by Lauren Dane
“No. I’m glad to see you. I don’t want to have to bail you out of jail for a fight. Let’s go and talk, okay?” He wanted to touch her but she took a step back.
“You could have seen me yesterday. Or the day before. Or the day before that. And so on. But you were obviously busy.” She turned on her heel and stalked off.
He caught up with her just outside the bar. “I’m sorry. Just talk to me!”
She spun. “You, Gabriel Bettencourt, are such an asshole! I can’t believe I love you. I pined for you. Pined! For years and years. And then in the last five days I worried about you. Worried that you’d been hurt, worried you’d think I didn’t love you. And here I find you in a hotel bar with some floozy attached to you at the nipple. God!”
He took a step and kissed her, hard. Kissed her until the rigidity in her spine eased and she opened her mouth to him. Kissed her until he welcomed her taste back into his system where it belonged. Kissed her until he’d taken an edge of his jones for her and then slowly, while still holding her, pulled his mouth back.
“I’m sorry. I am an asshole. It’s why I worry so much about being with you. You’re so precious to me. I hate the thought of hurting you. Of disappointing you.”
“So you think, hey, let’s just abandon her the day after Christmas without even an explanation.” The fire was back in her eyes.
“Will you come to my room so we can talk? Please?” He held a hand out.
Charity looked at his hand, a hand he’d caressed her with, spanked her with, pulled her hair while he fucked her with, a hand he’d had on that woman’s arm. Damn him.
“You think I’ll just go to your room after you’ve been fucking other women there? I’m a nice girl but I’m not that nice. In fact, just thinking about what I saw when I walked into the bar makes me want to twist your balls off and feed them to feral pigs.”
He winced and she sent him a grin that was as feral as she felt.
“Language, missy. I haven’t been fucking anyone but you. I haven’t touched, or even thought about touching any woman since you and I started up. I wouldn’t do that to you. I’m a bad boy but not that bad. And I love you.”
She tried to be unmoved by the tenderness in his touch as he slid the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip, a lip he’d only moments before had sucked in between his teeth.
“Please come talk to me.”
She nodded and followed him out past the pool and to a room at the end of the wing.
No evidence of anyone else inside, and she did look. She sat in one of the chairs, trying not to look at the bed.
“How’d you find me?” he asked, picking her up like she weighed nothing and settling on the bed with her.
“You called home. Your mother called me.” She shrugged and tried to move away from him but he wasn’t having it. “Clearly I wasted my time.”
“You didn’t waste your time. I needed to think. I had to get away to do that. I did it wrong and I’m sorry for that. But I don’t want you to make a mistake. I don’t want to be the source of any regrets.”
She struggled to free herself but he rolled them both so she ended up on her back, his body across hers.
“I don’t want us running off. And I like the way you feel right here and right now. So tell me what you came for.”
“No. You tell me what you figured out from your little vacation.” It was hard not to be affected by his nearness, by the sweetness in his eyes and the “I love you” he’d given her earlier. But she needed to know what this all meant to him. She knew what it meant to her.
“You’re going to make me say it first?”
“This isn’t a game, Gabriel. If you don’t say what I need to hear, this is over. You get your wish. I love you but I can’t be with someone who doesn’t want me forever.”
“I hate to break it to you, baby, but you just told me what you felt.”
“Seriously, this isn’t cute.” Although his smile made her tingly. His scent rose from the heat of his skin so very close to her mouth.
“It is. But nevermind. I’m the kind of man who likes to tie a woman’s hands while he fucks her. You’re this super feminine, sweet and gentle person and I suppose for the longest time, I didn’t think those two things were compatible. I didn’t want to sully your beauty with what I am inside.”
