huh?”
“I’ll tell you about it later,” he said, then his stomach rumbled, reminding him it had been awhile since
lunch. “Do you have dinner on, baby?”
He could practically hear the joy in her voice when she murmured, “Chicken Giardino, but only if you
hurry.”
He whimpered. The woman could definitely cook. “Is that the one with the lemon and herb sauce?”
“Sure is.”
“Breadsticks?” he asked as he groped in his pocket for his keys, desperate to get home.
“Well, of course.”
“I’ll be there.”
“And Jay?”
“Yeah, baby?” he answered, locating his keys.
“Don’t dawdle. I’m very hungry.”
He frowned, feeling rotten she’d waited on him. “You can start without me if you want, sweetheart.”
“I’m not hungry for food, Jay.”
He stopped trying to fit the key into the lock as her erotic words sank in. “Jesus.”
He shoved at the damn key, nearly breaking it off in his eagerness to get home to his fiancée.
Jeremy envisioned Haley in the kitchen, wearing nothing but an apron and a grin—hey it was his head,
he could visualize his fiancée any damn way he pleased—so he put the siren on.
About the Author
To learn more about Anne Rainey, please visithttp://annerainey.com . Send an email to Anne at
[email protected] or join her Yahoo! group to join in the fun with other readers as well as Anne!
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Romance_Bistro
When two friends share a night of unbridled passion, can their relationship withstand the consequences?
The Rebound Guy
© 2007 Jennifer Colgan
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Catching her boyfriend in the act with another woman should have made Lauren James angry, indignant
or even depressed. Instead, it made her horny. The only man in the world she trusts enough to help her
through the sting of betrayal is her best friend, Eric Reynolds.
When Lauren shows up at Eric’s apartment, it doesn’t take much for her to seduce him. She finds solace
for her trampled heart and bruised ego in Eric’s capable hands. After an unforgettable night of passion,
Lauren wakes to the cold reality that she used Eric to get revenge. Will Eric forgive her, even if she can’t
forgive herself?
Enjoy the following excerpt for The Rebound Guy
Lauren wanted him. Lauren James. His best friend. Had the world turned upside down when he wasn’t
looking?
Lauren dropped her purse on the floor and pressed her body against him. Together they stumbled back
a step. She gazed up at him, her luminous green eyes dilated to huge pools of endless black. Her plump
lower lip beckoned him and he leaned in close. His gaze plunged into the deep valley of her cleavage
visible in the open neckline of her blouse and his mouth went dry.
She smelled like sultry sex perfume and strawberry shampoo. Would she taste like peach lip gloss and
coconut rum the way she had that one reckless moment last July when he’d kissed her and indulged in
the fantasy they might be good together as more than just friends?
“Don’t say no, Eric. I know you want me. Don’t you?” Did she look hopeful, or desperate? God, did it
matter?
“A favor…” He repeated the words as he dipped his head into the space between her neck and
shoulder. He took in the alluring scent of her skin and thought about planting his lips on the pulse point
below her jaw.
“I need you, Eric. I need you to make love to me tonight.”
“You’re a little drunk, aren’t you?” asked the good Eric Reynolds,
the corporate security consultant who
spent his days building computer firewalls and tweaking virus protection software. Drunk and horny ,
thought the bad Eric, the one who hated being the guy all the women turned to for moral support because
he was always honest and trustworthy.
Women liked bad boys. He’d been reminded of that time and time again when his girlfriends left him for
ex-cons, compulsive gamblers and rock musicians with coke habits.
Good guys finished last. That was his motto.
“I had one frozen margarita with the girls. I’m not drunk, but I took a cab here since Tara was driving.”
As she spoke, Lauren lowered her lips to his chest, to that little hollow at the base of his throat, and
licked him there. He groaned as his balls went tight.
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Instant hard-on. Bad Eric grabbed her ass and squeezed, pushing her pelvis against the growing bulge of
his erection.
Lauren smiled up at him, letting him know she had him right where she wanted him.
The good Eric demanded to know what brought this on. Lauren James was one of those nice girls. She
wasn’t loose or slutty. She didn’t bang every guy she met just for kicks. Therefore there had to be a
reason for her sudden…attack.
They’d met at one of Roxy’s legendary Christmas parties four years ago and, like ninety percent of the
women Eric met, she’d immediately turned to him for advice on how to deal with her current boyfriend.
The Neanderthal hadn’t wanted her to have any friends he hadn’t picked. She’d dumped the guy on
Eric’s advice, and they’d been friends ever since. Up until this moment, that meant Sunday afternoon
matinees, lunch when his job took him to see clients in her office building, and all the requisite birthday,
holiday and what-the-hell-it’s-Friday parties thrown by their large circle of mutual friends. Except for that
Fourth of July kiss, they’d never even considered…well, that wasn’t true. He’d considered quite a lot of
things.
“Have you got condoms?” Her breathy question came with an expert flick of her wrist that caused a
button to pop off his shirt. She giggled. “Sorry.”
“No problem.”
“Condoms?” she asked again.
“As in, more than one?”
She gave him a wicked grin and spread his shirt open down to his navel. Her hot tongue branded a line
of fire down his sternum. She licked her lips and when she looked up at him, her eyes smoldered. “How
many have you got?”
A mental inventory told him he could dig up at least four. “Laur, are you sure you—” The good Eric’s
question was lost in a heart-stopping kiss. She drew his tongue into her mouth, playfully at first, then with
a sensual determination. She held herself to him with one hand, fingers laced through his hair. Her other
hand eased down and popped the final button of his shirt, then grazed naughtily into his jeans to tease at
the waistband of his briefs.
