by Joanne Rock
“It takes guts to change your life. Sounds to me like you had plenty going for you before the show started.”
“Yeah? Maybe you’re right.” I preferred to think of my life that way. Plus, I didn’t want him feeling sorry for me. I wanted him to kiss me again someday. “But either way...that’s the story behind why I’m writing my book.”
My cheeks heated as I said it, but he deserved to know the truth.
“I don’t get it.” His dark brows came together in confusion. “What does the past have to do with writing an erotic novel?”
“I’m writing about what I want instead of...anything I’ve ever experienced.”
His eyebrows shot up and his hand stilled on my hip.
He said nothing, but I noticed the way his breathing shifted. I felt the spike in temperature between us.
“That’s one reason why the book is so important to me. It’s helping me put the past to rest.” I burned from attraction and self-consciousness at the same time, but I didn’t let embarrassment hold me back from touching his chest. Feeling his heart beat beneath my palm. I was the Gutsy Girl winner, damn it. I could do this. “I’m writing about what I want—sexually. And after we met, I realized that it was you.”
5
DAMIEN CLENCHED HIS HANDS with the need to take Miranda upstairs. His chest constricted as if he couldn’t get a breath, and his erection strained against his jeans, more than ready to answer the call of her provocative statement.
She was writing about him in that book of hers. She wanted him.
Sexually.
Hell, she couldn’t have spelled it out any more clearly.
But despite the green lights flashing, and the warm woman an inch away, he would not let himself have her. Not now. Not this way.
Because his brain told him it was a bad idea. She needed to write the book—needed him—because someone else had hurt her.
Acknowledging that was the only thing keeping the rest of him in check.
“I can’t begin to guess what you must be thinking of me right now,” Miranda admitted quietly, picking at the purple flower sticker on one of her nails.
Making him realize he’d better man up in a hurry if he didn’t want to lose any chance he had with her down the road.
“Honestly?” He ground his teeth together and hoped for the best. “It’s like wrestling a wildfire, trying to stop myself from doing all the things I want to do with you, to you.”
“Oh?” She bit her lip and looked surprised. He cursed his bluntness, but—thankfully—did so inside his head. “Care to elaborate?”
“I’m burning up all over the place.” He took a deep breath and deliberately removed his hands from her warm, delectable body. “But I’m telling myself that waiting is the best thing. Give us both a little time to get our heads around what’s happening.”
Her smile was sweetly grateful, a reminder of what a jackass he would have to be to act on the brain-numbing desire he still felt for her.
“If you need more time to be comfortable with where this is going, I understand.” She twined her fingers through the fringe of that throw blanket and stood. “Maybe it would help if I wrote what was going to happen next.”
“Sorry?” Damien knew he wasn’t thinking clearly, since most of the blood flow had vacated his brain the moment he sat down on the steps with her in the first place. But still...he had no clue what she meant. The flames crackled in the hearth, a log shifting and sending up sparks.
That wasn’t the only thing on fire.
“It might help me to write about...” She pointed back and forth between them. “What happens next with the characters in my book. It’ll give me time to think about it and look forward to it, so I’m not nervous and weird.”
“You’re going to write about us being together...before we’re together?” If she could only see the video footage running nonstop in his brain, she’d have a full color feature film to work from for inspiration.
He looked up at her from his place on the stairs, since a move toward her—if only to stand up—wouldn’t be wise right now. Any momentum in her direction would lead to him touching her. He was dying for another taste of her lips.
“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”
“Are you kidding? I can’t wait to read what you come up with.” He tugged on the loose end of the blanket that hung around her knees. He hadn’t meant to reach toward her, but at least he’d stopped himself before he dragged her to him for another kiss.
She shifted from one foot to the other. “I don’t know if I can let you read it.”
“As long as I get to live it, Miranda, I’m going to be happy as hell.” Hearing the uncertainty in her voice made him more convinced than ever that waiting was the right thing to do. It also made him more than a little protective of her.
“Oh.” She hugged her arms around herself, drawing the blanket so tight he could see the outline of all her lean curves. “In that case I’d better get started.” A wicked glint came into her eyes. “The sooner I get it written, the sooner it will happen.”
“Is that how it works?” He enjoyed seeing her like this. Happy. Excited. Her cheeks flushed pink, confidence radiating from her in spite of her concerns about being awkward.
“I’m new to this, but yes. I think it is.” She waited there for a moment, staring at him. “No good-night kiss for inspiration?”
Was she purposely trying to kill him?
“I’m hoping you’ve got all the inspiration you can handle.” Damn it, he’d be cold showering straight through to dawn at this rate. “Because I’m still wrestling that wildfire over here, remember?”
“Right.” She nodded. “Sorry.” Turning on her heel, she hurried up the steps away from him. “I’ll write fast. And if you see a flash drive lying around anywhere, will you let me know? I had one in the laptop when I left L.A. and I can’t find it now. I definitely wouldn’t want anyone else seeing my story.”
“I’ll tell the cleaning crew to keep an eye out for it when they come in.”
“Thanks.” She sauntered off in a billow of blanket.
