Box of 1Night Stands: 17 Sizzling Nights

by Sabrina York

  If only he had time alone with Gwyn. Morgan hadn’t lost her power. She merely toyed with them, waiting for the right moment to strike. “Gwyn. I have to face her. Alone.” Even then, he had no idea if he could keep Gwyn safe. The weight of his words hung in the air.

  Like green crystals reflecting firelight, her eyes blazed in the dim night. “No. I won’t let her take you.” She pushed him away, and in one swift motion rose and ran into the desert.

  The cyclone matched her movements, effectively trapping her within its spinning web.

  Gwyn’s fists stiffened by her sides. “Morgan! You can’t win.”

  Another shriek rent the night. Of laughter. The hideous wraith settled into the shimmering image of the witch. “Really? Because you said so?” Appearing within the tornado, Morgan’s head tipped back in howls of laughter.

  “Gwyn, no!” Lance scrambled to rise.

  Morganna scowled and held out her hand, fingers like claws. A shimmering ball hurled through the darkness and struck him in the chest, knocked him to the sand and pinned him there.

  His limbs like tree branches, Lance watched in horror as the sorceress turned back to Gwyn with an evil smile. “You were saying?”

  With a look of confusion, Gwyn shrank back for a moment then stiffened as she faced the witch. Her hands balled against her waist. “Pay attention this time, hag. Leave him alone.”

  At the word hag, Morganna’s pleasant demeanor disappeared. Teeth bared behind twisted lips, her image solidified as she touched down to the ground. A black satin gown clung to her curves, a sheer black robe fanning out behind her as she glided closer to Gwyn.

  “Hm, you’re right. I believe my old bones need a shot of youth.” Morganna’s eyes hurled daggers, but her tone dripped with sweetness. “Yours.” As the witch’s mouth opened, an eerie rush sounded.

  As if frozen in time, Gwyn didn’t move, eyes wide. Her lips parted, and something glimmered inside her mouth. It flowed from Gwyn to Morgan in a band of light. Her spirit! Lance’s heart wrenched, but the force of whatever Morgan hit him with weighed on his chest like a boulder.

  Gwyn slumped to the sand in a lifeless heap.

  In a frenzy of grief, Lance lost his mind. “No.” He closed his eyes, then popped them open, searching for the Harley.

  Morgan circled Gwyn, preening herself.

  He might escape her notice. Dragging himself across the sand required a Herculean effort. Focusing his mind, he willed every cell of his body to move inch by inch to the motorcycle. Fingers closing around metal, he located his prize.

  “Come out, come out, Lancelot,” Morganna chanted in a singsong tone. “Time to play. Or should I say, pay.” Her voice hardened on the last word.

  “Not this time, witch.” He lunged at her with his sword, the only prize he’d saved from his old life. A prize given to him by Merlin, forged in the same fire that wrought Excalibur, and imbued with magical elements by the wizard himself. In the centuries since Morgan le Fay had wrought her curse, he’d hoped to have the chance to use it.

  Not having wielded it since Merlin presented it to him, Lance curled his hand around its hilt, lifted it to remind himself of its heft. Why had Morganna chosen now to return? Because of Gwyn. That has to be the reason. At his realization, the sword gleamed in the night as if reflecting moonlight, but no moon shone.

  Fear widened Morganna’s eyes at the sight of it, and she hissed, “No.”

  Whatever held him bound suddenly snapped him free. The burn in his veins cooled. “Yes.” Encouraged by her strange response, he attacked, slicing the blade through the air as he advanced.

  A shriek told him he’d sliced her. In a dark mist, Morganna’s image faded with an echoing cry.

  “Not yet.” He grasped her hair, pressing the blade to her throat. “Give me back my love.”

  “Gwyn? Or Guinevere?” Morganna hissed.

  The thought of regaining his dearest love clouded his mind, and the temptation to ask for Guinevere overwhelmed him. But no, the witch meant to deceive him. She’d return his love’s bones, and he’d be left with no one.

  He pressed the blade deeper. “Gwyn.”

  Morganna tsk’d. “Not your deepest, dearest love?”

