Unlaced

by Jaci Burton

  No one had ever said anything bad about her mother. Because she’d never taken a chance. She’d never risked.

  And she was alone.

  Margo didn’t want to be alone. The question was whether another man would turn up in her life who made her feel the way Dirk did.

  Did she want to risk never finding that feeling again? Or take a chance on Dirk?

  Maybe he’d made a mistake. He should have told her sex would be fine and let time work its magic.

  Pinned by Dirk’s hammerlock, Pain Freak grunted, groaned, and strained. The referee counted to three, grabbed Dirk’s arm, and declared him the winner. The crowd went ape.

  The New Year’s Day exhibition fight in Sacramento was packed. Cheering, jeering, shouting, you could count on a match crowd to be enthusiastic. Turning in a circle as Pain Freak crawled off the mat, Dirk ran in place to bleed off the adrenaline. Fight fans shoved up against the ropes shouting out a chorus of “Ironman, Ironman, Ironman.” Two teenage girls screamed for his sweaty towel, then fought to the damn near death when he tossed it. A woman pulled her shirt up for a glimpse of her breasts before Security dragged her off.

  Women had offered him any sexual favor he could think of, some he didn’t believe were possible. He’d even had a few guys hit on him. There were always the groupies hanging out when he left, or at the after-parties.

  Dirk just wanted to make the three-hour drive back home in one piece. His manager threw him his robe, and Dirk caught it in one fist, crushing the red and yellow satin before he yanked it on. He spat out his mouth guard in the bucket and grabbed a clean towel to wipe the sweat off his head and face. The stadium lights were intense. He got a few spots before his eyes.

  Which would explain the hallucination. Margo. Down there in the crowd, six or seven people back in the stack. He wanted her so bad he’d conjured her up. God, she was beautiful, all streaked blond hair, gorgeous green eyes, body that wouldn’t quit, and a perfect smile. He’d gone crazy for her smile, of all things. She seemed to be saying something, but his ears were ringing in the din. He climbed through the ropes, held on a moment because she didn’t disappear like an apparition should.

  Security stepped up, ready to escort him to the locker room.

  He shouldn’t have been able to make out a damn thing in the cacophony of music and sound, but he heard his real name, not Ironman, but Dirk. And the haunting figure waved her arm at him.

  Holy Hell, that was no figment. Margo was here.

  Below him, he grabbed Jamie’s arm, head of Security.

  “That woman,” he shouted, pointing. “Bring her here. I need to talk to her.”

  The crowd pushed and shoved, flowing, and seemed to carry her away, but two security guys reached her, wrapped her in protective custody, and elbowed their way back, handing her up into the ring with him.

  Dirk couldn’t hear a damn thing over the roaring in his ears. So he gathered her in his arms and kissed her, hard, lips, tongue, her taste sweet and hot. Then he remembered he was sweaty from the fight, and they were in the middle of a crowd of thousands. Yet Margo kissed him back and clung to him.

  He lifted her right off the mat. The crowd went freaking manic, camera flashes filled the stadium, and Margo smiled.

  “What are you doing here?” he bellowed in her ear.

  She pulled back. “I missed you.”

  He had to read her lips, and his heart beat harder than when he’d body-slammed Pain Freak.

  He was getting another chance, and he wasn’t going to screw it up this time. He had to get her out of here before the reporters started asking who she was. Handing her through the ropes into Jamie’s arms, he then climbed down himself. Her hand tucked securely in his and surrounded by the cocoon of Security, they headed into the stadium underground for the locker rooms.

  There’d be reporters in there, too, cameras. Dirk grabbed Jamie’s arm. “I need somewhere private. So she and I can talk.”

  Jamie grinned. A short, stocky guy with state-of-the-art communications equipment coming out his ears, Jamie knew the rabbit den down here like the back of his hand. With a series of hand gestures like an NFL referee, he sent his guys away, ushered Dirk down a corridor, unlocked a door, and flipped on a light.

  “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes to let you out.” Then he winked. “Enough time?”

  Christ, the man thought he was going to fuck Margo, and in this dinky little cleaning supply closet.

  “It’s enough time.” He closed the door on Jamie’s shit-eating grin and grabbed Margo’s arms. “What are you doing here?” His heart pounded so loudly, he still had to read her lips.