He stared into the fire from his spot on the steps long after she’d closed her bedroom door with a soft click. He had no idea how he’d survive until she was ready to be with him—not after a kiss that had just about blown his mind. But he would hold back if it killed him, because he wasn’t a scumbag like her sister’s ex.
And on that note...cool reason returned. Damien planned to find out whatever he could about this guy, because no way in hell was that creep getting anywhere near Miranda again.
* * *
I HADN’T GOTTEN my good-night kiss then, but I had a whole lot more to think about the next night as I slid between the sheets in one of Damien’s empty guest rooms. He had left the farm earlier in the day to check out a mare he was thinking of purchasing, so I had seen him only briefly. Just long enough to exchange some secretive smiles between his chores and the little jobs I’d opted to do to help out—like delivering homemade bread and tea to the Whitemans so they’d have it when they returned from touring a local winery. Violet had left me a note about wanting to get together afterward, but I’d jotted a reply that I had some errands, and maybe Monday would work for me.
I wasn’t looking forward to talking about Gutsy Girl, and I knew from her visit to Damien the other night that she was anxious for a photo op. Ugh.
I’d also made personal-sized quiches for any Fraser Farm employees I could find during the day. It wouldn’t hurt for word of my cooking prowess to spread. And yes, I was well aware that I was ingratiating myself to the staff so maybe some of them would champion my plan to buy the farm stand and convert it to a tearoom. But I don’t think anyone who tried my quiche today would complain about my techniques.
Now I wanted to write more of my book, so
I could move closer to being with Damien. I opened my laptop to work on my manuscript, just as I’d promised him I would the night before.
Stepping into the fictional world felt like a way to be with Damien without risking too much yet. And I was dying to be closer to him. Memories of that kiss lit me up from the inside out, until all I could think about were his hands on me.
Too bad I had to give him over to sexy, confident Shaelynn first. But I knew it was safer to put my heroine with him before I took the chance myself. She could be my avatar. I just wanted to kind of...watch and see what happened. If that made me voyeuristic—or a chicken of the first order—that was okay. I picked up where I’d left off, once I’d gone back through the novel to tweak the stranger’s name:
...arching into D’s hand, Shaelynn moaned with the pleasure of his touch. He leaned in to kiss her, capturing the sounds she made with his lips while he knelt beside the tub. Forceful rivulets awakened a new heat inside her, her skin tingling with a hot shiver. Her nipples pebbled to tight peaks as she imagined D. joining her in the tub. Covering her. Settling between her thighs with muscular hips...
Oh. Yes.
Imagining him in the tub was nice. But wouldn’t it be even nicer if he actually joined her there? I tapped my chin and stared off into space, envisioning what it would be like. Then again, I didn’t have to completely rely on my imagination. Damien just happened to have a huge hot tub downstairs.
Could I go hop in the heated spa and let myself be creatively inspired? Plus, the hot tub would help me relax. The luxuries that were a part of Damien’s world had never been part of mine, so a soak among the jets would be an unprecedented treat.
Grabbing a towel and a hair clip, I carried them down to the spa, balancing them on my laptop. I wasn’t sure when Damien would be home, but I would get as much written as quickly as I could. I just hoped he didn’t mind me invading his space downstairs.
Not that I was headed into the master suite or anything, even though I’d seen a killer hot tub in there when I’d first explored the house. But there was also an indoor spa area in the lowest level, where the house had been built into a hillside. The back wall of windows looked out over a patio, pool and some scenic pastures. The space had a small bar and a game room decorated in rough-hewn woods lacquered smooth. Pendant lighting over the bar cast enough light on the hot tub. Steam wafted up as I toed the cover off, but the temperature wasn’t quite as hot as I wanted, so I flipped a nearby switch and waited for the water to warm up.
Setting my things down on the glazed redbrick surrounding the tub, I skimmed off my clothes and wrapped the thick Turkish terry cloth robe from my room around me, the plush cotton soft against my skin. I could have dug through my belongings to find a swimsuit, but I was writing an erotic story. Shaelynn hadn’t slid into that tub with her suit on and neither would I. She didn’t need to have all the fun first every single time. Tonight, she had Damien’s hands on her and I was going to be right there with her, imagining what it was like.
Stepping into the tub, I loosened my robe and let it fall down my shoulders. I kept the hem out of the water while I worked the rest of the cloth lower and lower. Thick steam rose off the water now that the heater had kicked in. I wriggled my toes in the bubbles and slid the robe the rest of the way off while I sank into the inviting warmth.
“Yes-s-s.” Silky heat enveloped me, and I hit the buttons for the jets and bubbles, increasing their speed and force. Grabbing the clip, I secured my hair.
Powerful surges of hot water soothed my muscles beneath the surface, while smaller bubbles burst near my nose like a tubful of champagne. I reclined on one of the built-in seats and let the magic happen. The sensations were hot, sensuous and entirely decadent.
Especially with snippets of my novel still running around in my head. How ironic was it that I’d started out writing a story about Shaelynn alone and lost in the woods when a gorgeous stranger found her. And the very next day, I broke down in the SUV, only to be rescued by Damien? I couldn’t shake the sense that my book was coming to life, which made it feel all the more daring to keep writing.
