by Heidi Rice
He was relieved to see the long, sedate black limo waiting at the kerb for them. The chauffeur jumped out and rushed round to open the back door, blowing his hands to warm them.
Jessie’s teeth chattered beside him. ‘It’s freezing.’ She looked confused as he took her hand and pulled her towards the open door of the limo. ‘What are you doing, Monroe?’
‘We’re not going home tonight,’ Monroe said. He could see she was about to protest, so he lifted her up in his arms. ‘I’ve got an early Christmas present for you, Red.’
Jessie clung onto his neck. ‘Put me down, you mad man. You’ll fall on your bum. The pavement’s covered in ice.’
He carried her into the luxurious interior of the limo without a single slip.
‘How long are you going to live in Manhattan, sweetheart, before you realise we don’t have pavements here, we have sidewalks?’ He settled her onto his lap as the chauffeur slammed the door.
‘What on earth is this all about, Monroe?’ she said eventually.
‘Nothing,’ he said, wrapping his arms around her waist. ‘Just taking my wife out on a date.’ He loved the sound of those words; ‘my wife.’ He still hadn’t gotten out of the habit of saying them as often as was humanly possible.
He leaned across and pressed a small button on the console in the door.
The chauffeur’s black screen slid back. ‘Yes, sir?’
‘Take us to the Waldorf, buddy. But we don’t want to get there for at least an hour. And keep the screen closed.’
‘No problem, sir,’ the man replied.
The screen slid silently shut and the car pulled out. The colourful lights and chaotic sounds that were Manhattan at Christmas whirled past outside as Monroe settled into the warm, seductive darkness. The smell of leather and his wife’s perfume filled the air. The familiar flowery scent never failed to make his blood heat. He stroked his hands up the soft velvet that clung to her curves. She shivered as he kissed the sensitive skin at her nape. It was incredible the way she responded to him.
Their tongues danced in a well-remembered rhythm. His demanding, insistent, hers giving, seeking, until they were both panting.
Finally, he lifted his head. His deep blue eyes were dark with desire and intent on hers as he twisted her in his lap.
Fisting his hands in her hair, he brought his lips to hers. When they were a whisper apart, he paused, grinned. ‘You know, Red. I may never have been your dream guy. But you sure are my dream girl.’
To hell with the dream guy, Jessie thought as she sank into the hot, passionate kiss, the heat throbbing in her core at the promise of what was to come. The real one’s much better.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-1112-8
BEDDED BY A PLAYBOY
Previously published in the U.K. under the title
BEDDED BY THE BAD BOY.
First North American Publication 2008.
Copyright © 2007 by Heidi Rice.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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