by Cara Summers
“Lucas, you don’t even know me. I’m just beginning to know myself.”
“We’ll work on it together, over a lifetime. I’m not going to take no for an answer. I’ll hound you until—”
“Yes.”
Feelings tumbled through him. Joy. Relief. He barely had time to absorb them before she was tightening her grip on him with her arms and legs and the hot, moist inner part of her.
“There’s just one condition.”
His eyes narrowed. “And that would be?”
Her lips curved. “That I get to start moving now.”
He felt the laughter bubble up. It might have broken free, but she wasn’t waiting for his permission. Her mouth was on his again, her body arching. He thought his brain might just evaporate into steam.
“Now,” she murmured over and over until it became a chant in his blood. Not that he needed any encouragement. Still, he struggled to keep his rhythm under control so that the pleasure could stretch out and build. Each time he sank into her and felt that slick, wet grip pull him deeper, he knew that he was losing part of himself, gaining part of her.
“Quick. Now.” Her voice was breathless, her body agile.
He started to move then, hard and fast. He felt the moment that her climax tore through her; it was more than enough to draw him with her into a dark vortex of pleasure.
Afterward, they clung, trying to catch their breaths. He could feel hers, tickling his neck. “I love you, MacKenzie Lloyd.”
“I love you too.”
He didn’t know until she said it how much he’d wanted to hear the words from her.
“I have a secret to tell you.”
She drew back then to look at him. “I hope you’re not going to tell me that you have a crazy wife hidden away in the attic.”
With a quick chuckle, he rested his head against her forehead. “No. Not that. This is something that you can add to your research. I’ve just discovered what my favorite sexual fantasy is.”
Her eyebrows arched. “And that would be?”
“Coming home from work to find a naked woman in my kitchen.”
“No problem,” she said as he lifted her and started down the hall in search of the bedroom. “But I’m going to change that.”
“You think?”
“I know,” she assured him. “You’re going to love being wrapped in plastic wrap.”
They were both laughing when they tumbled together onto the bed.
EPILOGUE
LUCAS LET HIMSELF into his house, smiling at the spicy scent of cinnamon and…apples? It had to mean Mac was cooking. In his bachelor days, he’d rarely used the kitchen, preferring instead to eat out or order food brought in. Since their wedding three months ago, Mac had insisted on fixing dinner at least three times a week.
Wives should know how to cook, she’d insisted. After all, how hard could it be? Surely not more difficult than one of her experiments in the lab.
His smile widening, Lucas set down his briefcase and began to loosen his tie as he strode down the hall. “Mac the chef” was just one more delightful personality that was part of MacKenzie Lloyd. She cooked with the same total focus and precision that she did everything else. The food was…getting better. Coming home to find his wife elbow deep in pots and bowls and finding a way to lure her off task, well, that was quite simply the best.
His wife. Just thinking the word sent a wave of joy through him. And this was the first night she’d cooked all week because she hadn’t been feeling up to par. Each night they’d ordered in from a different restaurant, but nothing had tempted her. She must be feeling better.
Perhaps well enough to create his favorite fantasy? He quickened his stride, but when he entered the kitchen, there was no naked woman waiting for him.
There was no sign of Mac either. The room was pristine clean except for the items lined up on one counter. The moment his gaze swept over them, he began to smile again. A bowl of thick whipped cream, a tall squeeze bottle of chocolate syrup, a large economy-size roll of plastic wrap and a string of pearls.
A very long string of pearls. Lifting it, he drew it out to its full length—nearly three feet. Lucas felt himself grow hard just imagining…
The bell on the microwave dinged. Opening it, he discovered a glass mug with a cinnamon stick in it. Hot spiced apple cider?
He knew the moment she entered the kitchen, and he slowly turned to face her. Three months of marriage and he still wasn’t used to the shock of pleasure that moved through him when he saw her in his house and realized that she was his to keep, to cherish. “You’re not naked.”
And she wasn’t. She was wearing one of his shirts, opened just enough to let him know that she was wearing nothing underneath it, and she’d knotted a black tie loosely around her neck. Her hair was mussed and her feet were bare, the toenails painted a pale shade of pink. Desire speared through him.
“I thought I would dress for dinner tonight.”
He glanced at the counter, surprised at the effort it took not to go to her and take her where she stood. But three months of marriage had taught him that sometimes it was better to give over control and go along for the ride.
“New pearls?” he asked.
“Do you like them?”
“I don’t think I want to eat them.”
She smiled then, and he realized that it was the first time she had. And she hadn’t moved toward him yet.
“What would you like to start off with?” she asked.
“My choice?”
“The first one is. Then it will be my turn.”
He wanted to laugh then. But there was something in her eyes beneath the excitement…apprehension?
He glanced again at the selection lined up on the counter. “It’s quite a feast. Why don’t you come here and help me select?”
He noticed the slight hesitation before she moved toward him. Once he had her hand tucked safely in his, he said, “I’m kind of leaning toward the whipped cream and chocolate syrup myself.”
“Good choice. If we top that off with the hot apple cider, I figure we’ve hit at least two-thirds of the food pyramid—fruit, dairy and protein.”