The anguish there made her sigh. “I love what you are inside. You are never anything but gentle with me. You take care of me. You noticed my hands were always cold and you got me gloves. You knew how much I love dragonflies. You’re not a bad man. You just like rough sex. It doesn’t change who you are, only how you like to have sex. Those things are not mutually exclusive and I don’t see why you think so. I’m not made of glass. I know what I like and I like what we do in bed. Does that make me dirty and wrong? You act like what you are is so bad, but really, good gracious, it’s not that unusual. I like it. I consent to it. You make me happy when you’re not trying to run from me.”
“I’m not going to. I thought a lot about things and I’m still not good enough for you. But I don’t care. I want you and I love you. You’re stuck with me.”
She smiled, feeling truly happy for the first time in a week. “Yeah? Not just for today or tomorrow? No more running from what we have? I need to know you’re in this for the long term.”
“Pushy.” He grinned and kissed her quick but hard. “Long term like I want you to marry me. How’s that for long term?”
“Now that’s what I’m talking about.”
“Good. Because I think we have time to get in the car and drive to Vegas. Come away with me and marry me tomorrow, on New Year’s Eve. You’ll be the one I kiss at midnight from now until forever.” His expression softened.
“All right then. The store is closed until the second. I’m up for it.”
Chapter Eleven
Charity looked at her hand again for the hundredth time that hour alone. Smiled when she saw the band there, marking this new step in her life but one that had been a decade in the making.
She was Charity Bettencourt now. Had been for a whole two hours. They’d driven into Vegas and to the hotel they’d been lucky to find a room at, had fabulous sex and then gone to get the license.
The best thing was that when they’d walked into the chapel just a few hours later, her parents and siblings had been there, along with his. Marta was her maid-of-honor and Rafe stood with Gabriel as his best man. It happened so fast she was glad Belle had thought to film it all so she could watch it later and get the detail lost in the haze of utter joy she’d been swamped in ever since Gabriel had proposed to her just over twenty-four hours before.
“Here, you’ll need this.” Gabriel handed her a glass of champagne as they looked out the windows of the club and watched the lights on the Strip just beyond.
She tiptoed up and kissed him. “Thank you.”
“No. Thank you. Thank you for not giving up on me when I ran. Thank you for marrying me. I’ve loved you for a long time and I’ll love you for the rest of my life.”
“For such a dark and hard man, you sure do say some sweet stuff.”
He laughed, holding her close. “It’s so I can fuck you later.”
“I saw the rope in the suitcase. I can’t wait.”
His cock pressed at her hip. His eyes darkened and his lips parted. “I can’t either.”
All around them, the people in the room began to count backward as midnight approached.
“Sweet, sweet Charity. Who knew good girls could be so very, very bad?”
“I’ve been telling you that for years now.”
The clock struck midnight and his lips on hers were the best thing she’d experienced.
About the Author
To learn more about Lauren Dane, please visit www.laurendane.com. Send an email to Lauren at [email protected] or stop by her messageboard to join in the fun with other readers as well. www.laurendane.com/messageboard
Look for these titles by Lauren Dane
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br /> Chase Brothers
Giving Chase
Taking Chase
Chased
Making Chase
Cascadia Wolves
Wolf Unbound
Standoff
Fated
Reading Between The Lines
To Do List
Holiday Seduction
Coming Soon:
Always
…all signs point North for Not-So-Saint Nick
Mistress Christmas
© 2008 Lorelei James
A part of the Wild West Boys series.
In a rare moment of recklessness, mild-mannered accountant Holly North lets her best friend guilt her into filling in as Mistress Christmas at Sugar Plums, a Christmas-themed strip club. Fearing she’ll be recognized—or worse, considered a fraud—she dons a velvet mask along with the Mrs. Claus-meets-dominatrix costume. She’s shocked at how deliciously wicked anonymity feels.
Detective Nick West is determined to discover how his friend was supposedly robbed after a lap dance at Sugar Plums. His visions of revenge vanish faster than a flying sleigh upon his first peek at Mistress Christmas—a leggy brunette with smoky eyes and a lush mouth begging for hours beneath the mistletoe.