  “I came to tell you I was wrong.”

  “You weren’t wrong. I asked for too much when you barely knew me. I should have backed off. We can do the private thing until”—he shrugged—“you’re more comfortable. If you never—”

  “Would you please shut up?” Her smile took the bite out.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He’d wanted everything on the table.

  “First, I love the way you fight.”

  An odd kick started low in his gut.

  She pulled his head down to Eskimo-nose him. “It was hot.”

  “Only because I didn’t get beaten this time.”

  She put his hand on her breast beneath the dark wool coat she wore. Her nipples were hard under her sweater, filling his palm. Her heat rose, sweet, musky arousal. “I’ve got a hotel room, and I want you to take me there and do me all night long.”

  Okay, sex, he could handle that. After months of good sex, she’d be his forever. Right? He’d convince her. For sure. He’d never given up on anything in his life, and he wasn’t giving up on Margo Faraday. “I can do that.”

  “But I also want you to know that I’m not like my mother.”

  Dirk nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  Margo didn’t expect him to get it. He was moist, sweaty, yet he smelled all hot, heavy, hungry male, and she reveled in the scent of him. But really, she had to tell him what she’d figured out last night with Lorie. She’d called him, and when she couldn’t get hold of him, she’d Googled him, found his Ironman website, and like a smitten groupie, driven at breakneck speed to attend his fight. To tell him.

  “My mother has the ideal image. Everyone thinks she’s the most wonderful woman, the head of all her charity committees, she dines with the mayor.” Margo made a face. “She’s simply smashing in all her friends’ eyes, a paragon of virtue.”

  “And you’re not?”

  She enjoyed the incredulity in his voice. “No.” She’d never been enough in her mother’s eyes. Wriggling closer to him, she slipped her hands beneath his satin Ironman robe. “I’m not virtuous. I like doing nasty things to younger men.” She waggled her eyebrows lecherously.

  “I’m into nasty,” he agreed.

  She rubbed her belly against his erection. “Good. Because I want us to think up naughtier things to do. Give it all a chance, take a few risks. I don’t want to regret that we didn’t try something because we were afraid someone might not approve or that it wouldn’t turn out the way we wanted it to.” Like her mother. Who never took a chance on anything so that her image could never be tarnished. “I will not be virtuous yet unhappy.”

  He slid his hands down to her butt. “I’m going to make you happy.” He captured her mouth, kissed her sweetly, deeply, then pulled back. “No one has to know about us.”

  She knew how much that cost him. “You don’t want that.”

  “I don’t give a shit as long as you’re with me.”

  She smoothed a hand across that adorable brow of his. Then she went up on her toes to kiss his once-broken nose. “Ask for what you want, Dirk. Don’t let anyone stop you. Not even me.”

  He tilted his head back, staring at the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. Then he came back to her. “You’re right. I want you to come to my fights and go to the parties when I win, and fuck me all better when I lose.”

  “You won’t lose.”


  “I want you to look at my photos and tell me what you like or what I should have done differently. I want you to pinch my arm when we’re out and say, ‘Holy shit, honey, there’s a great shot, please get it for me.’ I want you to believe in me.”

  Her heart turned over. He wanted so much. “I want to be sixty-two and still calling you my lover,” she whispered. “I want everyone to know I’m yours no matter how much younger you are or how old I am.”

  He took two quick breaths, emotion rolling over his face. “We don’t have to tell anyone yet. We can wait until you’re ready.”

  She cupped his cheek. “I’m ready.” She closed her eyes for a moment as her mother’s voice echoed in her head. “I’ll cringe when my mom asks me where on earth my head is these days, but I will never hide you. I’m sorry I wanted to keep you a secret.”

  “Baby, don’t apologize, okay? I’m the one who gets exactly what he wants, and you’re the one making the sacrifice.”

  She went on her toes and nipped his lip. “I don’t want to be my mother’s age and regretting that I never took advantage of the most adorable younger man I’ve ever had the hots for.”

  “Shucks,” he said, but the loud thump of his heart so close to her ear told his story.

  Then she held her watch up to the light. “It’s only been five minutes. You’ve got ten more before your friend gets back.” She smiled. “Wanna do me against the door? I’ll scream so everyone knows exactly what we’re doing.”