  The centuries he’d roamed the world without Guinevere hadn’t dulled his love for her. But he knew now he had to move on. Gwyn had touched him like no other girl since Guinevere. The two shared so many qualities; he’d swear Gwyn was Guinevere reincarnated.

  Rather than causing him doubt, the witch had illuminated his heart. Lance still had the ability to love. He wouldn’t waste it.

  “I’ll do anything for Gwyn.” The girl who’d given her life for him. He’d return the favor if needed.

  Light poured from Morganna’s shrouded hand as it waved from the black mist then withdrew inside it. Beyond, Gwyn stirred, her moan almost inaudible.

  Turning, Lance loosened his grip for an instant. Long enough for Morganna to escape his grasp and disappear completely.

  He ran to her, and lifted her into his arms. “Gwyn?”

  Her eyes fluttered open. “Lance.” Tenderness in her voice, until her eyes flared wide with fear. She gasped. “Is she gone?”

  Relief swept over him. “Yes, sweetness. Morganna is gone.”

  “Forever?” She clutched his shirt.

  Somehow, he doubted it. But now that he knew his sword contained untold power, he’d protect her. “I believe so. Are you all right?”

  “I will be.” Her eyes held his. “Did you mean what you said?”

  Had she heard? “What did I say?”

  Her face relaxed, an angelic peacefulness lending her skin a glow. “That you’d do anything for me.”

  A knight must be true to his word. Even if he hadn’t said it aloud, he’d never deny her. “Name it, and it’s yours.” He’d take great pleasure in fulfilling her every need.

  Her face quirked in a mischievous smile. “Teach me to fence. I want to be able to kick her ass if she ever shows up again.”

  My queen has finally returned, a warrior goddess. He smoothed her hair. “We’ll begin lessons tomorrow.”

  Her fingers edged inside his shirt. “What about tonight?”

  “Tonight, I’m going to take you home and put you to bed.”

  Her brow arched and she drew him closer. “I don’t want to sleep.”

  Oh, she truly was a siren. He’d enjoy bringing that side of her to life. “I said nothing about sleeping.” He leaned in to kiss her.

  Wariness cooled her heated eyes. “What about tomorrow?”

  He heaved a ragged breath. He’d already committed to teaching the workshop. He shrugged. “Ever been to Sedona?” His breath grew shallow, awaiting her response. She had the power to curse him again to loneliness. He wasn’t willing to spend another eternity without her, and would fight for her love until he’d won her, forever if need be.

  She grasped his head, her teasing lips reaching for his. “Home’s too far away. We need to finish what we started. Right now.”

  Thank the gods. Now Sedona wouldn’t feel like banishment.

  When their mouths met, he knew only her warmth. He matched the urgency in her kiss. No longer could he stop his hands from peeling away her gown, and laying her atop it on the desert floor. She tore at his jeans as he tasted her nipples. At his suckling, she arched her back. Unable to resist her body’s invitation, he fitted his knees astride hers, but hesitated. This was no longer merely a dream to torture him, but a tantalizing reality. His muscles strained against his skin, wanting all of her at once. The touch of her hand atop his as he guided himself inside tested his power of self-restraint.

  Other women had shared his bed, but never his heart; in his mind, it was always Guinevere’s body warming his. He moved slowly, taking the time to savor her, to make certain her pleasure equaled his own.

  The heat of her around his cock ignited long dormant fires. Moving as one, he held her gaze, her desire more intoxicating than mead, driving his passion to maddening heig
hts.

  He murmured, “Give yourself to me, Gwyn. All of yourself.” As if in a fever, he revealed his need for her, how he dreamed of finding her. How this was so much better than any dream. How he’d never lose her again.

  At each uttering of his heart, her cries grew louder, filling the empty desert. Her breaths grew faster, and she clawed at his back, legs locked around his, opening to him. Finally, she called out, “Lance!”

  The explosion in his brain seared away time, melding past with present. Stars blazed overhead as he took his fill of her. When finally the moon smiled from another quadrant of heaven, he collapsed onto his side, cradling her. Out here, it was too easy to believe time had shifted back centuries. He wouldn’t fool himself into believing it, yet her earlier words still shook him. He’d only just begun to finish what he’d started, so very long ago.