“I’m lucky to have a scientist keeping my diet on track.”
“Want to know what I have in mind for the cider?” Mac asked.
“I always want to know what you have in mind,” he said as he tucked a strand of flyaway hair behind her ear. The apprehension hadn’t vanished yet from her eyes.
“I melted those little red-hot cinnamon pieces in it, so it’s doubly hot. I’m going to drink it and then taste you.” Her hand unerringly found the part of him that she was thinking of tasting.
With a sigh that ended on a moan, he rested his head against her forehead. “You’re going to be the death of me.” Then he carefully removed her hand from his erection. “Before we get to that, why don’t you tell me the reason for the feast. Are we celebrating a special occasion?”
“Yes.”
Now it was his turn to be apprehensive. Had he forgotten an anniversary of some sort?
Licking her lips, she continued, “I did a little experiment today. And then I reran it five times. I wanted to make sure.”
He smiled at her. “You had a breakthrough at the lab. Don’t tell me—let me guess. Wilbur is going to live to be a hundred.”
“Not exactly. I mean, I didn’t do it at the lab. I did it here.”
“Here?”
“It came out positive. All five times. And the pharmacist told me the test has a very high accuracy rating. I’m…we’re…pregnant.”
“Pregnant?” Even as he said the word aloud, he struggled to take it in.
“Yes. That’s why I have to get started, using my research, I mean. I’m going to get fat. I can’t afford to let you get bored.”
“Pregnant.” He was beginning to absorb it. He could tell by the joy that was zinging through him. “You’re pregnant.” Lifting her off her feet, he swung her around and around, then abruptly s
topped and set her on the counter. “I shouldn’t be doing that. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Eye to eye, she studied him for a moment. “You’re happy?”
He grinned at her. “Very.”
Her expression remained serious. “I don’t want to bore you. I don’t want to lose you…ever.”
He kissed her softly, coaxing her into it, pouring everything he felt into it until they were both nearly drowning. Finally, he drew away. “You’re not going to lose me. Ever. And I don’t know how I’m supposed to get bored. There are so many parts of you that I love. So many parts that I’m still discovering. I can’t wait to meet Mac the mother.”
She hugged him then, and he felt her lips curve against his chest. Her sigh moved through him. “Let’s get started on dinner. You grab the chocolate and whipped cream. I’ll bring the cider and the other stuff.”
“Appetizers first,” he said as he quickly wrapped her legs around him and pulled down his zipper.
“Appetizers?” Her breath hitched as she took him in.
“I’m very hungry.”
“You are?”
“Oh, yes. And the appetizer is always the first step to enjoying a great meal. You do like to take everything one step at a time, right?”
“Absolutely,” Mac managed.
The laughter, the overwhelming joy welled up between them as they began to move together in a steady and familiar rhythm.
“We’ll take it slowly,” Lucas promised as he struggled to do just that. But already he could feel her climax begin to move through her. As always, his own control began to slip away. Drawing her closer, he spoke softly. “And when you reach the heights, I’ll be right there…with you. Always.”
And he was.
A GLIMPSE OF FIRE
Debbi Rawlins
This is for Steve and E.
I’m so glad you found each other.
You’re everything I write about.
CHAPTER ONE
DALLAS SHEA CHECKED HER WATCH and then shoved her keys and two twenties into her jeans pocket. She’d planned on walking the eighteen blocks up midtown but now she had to catch a cab or she’d be late.
“Oh, good, you’re still here.” Her roommate burst out of the tiny bathroom they shared while she pulled her long red hair up into a ponytail. Behind her a heap of towels lay near the foot of the ancient claw-foot tub.
Dallas sighed. The woman was the consummate slob. Funny, spontaneous, ambitious and a loyal friend but a total slob. “Not for long. I’m on my way out.”
“Can you walk Bruiser first?”
“No.”
The furry black mutt heard his name and came from behind the green floral couch, which was the extent of their tiny living room, wagging his tail, looking up at Dallas with soulful black eyes. He had to be up to seven pounds by now—big difference from three months ago, when Wendy found him scrounging for food in an alley near Nineteenth Street.
“Please, Dallas. I’ll make dinner.”
Giving Wendy a dry look, Dallas headed for the door, trying to avoid looking at Bruiser. If she did, she’d give in. “That’s what you said the last time.”
“I came through, didn’t I?”
“Hot dogs from Howie’s cart is not my idea of dinner.”
“Come on, please. I have an audition.” Wendy hopped on one leg as she pulled on a tennis shoe over her purple tights. “It’s really important. A new musical and they need twelve dancers. This time I’m going to get it. I know it. Right here.” She pressed a palm to her tummy. “This is gonna be my big break.”
Dallas undid the dead bolt. Then hesitated, reminding herself this wasn’t her business. But Wendy was crazy for chasing after these jobs. Sadly, at twenty-nine, she was already too old for Broadway. A new crop of eager, energetic young twenty-somethings were getting all the gigs.
She looked at her friend and then down at Bruiser, whose expectant eyes met hers, his tail still wagging. Even he’d already figured out what a pushover Dallas was.
Sighing, she opened the door for Wendy. “Go.”