I soaked in the heat for a while, inhaling steam and letting the stress of the past months float away. When my heart rate dropped a few notches, my whole body relaxing, I dried my hands on my robe so I could use my laptop. I picked up with the story right where I’d left off.
...Her nipples tightened to peaks as D broke their kiss and took one taut bud into his mouth. She didn’t know what had come over her to let him touch her this way, but there was no turning back now. Not with her body on fire and her thoughts consumed with images of him. Covering her. Settling between her thighs with muscular hips. In response, she widened her legs to make room for him. And, perhaps, to feel the forceful rush of water over her sensitive sex.
“You could come in,” she urged, reaching one wet hand up to his collar to shove aside his coat. “Join me.”
He sat back on his heels to observe her in the moonlight, a veil of steam rising between them. Would he strip off his clothes and fulfill her fantasies?
“I like watching you.” His voice wrapped around her like a seductive spell. “Why don’t you show me what you’re feeling?”
Confused, she blinked through the fog of awareness and tugged on his hand. Drawing him near. But instead of touching her, he reached into the tub and turned a jet nozzle toward her breast, unleashing a torrent across the tip of one nipple.
Caught in the sensual onslaught, she felt her eyes slide shut as she let the pleasure take her.
Her body ached and her sex pulsed with need. She cupped her breasts, craving more.
D’s whispered encouragement in her ear let her know this was what he wanted. To watch. To see her succumb to the need. Imagining his hand on her, she slipped one palm beneath the water’s surface, gliding a fingertip over the delicate folds between her thighs. She gasped.
“You look so beautiful.” D’s breath was warm against her cheek as he leaned to kiss the curve of her neck where it met her shoulder.
Shaelynn arched deeper into the bench seat and lifted her hips, making it easier to repeat the seductive touch. It didn’t take much. The barest brush of her finger combined with the rush of water took her higher. She tossed her head back and forth, sensation coiling tight. Anticipation building.
Water pounded her body in hot streams, intensifying the feelings. Her breath came hard and fast, until she panted with the effort of holding back her release. All along, he whispered in her ear, his voice anchoring her in the sensation, urging her with wicked promises of other pleasures to come. Sighing his name with a pent-up breath, she drew two fingers along her sex. Imagined herself looking into his eyes as he sheathed himself with her. Pushed his hips into hers until he was buried heart-deep within her.
“Oh!” A startled cry burst from her lips as her orgasm hit her.
She gripped the sides of the tub, wishing she held D’s broad shoulders in her hands instead. Wave after wave of pleasure shook through her, wringing a satisfied moan from her even as she wanted much, much more....
I had to stop a minute, my fingers poised above the keyboard and my heart pumping faster while I savored what had happened. Shaelynn hadn’t gotten any closer to making love with “D” than I had, her orgasm brought on by pleasuring herself while thinking of his hands on her.
But oh...she wanted more. And so did I. I could feel the blood coursing through my veins, heating my skin everywhere. The tension deep within me tightened. Heightened. I felt restless with this ache for more. So much so, I wasn’t sure if I could keep writing.
Deep in thought, I jerked as a footstep on the stairs caught me off guard.
“Miranda?” a sexy, masculine voice called—the same one that had just coaxed my heroine to lose all her inhibitions. “Are you down there?”
Damien was home.
Nervousne
ss twined with excitement. Hunger.
He’d paused on the stairway, waiting for my answer. No doubt he’d heard the hot-tub jets and come to investigate. It said a lot about him that he didn’t just barge into the game room while I was in the spa. He knew that I wanted to take things slow, and he respected that, even though he’d made it clear he was ready for more than I was.
My heart beat like a jackhammer, my whole body tense with nerves and—yes—sexual excitement. I wanted him even though I was so nervous I was shaking.
“Yes,” I called finally, knowing I would be okay with a guy who could rein himself in enough to wait on the stairs for my reply. “You can come down.”
I pushed away from the laptop, but didn’t close it. Settling into a seat on the far side of the tub, I allowed myself the simple pleasure of watching him come down the stairs and cross the floor toward me.
His hazel eyes never left me, locked with mine like a guided missile. He appeared exactly as I’d imagined him in my story, that intense gaze of his making my insides simmer with awareness. The strong lines of his face, the aristocratic high cheekbones and chiseled, workingman’s jaw, were features I could picture perfectly when I closed my eyes or when I wrote about him. I’d spent a lot of time staring. Memorizing.
Enjoying.
“You’re back,” I observed, lightly trailing my fingertips over the soft, breaking bubbles at the surface. “I hope you don’t mind me making myself at home.”
My voice sounded awkward, as if it belonged to someone else. My heart beat wildly. Dressed in a light blue shirt with a gray-and-yellow tie he’d loosened enough that a T-shirt showed beneath, he looked good enough to eat. He stood at the edge of the tub, his breath coming hard as he studied me.
“Let me put it this way.” His voice was low. His jaw clenched with tension. “If I was the one writing the book, I don’t think I could have thought up a scene this good.”