  ~ABOUT THE AUTHOR~

  Multipublished, award-winning author Cate Masters loves stories with a dash of magic, mayhem and romance! Reviewers have described her stories as “so compelling, I did not want to put it down,” and “such romantic tales that really touch your soul.”

  When not spending time with her family, she can be found in her lair, concocting a magical brew of contemporary, historical, and fantasy/paranormal stories with her cat Chairman Maiow and dog Lily as company. Look for her at http://catemasters.blogspot.com, Facebook, Goodreads and in strange nooks and far-flung corners of the web.

  Cate loves to hear from readers. Email her at: cate.masters@gmail.com

  Curve My Appetite

  A 1Night Stand Story

  By

  Melissa Kendall

  Chapter One

  Desperate to get out of the lobby, Sally pushed the call button over and over again, willing the private penthouse elevator to arrive faster.

  God, why did I think it was a good idea to do something so far out of my comfort zone?

  At thirty-one years of age, though not a virgin, she might as well have been. The one time she’d opened up and let someone in, he had betrayed her in the most grievous of ways. More than a decade later, the mere memory of Josh still made tears brim in the corners of her eyes.

  A young, naïve girl, she’d never thought to question his motives when he showed an interest in her during her freshman year of college. Being a plus-sized woman, finding a guy who liked her proved a much harder task than for most girls her age. Swept away by his romantic gestures, she fell hard and fast. After a month-long whirlwind romance, they’d exchanged I love yous, and she was over the moon happy. It had seemed natural to take things to the next level.

  She’d caught Josh joking about her with his friends two days after their night together, describing how he’d managed to accomplish the ugly-virginity-fuck task the Phi Kappa pledges were required to complete. Pain had ripped through her gut. She couldn’t eat or sleep. She didn’t shower or change clothes for a week and didn’t speak for close to a month. Her dorm room became her sanctuary.

  In her late twenties, more mature and a lot less gullible, she’d decided to put herself out there again. Dating as an almost thirty-year-old, however, was far more difficult than she expected. It seemed all the good men were already married or in relationships. After a slew of unsuccessful dates, she resigned herself to being single for the rest of her life.

  When her best friend, Jodie, handed her the 1Night Stand business card and told her to contact Madame Evangeline, she’d been skeptical.

  “She can find your perfect match. You simply have to ask for what you want.”

  It took six months before she worked up the courage to send the message. Then another month to reply to Madame Eve’s query.

  How am I supposed to decide what kind of man I should have sex with? This could be my last chance. Ever. Do I choose the attainable or go for the fantasy?

  Decision made, she composed her email before she lost her nerve.

  Dear Madame Eve,

  My ideal man would be someone who is kind and caring, who doesn’t mind taking the lead in bed and has muscles, but not too many. He likes a woman with plenty of curves, and if he looked similar to Mark Martin from Love My Family, that would be perfect.

  Thank you,

  Sally Austens

  Adding his name made her feel like a stupid teenager with a crush. As if a man as famous and handsome as the star from her favorite daytime soap would want to be with someone like her.

  Damn elevator. Please come so I can get this embarrassment over with.

  After what seemed like hours, the ding sounded and the doors opened. Stepping in, she groaned as her reflection bounced back at her from every wall. Mirrors were not her friend and right then, she didn’t need a reminder of how outlandish she looked in the ensemble Jodie had insisted she wear.

  If anything lived up to her friend’s motto, “If you’ve got it, flaunt it,” her likeness in the mirror did. She wore a bright red empire-waist dress; her ample F-cup breasts appeared humongous in the skintight bodice. The skirt flowed down to mid-thigh where it revealed a hint of the garter belt attached to her stockings. Underneath was soft, red satin lingerie with black trim—also Jodie’s idea.

  “If you’re wearing something sexy, you’ll feel sexy, and in turn you will come across as sexy.”