  He laughed. And that gorgeous dimple appeared at the side of his mouth. “You’re such a romantic.”

  “Oh yeah,” she murmured, her lips close to his, “I don’t want to leave this supply room without everyone in the entire stadium knowing you just did me in here.”

  He pushed her coat apart, lifted her, pulling her legs to his waist, and braced her against the door. “Make sure you scream my name really loud, baby.”

  He ran his hands up her skirt, and she saw the moment he figured out she wasn’t wearing panties. His blue eyes blazed.

  “And,” she said as he rubbed his fingers across her, “I think you should use one of my photos for the competition.” Her mother would absolutely die, but Dirk made Margo feel beautiful. And she was damn proud of those pictures.

  His eyes glowed hot, then he kissed her, and finally whispered in her ear, “In that case, I’ll win everything I’ve ever wanted.”

  How could she lose? Betting on Ironman was a sure thing.

  Jasmine Haynes has been penning stories for as long as she’s been able to write. Storytelling has always been her passion. With a bachelor’s degree in accounting from Cal Poly San Luis Obispo, she has worked in the high-tech Silicon Valley for the last twenty years and hasn’t met a boring accountant yet! Well, maybe a few. She and her husband live with their cat, Eddie (short for Eddie Munster, get the picture?), and Star, the mighty moose-hunting dog (if she weren’t afraid of her own shadow.) Jasmine’s pastimes, when not writing her heart out, are hiking in the redwoods and taking long walks on the beach.

  Jasmine also writes as Jennifer Skully and JB Skully. She loves to hear from readers. Please e-mail her at skully@skullybuzz.com or visit her website at www.skullybuzz.com. Her newsletter subscription is skullybuzz-subscribe@yahoogroups.com.

  Don’t miss her exciting new novel, Fair Game, coming in June 2009 from Heat. Turn to the back of the book for a sneak preview.

  Controlled Response

  JOEY W. HILL

  One

  Forty-five miles. God, the only thing better than this was sex. Sex done exceptionally well. As Lucas crested the hill, pushing the burn in his legs, he snagged his water bottle to take a measured draught. Releasing the bike handlebars to coast hands-free, he shifted his hips to negotiate the inevitable curve. No such thing as a straight line or a flat expanse this deep in the Berkshires. Every downward slope followed by a challenging upward one. Like the curves of a woman’s body. Or her mind.

  Ben had given him shit about hopping a charter here for the weekend when they were still figuring out how to make the numbers work for the Mancuso plant operation. But it was all bullshit, because Ben knew Lucas did his best problem solving while cycling, just as the legal advisor did it by finding the prettiest ass available and immersing himself in it. When they came back to the office Monday, Ben would fix the legal snarls, and Lucas would crunch the numbers into manageable pieces. Hell, Matt should save the money on their corner offices. Though Lucas had to admit he liked his Baton Rouge city view, with the backdrop of the Mississippi River.

  It was time for a lunch break and a stretch, if he could find the spot his buddy Marcus had told him was right off the road around here. He was pretty deep in the Berkshire farm area, but tourists did have a way of finding the hot spots. Still, Marcus had stressed “hidden,” even giving him GPS coordinates for the exact location, give or take ten feet.

  There it was. As he rolled across the shoulder, he saw the narrow deer trail. A couple broken twigs and some spoor suggested the brown-eyed creatures had passed through recently.

  It was a short hike, so it worked as a good cool-down. The light racing bike was easy to carry, even with his gear. Marcus had said the glade would have a stream, soft grass for a nap, and a frame of trees for the sky that would make Lucas think he’d fallen into a nest made by Heaven itself. Marcus was a gallery owner, brushing shoulders with New York art types, so such metaphors were to be expected. Or maybe the description had come from Thomas, his spouse, or life partner, whatever they called it. It sounded like a good place and Lucas wouldn’t dwell on what they might have done there. To each his own, but his preference definitely ran to heart-shaped asses of a different gender. Skin like cream, and tender pink lips hidden like treasure between not-too-firm, not-too-soft thighs. Just like Goldilocks, he knew when they were just right.