Their attraction flares hotter than a fireplace on a cold winter evening, and Nick is only too happy to oblige when Holly blurts out her one Christmas wish…
For a naughty secret Santa to sweep her away for a night of anonymous sexual pleasure.
Warning: This erotic comedy contains naughty holiday innuendo, creative use of garland, sexy love scenes hot as spiced cider, a heroine as sweet as sugared plums, and a wildly romantic hero with a great big…candy cane.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Mistress Christmas:
“I believe you mentioned something about buying me a drink?”
“Absolutely. What’s your pleasure?”
You. “I’m in the mood for peppermint schnapps.”
“A taste of sweet and sticky coming right up.”
He scooted close enough she could differentiate the varying shades of gold, blond and brown in his wavy hair. And the scent of him was intoxicating—clean linen and hot man.
When he reached across the bar, the inside of his thick wrist grazed the bared skin below her ribcage. The electric shock of the simple contact nearly buckled her knees. A little gasp of surprise escaped before she could stop it.
His frown was there and gone as he paid the bartender and slid two shot glasses within reach.
When Holly faced him fully, his gaze focused on hers with an intensity that caused her eyelashes to tingle. As she attempted to gulp down her shot, he placed his warm, rough-skinned hand atop hers, stilling the motion.
“Ah ah ah. Not before we toast.”
“To what?”
“Come now, I’m sure this isn’t the first time you’ve made a toast in here.”
How wrong he was. Holly racked her brain for a clever phrase. “How about…to Christmas wishes coming true?” Heaven help her, this man appeared to be everything she’d ever wished for.
“Don’t you think that’s a little vague, Mistress Christmas?”
Lord. His sexy voice was as dangerous as his sexy smirk. She managed, “Do you have a specific wish in mind?”
His burning gaze raked her from the tips of her pointed ears to the tips of her pointed nipples. “I’ve got a very explicit wish. Would you like to hear it?”
Her body vibrated as if he’d whispered very explicit across every inch of her passion-soaked skin. “Maybe you should tell me your name before we start sharing wishes and dreams.”
“Nick.”
“Hmm. Are you anything like your namesake, Saint Nick?”
“Not even close, darlin’. I’ll offer no apologies that I’ve always been more sinner than saint material.”
“You do have that devilish look about you, Not-So-Saint Nick.”
Nick stared at her mouth, virtually growling, “I like the way my name sounds tumbling from your sweet lips.”
Playing with fire, Holly.
But she wasn’t brainy Holly North, shy accountant. She was bold Mistress Christmas, embodiment of sexual fantasies. And she’d milk that persona, live the dream of being the object of men’s physical desire, if only for a single night.
Holly lifted the glass to her mouth and ran her tongue around the rim, licking at the thick liquid clinging to the edge. The man’s gaze darkened; another thrill zipped through her. “Where’d you learn to talk so sweet?”
“Wyoming.”
“Does that make you a real cowboy?”
“Yep. Born and bred, dust on my boots, sage in my blood, dyed-in-the-wool gen-u-wine, native Wyoming hell-raiser.” He raised his glass to hers. “You impressed?”
“Very.”
“So let’s toast to overcoming first impressions.”
Weird toast, but she smiled. “I’ll drink to that.”
They chinked their glasses and knocked back the schnapps.
Holly welcomed the sweet fire flowing down her throat and slammed the empty glass on the bar with a heartfelt, “Ah.”
“Another?”
She automatically started to decline, but her inner vixen cooed, “Why not?”
“Coming right up.” Nick signaled the bartender.
The next shot boosted Holly’s confidence. “Tell me, Nick, if you’re really a cowboy, where’s your hat?”
“Same place as my horse—at home in Wyoming.”
“Do you live there?”
“Nope. I’m riding a steel horse in Denver these days. What about you?”
“No hat or horse,” she hedged playfully. “Not that it matters because I don’t know the first thing about riding.”
A twinkle brightened his eyes. “Really?”
