by Avery Flynn
“Always happy to help.”
Lifting her head, she slid her hand to around his nape. “Most of all, you shared who you are with me.”
Guilt stabbed him. He hadn’t told her everything.
“Any man who can talk about his mother the way you do yours?” She pressed a kiss to his lips then whispered, “I hope falling in love feels like I feel when I’m with you, because if it doesn’t, then I don’t want to know.”
A better man would have cleared the air on that one, tiny little matter of his lineage. Her lips were petal soft beneath his, and she parted her lips. But even his willpower had limits. With her mouth opening to him, he swooped in to take the kiss she offered.
He’d avoided trying to take advantage of the situation. Been explicit, he demanded nothing and only honesty about his emotions. Hell, it wrecked him, the way he felt about her. Once he’d admitted it aloud, they dug their roots into him. The only thing he wanted was Hoshi’s happiness. Her joy made the world a brighter place.
Drunk on the taste of her lips, he struggled to re-exert his self-control. “We shouldn’t,” he said against her mouth, savoring every stroke of her tongue. Propriety and passion warred within him.
Instead of answering him, she slid her fingers through his hair. The gentle caress of her nails on his scalp ignited a deeper hunger. Between her devouring kisses, and her soft hands holding him captive, he didn’t want to be anywhere else. Shifting his grip to her robe, he nudged it apart then hesitated.
Hoshi broke from the kiss long enough to stare at him, heat simmering beneath her ultra-dark lashes. “I’m not being impulsive, and I’m not going to hate you afterward,” she punctuated the promise with another sensual kiss. Every touch electrified him and his blood went south. “And, I swear, I’m not going to videotape you.”
A burst of humor rolled through him and he laughed against her lips. “No?”
“No,” she said, then sucked his lower lip against her teeth. Both innocent and erotic, it galvanized him. “I don’t want to share your body with anyone else.”
Possessiveness flooded him. “Good. The same goes for you, my exquisite Hoshi.” Indulging himself, he slid his palms inside her robe to find nothing but gloriously warm, smooth skin. Her breasts were slight, but soft and sweet. The turgid tips of her nipples firm against his hand. Catching one between his thumb and forefinger, he gave it the gentlest of tweaks.
Her gasp delighted him as he swooped in for a deeper kiss. The rigid guard he’d played against his desire shattered. Shifting her on his lap, he tumbled her onto the sofa, robe open to let him explore every inch of her. She dug her fingers into his shoulders as he kissed a path from her mouth to her breasts.
Every time she pulled at him, he’d lean up, steal another kiss and delve deep into her mouth before returning to his worship of her breasts. He’d always thought himself to be a big boob woman, but her barely a handful left him aching hard. His urge to fuck her until she couldn’t walk was tempered only by the need to amp her pleasure.
Teasing her breasts, cupping and molding them, he broke the kiss to stare at the tight, deep dark raspberries of her nipples. They tightened under his thumbs. When he latched onto one and began to suck, she let out a harsh breath. Her pants mirrored his own.
Gliding one hand beneath her ass, he began to massage her bottom. Every touch he allowed himself left him hungrier for more. After laving her other nipple for a moment, he traced a path with his lips down her navel and paused at the panda tattoo next to her belly button. It was both sweet and sexy. “Remind me to ask you about this later,” he murmured.
“Okay,” she groaned, as he hadn’t waited for her answer before sliding his fingers through the dark curls at the juncture of her thighs, parting the labia for his kiss. The carnal kiss he delivered detonated the last of his synapses capable of reason. All that was left for him was her pleasure, and the sweet sounds she made as he licked a circle around her clit.
The tight bundle of nerves began to swell against his ministrations, and he sucked on it. Her sudden cry and fierce tightening of her muscles as she orgasmed against his mouth was the best damn thing he’d heard all day.
And he’d heard her sing. He indulged himself by easing a finger into her slick channel as he petted her through the orgasm, then began to work her with his tongue to drive her back to the edge.
One orgasm would not be enough.
She came the second time in a rush, her ecstasy an exquisite flavor he wanted to sample forever. Breaking from her a moment, he stood and stripped off his robe.
Fuck. Below him she sprawled against the cushions, legs parted, lips swollen, and damp hair mussed—a goddess. “Don’t move.” He ordered, then damn near ran for his bedroom. Damn condoms were in his bag. Thirty-hellishly-long-seconds later he made it back to her and she’d risen on her elbows, the dazed look in her eyes replaced by welcome warmth.
Catching his cock in her hand, she threatened their mutual pleasure with a soft, simple stroke. He took her wrist.
“Babe, if you love me even a little, let me come inside you, because if you keep doing that I’m not going to make it.”
Laughing, she plucked the condom from his free hand then tore open the foil. “May I do this, at least?”
