by Summer Devon
Part of her wanted to slip out the door before Tom noticed and head back to her apartment. After that dance, she wasn’t sure what she could say to him. More seriously, she wasn’t sure she could casually walk down the street beside him as if nothing had happened.
Apparently, from his point of view, nothing had. He was still acting the same way he always did, joking with Harry and Chico, listening to Sylvia’s complaints with a certain glazed patience, bagging up the most visible trash so that the restaurant could open at noon tomorrow, even though Leon didn’t come in until Sunday afternoon. For him, it seemed to have been a quick turn around the dance floor and then back to business. Nothing special.
Deirdre, on the other hand, felt as if her world had tipped on its axis. She wasn’t sure how long it would take her to return to an even keel, but she knew she wasn’t there yet. And walking anywhere alone with Tom Ames wasn’t likely to make that equalizing any easier. Finally, she leaned behind the bar and retrieved her purse, hoping she could get to the door while he was stacking chairs.
He was at her side in an instant. “Hang on a minute. I’m almost through.”
She thought about telling him she could walk herself home, as she’d told him every night, hoping this time he’d take her at her word. But she figured it was probably a lost cause. At this point telling him not to bother was more a formality than anything else.
Guts up, Deirdre. Time to put on your big girl panties.
“I’m walking Deirdre home,” he called to Chico, then started toward the door.
She caught a quick look at Sylvia’s face. Her eyes and mouth had narrowed as if she’d just tasted an unripe persimmon.
“Why don’t you or Chico walk Sylvia home?” she asked.
Tom blinked at her, then he shrugged. “She drives to work. I think she lives closer to Johnson City. Chico keeps an eye on the parking lot.”
Deirdre’s face felt warm in the darkness. Geez, shouldn’t she be too old to blush now? “Oh.”
Somewhere in the distance, the muffled roar of a motorcycle rumbled out of town, probably heading off toward one of the campgrounds back in the hills. Other than that, Main seemed more silent than usual, with everything closed down except a distant Stop and Go. Briefly, Deirdre pictured the streets outside her condo in Houston. She didn’t think she’d ever seen them empty, even at two a.m. Different world, Deirdre.
Tom grinned lazily as they strolled up the street. “Another good night,” he mused, finally.
“Did we have more people than usual, or is that what you expected?”
“We’ve been building the audience for a while now, but this was the first weekend where we really had a sell-out, or close to it anyway. How’d you like the band?”
“They were very…” She searched for the word. “Eclectic, I guess.”
He chuckled. “They do a lot of different stuff. Classic bar band. Whatever the crowd’s looking for, they can deliver. At least they had the people up on the dance floor most of the night. Kept them thirsty.”
She nodded, trying to think of something—anything—to say that didn’t involve “Volver”. “You’re a good dancer,” she blurted. Apparently, her brain and her mouth weren’t currently on speaking terms.
He grinned down at her. “So are you.”
“No I’m not.” She blew out a breath. “I don’t really dance much. I never had the time. Or I didn’t. Maybe now I will.” She was once again profoundly grateful for the darkness that hid the fact that her face was flaming. Clearly, this was her night for idiocy.
“I hope so.”
She knew he was still smiling. She could hear it in his voice. Fortunately for both her sanity and her dignity, the door to her apartment was just ahead. “Well,” she murmured as she dug in her purse for her key, “thanks again.”
Tom took the key from her fingers and unlocked the door for her, then turned back. He stood between her and the open door, but she suddenly had no desire to ask him to move. She stared up at his face in the dim light. As he turned, the reflection from the streetlights caught tiny flecks of gold in his hair. He reached out slowly, smoothing an errant lock of her hair back behind her ear.
Almost without thinking, Deirdre shifted up on her toes, leaning toward him and ignoring the frenzied alarm bells clanging in her brain. Maybe it was time she tried making the first move for a change. Just because she’d never done it before didn’t mean she couldn’t do it now. She remembered the feel of his hand on her hip when they danced, the warmth that had spread across her body. Just a taste. Just a touch. Nothing serious.
Her lips touched his, lightly, gently, almost as if she were afraid he might run.
She leaned closer, into the heat of his body. Running didn’t seem to be on his mind at the moment. She moved the tip of her tongue along his lower lip, tasting salt and warmth. He reminded her faintly of potato chips, and she felt almost like giggling. Her bête noire. She’d never been able to resist potato chips.
Her hands moved without her willing them, resting on his chest, her palms rubbing across the smooth fabric of his T-shirt, feeling the slight jut of his nipples underneath.
And then his arms locked around her waist, pulling her tighter against him. His mouth opened against hers and she answered him, sucking on his tongue as he pushed against her lips. Her head was spinning, and she wondered if she should take a breath. But she knew the spinning had nothing to do with breathing and everything to do with the heat that spread slowly from the point where their bodies met, the swell of his arousal and the throb of her own.
He angled his head, taking the kiss deeper, and she followed him, winding her arms around his neck now, pressing herself against him, feeling the heat and pressure and excitement building deep inside as she moved closer still. As she moved her hands up the back of his neck, feeling the prickle of short hair against her palms. As she pressed her body against his, shoulder to knee, her breasts flat against his chest. As she…
Oh my god. What am I doing?