She cautioned, “Before you ask, no, I don’t want to save a horse and ride a cowboy.”
“Pity.”
Nick’s you-caught-me-with-naughty-thoughts grin made her stomach cartwheel as fast as Wyoming tumbleweeds.
“I’d be more than willing to show you a few secret cowboy tricks once you mounted up.”
“I’ll just bet you could,” she murmured.
“I’ll just bet you were born to ride. You’d look amazing on top. Your thighs clamped tight, your back arched just so, your head held high as you find the natural rhythm of moving on a powerful body. This gorgeous mane”—he twirled a section around his index finger—“trailing between your shoulder blades as you buck bareback. Every part of you bouncing as you’re pushing faster and harder, until you explode from the sheer joy of the ultimate ride.”
Holly didn’t dare look away from the sexual challenge in Nick’s eyes, but she couldn’t keep the heat from rising in her cheeks, nor from hearing her mother’s warning: If you keep playing with matches, child, you’re gonna get burned.
A mischievous grin tilted his mouth as he leaned forward. “You’re awful quiet all of a sudden, darlin’. You okay?”
Smug man. If she were going up in flames, she’d drag Nick right along with her. “Oh, I was just thinking.”
“About?”
“Something you oughta remember, cowboy. Not all women mount up the same or crave that type of wild ride. See, you’re all about fast, furious, pulse-pounding action. I imagined a slower, sweeter pace for the first go-round. Taking time to learn the subtle signals before handing over the reins. Not rushing headlong to the glorious end, all hot and sweaty and tired.” Holly bit her lip, as if deep in thought. A little buzz fizzed in her blood when Nick’s gaze zoomed to her mouth.
“I’d prefer drawing out the excitement. Gliding along with abandon. Building the pace one step at a time until that moment you dig your heels in and break free, reveling in the rush of an unbridled, unbound, rigorous ride.”
Nick just blinked at her and then he swallowed hard.
Hah. “You’re awful quiet all of a sudden, darlin’,” she teased. “You okay?”
“You’re good at that.”
“Reminding me you’re a professional.”
The greatest gift is getting what you never thought you wanted.
Unraveled
© 2008 Jaci Burton
Mitch Magruder, rich, successful, wildly popular surfer and entrepreneur, is always on the lookout for the next big wave or the next great deal. So when he’s home for the holidays, he jumps at the chance to build one of his famous hotels right on the white, sandy, Florida beach where he grew up. The only thing standing in his way is Greta Mason.
Divorced with two children, Greta welcomes the struggle to make ends meet at the ramshackle beachfront motel her father left her. The motel means everything to her, and no amount of money—or hot nights of persuasion—offered by gorgeous, sexy Mitch is going to change her mind. No matter how much his touch unravels her defenses.
For once, Mitch finds he’s the one doing the chasing, and Greta’s doing more than throwing a monkey wrench into his perfectly orchestrated world. She’s making him think about things he’s never considered before, things other than the pursuit of money. Things like settling down with the right woman.
Now if only he can convince her he wants more than hot sex, moonlit nights, and her hotel…
Warning: This book contains sun, sand, surf, bikinis, hot men in board shorts, talk of Christmas shopping (ack!) foreplay, midplay, afterplay, and all that deliciously naughty explicit sex (up against the wall, in a limo and…*gasp*…even in a bed!).
Enjoy the following excerpt for Unraveled:
Greta stood motionless, her feet rooted to the floor of the cabana. Mitch didn’t seem to mind, just swayed back and forth, their bodies connected, not asking her for any more than she was willing to give.
Finally, she found her feet and followed him. He led her around the table. The cabana wasn’t large, and between the table and chairs and the sofa—correction—bed that loomed in the corner, they had to stay close and dance in small steps. But still, it was magical. The music and the man who held her, the scent of salt breezing in from the ocean, the flicker of torches dancing along the edges of the sand outside, was all a sensual assault that overwhelmed her.