  Lately, it had been just okay. Some lovely ladies, intelligent, beautiful, and willing. Business associates on the same time schedules, which discouraged anything deeper on either side but ensured dinner dates and sexual release were no farther than a cell phone call. He was CFO for Kensington & Associates, after all, so he didn’t have trouble with that.

  But maybe it was watching Matt, the head of K&A, with his new wife, Savannah, during the past year. The way they’d taken the leap of faith together, and their love just seemed to grow and grow. Not like a molasses flood, drowning everyone in reach in gooeyness. More like the quiet reassurance of the ocean’s murmur. Timeless, clean, overwhelming. Proof that there was a greater purpose here. Maybe Lucas was ready for something deeper himself. Maybe that was why he was cycling and Ben was hip deep in pussy by now.

  As he stepped into the clearing, anticipating the tranquility, he came to a dead stop, his thoughts scattering like a game of 52-card pickup.

  Marcus hadn’t mentioned the spot came with a half-naked girl on a motorcycle.

  Either that, or Lucas had been run over by a minivan and didn’t realize he was dead, stumbling into everything Heaven should be. If so, he was profoundly thankful to the minivan driver.

  He blinked. Yes, it was definitely a woman, stretched out on the curved seat of a Night Rod series Harley. At one time, she’d apparently been wearing black jeans with riding chaps over them, for they were in a crumpled pile next to the bike, leaving her lower body clad only in a pair of silky ivory panties. Her feet were braced on the handlebars, legs spread, ass snugged down in the driver’s seat while her upper body was arched over the hump to the passenger seat. The toned legs and generous ass were taut, for her fingers were tucked into the panties. Thanks to the blessing of filmy material, he could see their individual movements.

  She was wearing a corset. Ivory colored as well, with one strap falling off her shoulder and elevating her breasts so they were accentuated by the slightest breath. Just a touch of lace at the low décolletage that tempted full exposure from the crescent stretch of her torso. The corset hooked in front, so would lie flat under the heavy white T-shirt she’d been wearing,
also lying in the grass.

  Tiny earphones for a music player were tucked into ears as delicate as porcelain, half-hidden by her hair, skeins of white gold long enough to fall over the top of the rear tire. A few strands were scattered across her face by the breeze, teasing wet, parted lips. Her bare feet flexed against the chrome bars as she apparently hit a good spot, biting her lip. Since her eyes were closed, golden lashes fanning her cheeks, he imagined she was deep in some fantasy, picturing her fingers as someone else’s.

  Or perhaps she was thinking about someone watching her, getting hungrier for a taste of the pussy she’d teased into a wetness that had soaked the crotch panel. Someone who wanted to slide his hands under her, grip that delectable ass, and tongue her first through the saturated silk. Bite her clit through her panties. Women loved that, the buffer to stimulation that provided friction, helped warm them up, so that when he finally pulled the cloth out of the way and tasted creamed flesh, they would be writhing, begging.

  God, he loved eating pussy. Second best thing to fucking it.

  A gentleman—not to mention a smart man—would have backed away. But he couldn’t make his feet move. This was undeniably a gift from God, and he was a devout Methodist. Okay, at least when he went home to Iowa during Christmas and attended church with his parents. Regardless, there was a higher power, a higher order. Hadn’t he just been thinking that? Maybe this was an answer.

  Yes, Lucas. In your search for a deeper relationship, God has sent you to a private photo shoot from Penthouse.

  Hey, crazier things had happened. Like his spontaneous decision now to become part of her fantasy. As he moved forward, he hoped she wasn’t armed.

  Oh, she’d so needed this. Cassandra didn’t like being away from home, but she’d had to come to Hartford to close this deal. Two days of managing the negotiation had been bad enough, but she’d had to deal long-distance with crisis after crisis at home, from the minor issues that came up with her younger siblings to a frantic call from the nanny saying her black-sheep brother had gotten as close as the security gate. Fortunately, the guard had sent him on his way. Everything was okay there, and she’d been waiting to fly home to Baton Rouge in time to listen to her baby brother Nate sing her a new song he’d learned. That had been before the general manager had put in a frantic call telling her the deal she’d just finalized had unraveled. Knitting it back together had involved a trip back to the Hartford office and some corporate diplomacy, along with a little tactical bullying of the key players for having almost dumped a sixty-million-dollar contract over some childish perceived insult.