Suppose the solution to all your problems is the one thing you never wanted…
Anything You Want
© 2011 Erin Nicholas
It figures the one time Sabrina Cassidy is determined to do the responsible thing, karma kicks in. After four years on the road chasing her musical dream, she’s stranded six hours from home with no money, a ruined credit history—and morning sickness.
Out of options, she swallows her legendary independent streak and calls the only person who won’t hang up on her. Luke, the man she left behind.
Marc Sterling’s first instinct is to protect his business partner and best friend from another broken heart. That means letting her think she’s talking to Luke, then finding a way to send her in the opposite direction.
When he shows up at her hotel room, there’s something in the air beside their customary insults. Sure, her rebellious attitude, smart mouth—and purple panties—still drive him crazy, but now it’s a different kind of crazy. The kind that has him driving her home instead of to the nearest airport.
And when Luke offers to solve all her problems if she’ll only say “I do”, Marc realizes he’s just crazy enough—about her—to forget whose heart he wanted to protect.
Warning: Contains two people who don’t like each other very much, a Toyota that can’t quite handle the road trip home, and a spontaneous proposal. Or two. Or three. And foreplay with—what else—pie filling.
Enjoy the following excerpt for title
Sabrina was sound asleep on one of the beds with her back to him when Marc opened the motel room door five hours and forty-eight minutes later.
He didn’t know what he’d expected. In fact, he’d purposefully spent most of the trip thinking about anything but the actual reason for his long drive. He’d mentally played with some recipes, listened to talk radio, made some business calls. But it almost felt like he’d been worried about her.
And that irritated him.
He jerked the drapes open, spilling lig
ht into the room. That didn’t wake her.
He cleared his throat, then coughed, then coughed louder. She didn’t even turn.
But as the door met the frame in an angry smack, she sat straight up in bed, the sheet clutched to her chin, eyes wide. She found him standing near the door and sucked in a deep breath.
“Let’s go, Seattle. I don’t have all day.”
She opened her mouth to scream, then she narrowed her eyes and peered at him. “Marc?”
“Yeah.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I told you on the phone I was on my way.” He strode toward the bedside lamp and switched it on.
“I thought I was talking to Luke.” She scowled at him even as she blinked in the sudden brightly lit room. “I asked for Luke.”
“He was busy.”
“And you didn’t tell him?”
He slammed his hands down on his hips. “No, I didn’t tell him that you called, that you were in trouble, or that you needed him. Because this shit is not going to start again. I mean it.”
“And you decided to drive six hours to tell me that?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact I did. Among other things. And you’re welcome,” he said, towering over where she sat with her back pressed against the headboard of the bed.
“For what? The terror that ripped through me as a man unexpectedly charged into my motel room? Yeah, you bet. Thanks.”
“And am I right to assume that you don’t have pepper spray or self-defense skills or any other way of protecting yourself if I actually was someone who was here to hurt you?”
“Other than the butcher knife under my pillow, no.”
Marc glared at her. “You didn’t have to sell all your butcher knives so that you could get across Wyoming before becoming stranded in Dirty Gulch?”
“Muddy Gap.”
“Whatever.”
“You don’t believe me about selling things so I could have money to come home?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m here now so I don’t care.” Why he was being so mean he couldn’t say. Maybe because he’d held back when she’d first called. He’d held back because down in some deep, stupid part of him, he’d been worried about her. She was over three hundred miles away, stranded with no car or money, no friend or even acquaintance nearby, and he’d been worried about her.
Now, however, he was here with her, could see for himself that she was fine, and was here to be sure she stayed fine. There was no need to hold his frustration and bitterness and anger back anymore.
Sabrina swung her legs over the edge of the bed and pulled the sheet tighter around her. “I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time, by the way,” she said, clearly huffy. “So, not that it’s any of your business, but the money issue is new. And I didn’t even intend to call you. I called Luke if you remember. You could have delivered a message. You took it upon yourself to come.”
“You had to know that there was no way in hell I was letting him come. Real sorry to foil your plan.”
She snorted. “You’ve never been sorry about anything having to do with me in your life. What plan?”
“The plan to get Luke out here, hundreds of miles from home, feeling sorry for you, coming to your rescue.”
“You think I somehow messed my transmission up on purpose?”
“Can’t say that the thought didn’t occur to me.”
She stood and turned to face him, her eyes glinting with her temper. “All I would have had to do was call Luke and ask him to come. I wouldn’t even have had to pop the hood.”
He scowled at her. She was right and he hated that she knew it and was so in his face with it.
“Let’s go already.”
“Okay, okay…” She continued muttering something under her breath he couldn’t hear and decided that was likely for the best. She scooted to the edge of the bed and pulled the top sheet with her.
She looked at him expectantly.
“What?” he finally asked.
“I need to get dressed.”
Automatically his eyes slid over her body. It was hidden under the sheet but he felt his heart speed up.