Grinning, Wendy hopped toward her as she slid on her other sneaker. “You’re the best.”
“Be careful of those feet. I need your share of the rent.” Dallas scooped up Bruiser before he made a break for the open door, then grabbed his leash off the hook on the wall. “Don’t worry about dinner. I’m meeting Trudie.”
“Tell her I said hey.”
“Break a leg,” Dallas said as Wendy slipped out into the hall and closed the door.
She put Bruiser down and crouched to secure his leash. “What are you looking at me like that for? Huh?” She stroked his curly black fur, laughed when he licked her chin, rearing back just in the nick of time to avoid a sloppy kiss.
“Okay, boy, I know it’s been a while since I’ve had a date but I like my guys a little taller.” She stood, grabbing the plastic bag she needed to clean up after Bruiser.
In a way she envied Wendy. She never gave up. Her optimism and enthusiasm seemed boundless. Even after she’d lost the contract with Revalyn last year. A week after her twenty-eighth birthday, the company decided they needed someone with younger-looking hands for their print ads. Thank God feet didn’t age as quickly.
Dallas sighed. Boy, was she glad she’d gotten out of that world quickly. She’d modeled for a year during her senior year in college. After the blowup with her parents when they’d cut her off, she’d needed the money. But that had been enough. There had always been someone taller, slimmer, prettier. She’d hated every minute of it.
She led Bruiser out of the apartment, careful to double lock the door, then checked her watch as she waited for the elevator, hoping the damn thing wasn’t on a milk run. Of course, that it was working at all was cause for celebration. If she had the money, she’d move out, but finding and affording another apartment without having to move to Brooklyn would mean working a whole lot of overtime. Or worse, taking another job. The kind her parents would approve. The thought made her shudder.
“THANK GOD YOU’RE HERE.” Trudie looked up from a pink phone slip on her desk, her heavily outlined brown eyes filled with worry. “Close the door, would you?”
“Sure.” Dallas did as asked and then dropped into the worn burgundy leather guest chair. “What’s up?”
“I’m totally screwed.”
Dallas tried not to smile. Her friend had a penchant for drama. Their circle of college friends had been certain Trudie would end up on Broadway and not dressing department store windows. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m in charge of doing the Fifth Avenue window display for the Fourth of July sale. It’s also the store’s tenth anniversary.”
“Sounds like a big deal.”
“Yes,” Trudie said miserably. “And I’m about to blow it big-time.”
“How?”
Trudie shoved the pink slip she’d been studying across her crowded desk, between a stack of fashion magazines and a pile of fabric swatches.
Dallas picked up the phone message. It was from someone named Starla Jenkins. It simply said she had a stomach virus and had to cancel tomorrow evening.
“Okay,” Dallas said slowly, sliding the pink slip back toward Trudie. Her friend was obviously upset, so she forwent the wisecrack that came to mind. “And?”
“I am so screwed.”
“Who’s Starla Jenkins?”
“A model I’d hired.” Trudie exhaled sharply. “Stomach virus, my ass. I haven’t heard of anything going around.”
“So? I’m sure there are fifteen others who’d love to take her place. Call the agency.”
“It’s not that simple,” Trudie said and then remained silent as she stared at Dallas with an odd expression on her face. Her gaze dropped to Dallas’s hands and she wrinkled her nose. “Your nails are horrible.”
Dallas reflexively balled them into fists. “I just got off work.”
“That’s okay.” Trudie flashed her a quick smile. “We can fix them.”
&
nbsp; “I don’t want them fixed.” She studied her friend for a moment, a bad feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. “Look, if you need to cancel dinner so you can find a replacement, I totally understand.”
Trudie’s gaze stayed steady. “I already have.”
Dallas stared back, feeling uneasy. Trudie couldn’t possibly be thinking— No, of course not. Ridiculous. She knew better. But just in case… “No.”
“Come on, Dallas. I’m not asking you to do it for free.”
“Why ask me period? You could find a replacement in half an hour.”
“No way, toots.” Trudie shook her head. “I promised my manager something special. A live mannequin.”
Dallas’s mouth opened but didn’t cooperate any further.
“You gave me the idea,” Trudie said in an accusatory tone. “Remember how in college you used to fake everyone out. Jill and I’d take bets you could stay perfectly still for a half hour at a time. Hell, we used to clean up. Pay for all our gas and entertainment.”
“That was eight years ago.”
“You did it again at the Christmas party last year and took fifty bucks off that snobby Chandler Whitestone.”
“That was different. He ticked me off.”
“Please, Dallas. You have to bail me out.”
Dallas sighed. Did she have Sucker written across her forehead or something? “I have faith you’ll find some one else. Or come up with another window display.”
“By tomorrow?”
“I’m not standing in a damn department store window. I’m too out of shape.”
“Bull. You should have never left the business.” Trudie glanced at Dallas’s hands again. “Your nails suck, but other than that you’re every bit as pretty and—”
“I’m twenty-nine.”
Trudie’s mouth twisted wryly. “There’s that.”
Dallas stood. “Moot point. Are we doing dinner or not?”
“Look, my career’s on the line here.” Trudie hesitated. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate.”