When she broke the kiss, good Eric was a memory. Bad Eric was ready to give her everything she
wanted and then some. After all , that’s what friends are for.
Her family, her friends and her conscience all say it's wrong to fall for
the hustler she rescued from the streets. How come it feels so right?
Finding Home
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© 2007 Bonnie Dee and Lauren Baker
When Megan first meets Mouth, a homeless teenage hustler, on the streets of L.A., he’s the perfect
subject for the street life expose she hopes will help her break into journalism. She doesn’t expect to be
drawn into his life and become his friend—or to take him in after he’s been beaten and robbed by thugs.
As they learn to live together, a powerful attraction flourishes between Megan and the young man.
Although he’s street smart, tough and mature, he’s also a youth in transition. When they finally give in to
the sexual heat between them, Megan fears she’s taking advantage of her position as his mentor.
Their relationship challenges every aspect of her life. Megan must make difficult choices between the
conflicting demands of her friends and family, her career and love.
Enjoy the following excerpt from Finding Home :
Megan looked at the boy under the awning, bathed in the glow of pink neon. He shifted his back against
the wall, finding a more comfortable position, and drew a long drag on his cigarette, letting the smoke out
in a thin, steady stream through his nose.
It had been two years and one month since Megan’s last cigarette and the nicotine craving still ached like
a sore tooth sometimes. Watching his sensual enjoyment of the cigarette awakened more than one kind
of desire in her. She drew a deep breath and walked up to him. “Hi. Remember me from, uh, last night?”
He slid a sideways glance at her.
“That boy Ricky said you could help me with something. It’s a writing project I’m working on.”
He looked away from her without answering. Either he was considering speaking or waiting for her to
give up and walk away.
“I’m a reporter. I just want an interview. That’s all. Really.”
“What are you reporting?” He stared at the street, dropping the hand with the cigarette to his side.
“I’m writing about street kids, how they get in that situation and what they do to survive.” When the boy
turned and looked through her with his cool blue eyes, Megan’s idea for her article suddenly sounded
completely stupid. How could she understand his life from asking a few questions? But she was here and
she had his attention. Bracing herself, she plunged on. “I have a few questions about your background, a
little about your daily life and what your hopes are for your future.”
He snorted in derision.
“If you prefer the interview to be confidential, we could go to that diner.” She gestured down the street.
“I’ll buy you dinner. You answer my questions. Quick and painless.” She smiled.
“How much?”
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“Excuse me?”
“Fifty bucks for twenty minutes. My time is valuable.”
“Um.” Megan calculated the cash she had available and what bills she needed to pay. “I can give you,
uh, twenty.” He seemed to be considering so she added, “Plus the meal. It’s all I can afford.” The ethics
of paying for an interview were questionable, but she decided this was a one-time transaction.
His gaze slowly wandered over her from head to foot.
Megan wanted to wrap her arms around her body to cover it.
Finally he nodded. “Okay.”
“Great.” It sounded way too enthusiastic. She repeated in a less spunky tone, “Great.”
This young man was so self-possessed he made her feel like a child. He strolled toward the restaurant
with long, easy strides. Megan had to walk quickly to keep up.
She sat across from him in the booth, torn vinyl scratching the back of her legs. Inside the diner, she
could see the boy more clearly than in patches of neon and shadow. His eyes seemed a brighter shade of
blue in the fluorescent light. He scanned the menu and placed his order. The strappy, once-white T-shirt
he wore showed off his well-defined arm muscles when he passed the menu back to the waitress. The
material of the shirt molded to his chest, outlining the bump of each nipple pressing against it.
Megan quickly lifted her gaze back to his face.
He stared at her, eyes flat an
d calm as a lake on a hot summer day.
She could read nothing in them and wondered what he could possibly be thinking of her.
“You have questions?” he prompted.
“Oh, uh, right.” Megan pulled out her notebook and a small recorder from her purse. “You don’t mind if
I tape this? It’s easier than writing everything down.”
He considered a moment then nodded.
She pressed the button and spoke. “Interview with…Mouth. White male, age…?”
“Seventeen.”
“Can you tell me a little about your family and your parents?”
“There was just my mom.” He didn’t offer anything else. Megan began to understand why Ricky had
laughed when he suggested Mouth for an interview. He wasn’t a talker.
“How did you come to be on your own?”
“My mom was an addict. After we got evicted, there didn’t seem to be much point in sticking around
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anymore. I could take care of myself better than she could.”
“You didn’t have any relatives to stay with?”
“No. I stayed at a friend’s place for a while, but I couldn’t live there forever. Then I hooked up with
some other kids who live in this abandoned building.”
“What about a foster home? Did you consider that?”
He stared at her for a second like she was stupid. “No. I’d rather be on my own.”
“How did you reach the point of,” she searched for a polite way to phrase the question, “considering
prostitution as a source of income?”
“Some of the kids I knew were whoring, but I wouldn’t at first. I was sure I could find a job. But the
days went on and I had no money. This kid, Donnie, convinced me sucking cock was a pretty simple
way to make fifty bucks. So one night I did it.”
Megan swallowed. “How did you feel about it?”
“I didn’t feel anything. He was right. It wasn’t such a big deal and I had enough money to eat for a few
days.” His voice was perfectly steady and emotionless.
Megan felt the cold reality of his answer hit her in the chest. Jesus, what kind of a life was that for a kid?
She stared at her notepad, scribbling a few words, afraid he might see the pity in her eyes. “So how old