Groaning, he closed his eyes and nodded. Denying her wasn’t in his wheelhouse. Sweat slicked his skin as she rolled the condom onto him. Her fingers were so light, the touch almost ephemeral—it tormented him in a way he’d never imagined. Fighting against the need to thrust into her hands, he waited for her to finish then closed his mouth over hers as he eased into the cradle of her thighs.
With her arms around his neck, she drew him deeper and welcomed his kiss even as he guided his cock to her entrance. Easing into her, he discovered the tight fit proved a heady sensual experience for both of them as her breathing harshened and he couldn’t do more than pant between kisses.
Her legs locked around his hips, granting him deeper access and she fit him. God damn, she fit him, perfectly shaped—just for him. Finding his rhythm, he thrust with abandon and tangled with her tongue in hot, open-mouthed kisses. His finesse shredded and all there was what the hot, vibrant need burning between them.
When she cried out against his mouth, the tight glove of her pussy wrenched his orgasm from him. Shouting as he drove into her the final time, his spine going liquid, he rode the hot tumble over the cliffs.
Collapsing against her, he didn’t try to make sense of anything past the wild cadence of his heart and the sweet musk of their sex perfuming the air around him.
“When I can,” he said, after a long moment of simply savoring the feeling of her damp skin on him. “I’m taking you into the bedroom for round two…”
“Okay,” she agreed. “Round three in the shower or my bedroom?”
His cock gave a little twitch, and he groaned. “Anywhere you want me.”
“Archer,” she asked in a breathy hush.
“Yes, my sweet darling?” Unwilling to deny her anything, he only hoped she didn’t ask him to move until his legs were willing to work again. Cradled by her body was where he wanted to stay, always.
“If love is laughing with someone at your own flaws, and finding a reason to smile when you want to cry, and delighting in how your body feels in their hands…then I think love you, too.”
Raising his head, he studied the tears swimming in her eyes. “Hoshi…”
“We both might need more time, to be sure—because love has so many forms.” She licked her lips. “Do you think we could take a few years to decide?”
A slow grin curved his lips. “How does forty or fifty sound to you?”
Epilogue
“Breaking news, Adonai Sato, brother of pop sensation and This Girl’s Got Talent champion, Hoshi Sato, was cleared on all charges today. ‘Exoneration,’ Sato’s attorney assured the press, ‘was the only call the jury could make in light of the evidence of blackmail and duress Sato faced.’
As our viewers may
recall, Sato was arrested several months ago, just after his sister won This Girl’s Got Talent. The scandal seemed likely to cast a real pall over the breakout superstar’s career, but she never wavered from supporting her brother, openly declaring she loved him and would always stand by him without ever commenting on the trial.
Hoshi Sato has been a familiar figure, attending court every single day on the arm of the Ragin’ Cajuns player Archer Durham—and sporting a very beautiful, and generous sapphire diamond ring on her left hand. Though no announcement is forthcoming, sources tell me that Hoshi and Archer are definitely a thing, ladies, so pack away those hopes. The playboy prince of the ice is off the market, and fans might find some clues to their love story in the hit single from Sato—Ragin’ Love.” –ACE News Clip
About the Author
National bestselling author, Heather Long, likes long walks in the park, science fiction, superheroes, Marines, and men who aren’t douche bags. Her books are filled with heroes and heroines tangled in romance as hot as Texas summertime. From paranormal historical westerns to contemporary military romance, Heather might switch genres, but one thing is true in all of her stories—her characters drive the books. When she’s not wrangling her menagerie of animals, she devotes her time to family and friends she considers family. She believes if you like your heroes so real you could lick the grit off their chest, and your heroines so likable, you’re sure you’ve been friends with women just like them, you’ll enjoy her worlds as much as she does.
The Series So Far…
Andraste Family
Some Like it Royal
Some Like it Scandalous
Some Like it Deadly
Some Like it Secret
Some Like it Easy
Sisters Grace
Her Marine Prince
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Full Contact
by
Andie J. Christopher
This book is for the women in my family, both the family I was born to and the family I’ve made in the romance community.
Special thanks to Jessica Snyder for her meticulous copyedits and Laurel Simmons for her suggestions and encouragement.
1
“You’re not allowed to be cranky in my bar.”
Anders scowled at the barmaid. Since when couldn’t he be cranky in a bar? Bars were for drowning one’s sorrows and toasting one’s victories. Well, they were also for picking up people to have sex with—at least for other people. Not him. Not even if he wanted to.
“Why so grim?” She apparently didn’t take the scowl to mean that he wanted to enjoy his beer in peace. “Seriously, if you’re going to look at me like I pissed in that beer, you’re going to have to tell me what the hell’s the matter with you.”