  For a short while, she’d doubted her friend’s wisdom. However, after donning the scanty sexy undergarments, she’d admitted Jodie was right, even though her inner devil kept taunting her, telling her she looked ridiculous. She also noted, to her surprise, that her butt didn’t seem half as big in the sexy panties as it did in her usual waist-high, cover-everything cotton favorites.

  The elevator arrived at the penthouse level. What now? Should she get off or return to the ground floor and go home? I’ve come this far. She threw her arm out to stop the closing doors and stepped into the hallway.

  At least she’d be able to say she spent the night in a penthouse suite at the Castillo Hotel, New York City.

  One foot in front of the other, she inched her way down to the ornate double entryway at the end of the hall.

  After a couple of deep breaths, she raised her fist to knock. Despite having a keycard, walking in, not knowing the kind of man waiting inside made her palms sweaty and her mouth dry.

  Knock! Knock! Knock!

  As her hand dropped to her side, approaching footsteps indicated her date was inside. Please let the night not be a disaster.

  ***

  For the umpteenth time, Dean checked his phone. Still no text. He sighed in frustration. Thirty minutes after they’d agreed to meet, and no sign of his date.

  His misgivings about the 1Night Stand concept weren’t eased by the fact she hadn’t arrived yet. He longed for something different, but one-night stands were not his usual idea of fun. He preferred long-term relationships. Jerry, his best friend had assured him Madame Eve’s services were more love matches than sex.

  He’d laughed, at first, finding the whole idea ridiculous. He doubted even the mystical Madame Eve could find his perfect woman. Jerry had laughed, too, but then he got serious and asked, “What do you have to lose?”

  Dean’s regular fitness regime kept him in shape and looking good for thirty-five. The women he met were stick-thin, self-obsessed, and semi-plastic, typical of the industry he worked in. Most of them were pretty, and though he’d dated a few, they weren’t what he fantasized about. No, in his dreams, the ladies all had natural and much curvier figures.

  Big, curvy women had always fascinated him. He didn’t know why, but the idea of being trapped between a pair of voluptuous thighs, with his head buried in sumptuous cleavage, as he pounded into a drenched pussy, made him come like a teenager. Because he lived his life in the public eye, he’d been reluctant to go after what he wanted. At his age, though, with his career on the downhill slide, every year younger men appeared trying to replace him. He realized he didn’t care anymore if they did. He’d had his time in the spotlight. He wanted to settle down and have a family. Hence, he’d decided to fin
d someone who loved him, not his public persona. He’d spent too long denying his true identity.

  A knock made his heart skip a beat. She’s here. After a quick check in the mirror, he steeled himself and opened the door.

  His mouth went dry and all coherent thought fled. Even if he had the words to express how she blew him away, he didn’t think he could find his voice. He ogled the gorgeous, buxom brunette standing in the doorway. His admiration cut short, as her face paled.

  “You’re—” She stopped talking mid-sentence, her eyes rolled back into her skull.

  Reacting on instinct, he reached out and wrapped his hands around her waist, trying to catch her before she hit the ground. However, instead of stopping her from falling, he was pulled to the carpet, too, both of them crashing in a heap.

  Women fainted around him all the time. It no longer freaked him out. It was, however, the first time he’d fallen to the floor with one. Her pulse thumped strongly under his fingers. Relief washed over him; she was okay. The ridiculousness of it all hit him and a deep belly laugh escaped his lips.

  Even with the less than successful start to his date, the feel of her in his arms had parts of him standing to attention. His curiosity dictated he find out more. Madame Eve had made an excellent choice. She might have found the perfect woman after all.

  Chapter Two

  Sally’s eyes fluttered open and it took a couple of seconds for her to understand why she lay on a hard surface. The masculine chuckle from beside her provided the clarity she required.

  Memories flashed of the suite door opening to reveal Mark Martin, the man of her dreams. Everything went blank after that, but since they were both on the floor, she assumed she’d fainted.

  Oh my God, could I be any more pathetic.

  “I’m so sorry.” She clambered to her feet and threw the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “I must have the wrong room. Sorry to disturb you.” Cheeks heating in mortification, she turned and hightailed it back toward the elevator.