“You always sleep nude?” That would be a redeeming quality at least.
“I was hot and sweaty when I got here. I showered and rinsed my bra and panties out and laid them out to dry. If you must know.”
She pointed in the direction of the air conditioning vent. It was directly over the chair she’d obviously drug into place so she could hang her underwear over the two wooden arms.
Lavender.
Her panties and bra were lavender.
And tiny.
She wasn’t a big girl by any stretch, but these things were clearly more for show than support.
“Nice,” he commented dryly.
“So glad you like them.” For Marc, Sabrina and sarcasm went hand in hand.
“Put them on already and let’s go.”
She stood, with the sheet wrapped under her arms sarong-style. “Do you mind?”
“Not a bit.”
“You want to step outside?” she asked, looking pointedly at the door.
“No I don’t. As you pointed out, it’s hot out there. I’m starting to cool off now. You don’t want to be in the same room with me, you step outside.”
Her gaze flickered to the bathroom door. That would make sense. She should go in there and change. But, as expected based on history, she wasn’t going to let him get away with the last word.
“Fine.”
She tucked the sheet in more firmly between her breasts, turned her back and snagged the bra from the arm of the chair where it hung.
Marc took a seat in the chair by the window, facing the room. That should drive her nuts. He would ignore his own traitorous reaction to the whole thing. It was simple—he was a guy and she was a nearly naked woman in a hotel room. Some reaction should be expected. In fact, if he hadn’t reacted he’d be concerned.
He watched her stick her arms through the straps of the bra and pull the cups into position, then reach behind to fasten the hooks.
Beautiful, pretty, cute, sexy—they were all different terms he used to described women. If had to choose one for Sabrina he’d definitely go with sexy. But beautiful too. Not drop-dead-gorgeous. She didn’t turn every head when she walked in a room. There were men who would not, maybe, find her attractive. Guys who liked curvy blondes, for example. Or who were firmly in the redhead camp. Guys who liked major curves also wouldn’t find her slim, toned build tempting.
Unfortunately, Marc wasn’t one of those guys.
Which annoyed the bejeezus out of him. It had always annoyed the bejeezus out of him.
It seemed that one way or another Sabrina Cassidy was destined to raise his blood pressure. A lot of the time—most of the time—she was pissing him off. And most of those times she was doing it on purpose. But he could walk in a oom where she was and feel his heart race even before he saw her. He anticipated seeing her. He always searched her out. He used to try to tell himself that it was because he was instantly expecting her to do something to make him mad and it was better to keep an eye on one’s enemies. But he hadn’t believed that even from the first moment.
He didn’t like her. He didn’t trust her. Yet his body wanted hers.
The damnedest thing was he was attracted in spite of trying to fight it. For years. He’d never fought it like this with another woman. Only one other woman had been off-limits in his mind and it was because she was the younger sister of a friend.
The thing that really put Sabrina on Marc’s do-not-go-there list was the fact that he found her to be the most frustrating person in the entire world. If he said the sky was blue, she would argue it was purple, just to annoy him. He’d once complimented her outfit. She’d asked if his mother knew he was gay. He’d offered to help her study for a calculus test once and she’d asked if everyone else on the planet had been wiped out by a nuclear disaster—because that was the only way she would even
think about spending more than ten minutes with him in one stretch.
He supposed that was where it came from. He didn’t like her because it had been clear since the day he moved into the neighborhood in fifth grade that she didn’t like him.
Of course, it also had a lot to do with the fact that she screwed over Luke Hamilton, the nicest guy on the planet, repeatedly.
She glanced over her shoulder as she pulled the bra straps into place.
He yawned.
He’d rather die than let her know that she’d created some of the fastest and most painful hard-ons he’d ever had. And today was no exception.
She rolled her eyes and reached for her panties. Somehow she managed to step into them without losing the sheet. It was huge on her, wrapped around more than once, so there was no glimpsing skin as she moved. Until she had the panties in place underneath.
Then she let the sheet drop.
Unnatural Calamities
Summer Devon
She has a deft hand with banana flambé…and a touch that sets his body on fire.
Janey knows all too well she looks a wreck. What hard-working chef wouldn’t, operating on three hours of sleep? Stuck in a dull Connecticut town, taking care of her beloved niece, Rachel, Janey spends her days looking for a job and her nights working high-end catering gigs.
Just her luck, she runs into Mr. Perfect two days past her designated laundry day. And she’s just found out her niece is passing her off as “Mom” to avoid the embarrassment of admitting her real mother, Janey’s identical twin, is serving time.
Despite Janey’s questionable fashion sense and the juicy gossip about her checkered past, venture capitalist Christopher Dunham finds himself drawn to her spark. And warmed by her obvious affection for Rachel, so like what he feels for his own daughter.
When sexy, way-out-of-her-league Toph offers her a business loan, Janey can’t believe her long string of bad luck with bad boys has come to an end. At least, until a blast from her sister’s shady past turns up the heat on their attraction. And sets off a chain of events that could snuff out the flame just as their love starts to come to a boil…