He considered the list of things wrong with his life that he could tell her. The list was short, but each item weighed about a ton. He wasn’t sure the bar could withstand that kind of weight. “Bad knee.”
The barmaid shrugged. He’d noticed her purple hair and colorful tattoos as soon as he’d walked in, and the full sleeve seemed to dance in the light coming in the window off Lake Superior. She seemed like a beacon in the dark bar—like a wood nymph.
Shit. Maybe she had put something in his beer. Either that, or mixing alcohol and painkillers was worse than he’d thought. But he’d only taken an Aleve today. He needed a clear head for the decisions he would have to make about his career—his life—very soon.
“That’s a tough break.”
“Especially tough since I kind of need my knee for my job.”
“What are you, a superhero?”
Sort of. “I play hockey, professionally.” Her eyes didn’t light up like some women’s did when he said that. Of course, there were women around the team—puck bunnies—that he didn’t need to tell about playing hockey. They already knew, and it was part of what made him attractive to them. That, and the bounty.
Not this girl. She wiped down the bar in front of him again. She’d done it twice since he’d sat down, so he was pretty sure it was clean. But she couldn’t seem to keep still. In the fifteen minutes he’d nursed his first beer, she hadn’t stopped moving once.
“Do you know who I am?” She didn’t look at him. She shrugged again, and the flowers on her shoulder changed shape to him, seemed almost angry. “I don’t follow hockey.”
“Hockey’s religion in Northern Minnesota.” He didn’t know why he was chagrined that she didn’t know who he was, didn’t smile and giggle and flirt now that she knew he played in the league.
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her about the Cup coming to visit in a couple of days when she said, “I’m an atheist.”
And now there was a sulky look on her face. “I thought people weren’t allowed to sulk in your bar.”
“I make the rules, I break them, I guess.” She nodded at his almost empty glass. “Another one?”
It was after noon, so a second beer wouldn’t make him seem like an alcoholic. And he was on vacation, maybe a permanent one. If he had another beer, maybe he could talk to the now-surly barmaid a little longer. Maybe get her to smile.
She nodded at his glass again. Maybe a smile would be pushing it. He’d settle for a smirk.
And then he realized that some of the dark clouds that had been hovering over him since his season ended—during the second-to-last game of the Cup series—had lifted while he was talking to her.
“What’s your name?”
“You want another beer or not?” She looked toward the door, as if she were hoping a rush of people would show and save her from having to talk to him.
“I’m Anders. Anders Sorenson.”
“Jesus Christ.” She grabbed his glass and plunged it in warm soapy water of the sink. “Another Summer Crush?”
She looked back over her shoulder, and he nodded. She pulled another beer and sat it in front of him. He wanted to grab her hand where it touched the cold pint glass and keep her here. He wanted to talk to her a little bit more, but she didn’t even look at him.
Someone waved her down at the end of the bar.
Thunderbay Cove was a hopping resort in late summer. He certainly wasn’t the only person at the bar. Two guys with mullets had been hanging out since before he’d come in.
His family had always come up here in the fall—without him. He’d usually been at hockey camp or on a travel team. But he’d looked at pictures of them all. They’d seemed so happy. He came up here this summer for the first time to figure out if he could be happy without hockey, and this might be the best place to do it.
“Dahlia, the guys who have been drinking since nine are going to die.” The other waitress’s words were laced with venom. He didn’t doubt her proclamation about the fate of the guys drinking for five hours. And now he knew the barmaid’s name – Dahlia. It was lovely, but didn’t fit the hard-edged cool about her.
Dahlia rounded the bar and gave him a look. “Keep an eye on the mullet squad, handsome. If any of them try to pull their own beers, crush them under your hammer or something.”
He laughed; she thought he looked like Thor. He’d take it.
He turned back to his beer and pretended not to notice the guys at the end of the bar getting louder.
“She wouldn’t give you the time of day in high school,” the one with the blond mullet said. “What makes you think you could get a piece of that now?”
The one with the red political baseball cap shoved the blonde one in the arm. “You know how them freaky girls are. They just want to get it, don’t care much from who.”
Anders gripped his beer tighter and took a sip. It took a lot for him not to get up and hand both those guys’ asses to them. That was a terrible idea, though. He might be a professional athlete, but his potential adversaries had heft. If one of them took out his knee, it would put a definite end to his career. A career he wasn’t sure he wanted anymore, but did he want to lose it in a fist fight with a couple of loudmouth drunks?
/> The blond one shrugged. “You might be right. D’s been down on her luck. Maybe it’s bad enough that she’d suck your pencil dick.”
They both laughed, and Anders ground his teeth. These guys were nothing. And they shouldn’t be talking about any woman that way. He clenched his fists and tapped at the bar.
“Your sister doesn’t think it’s a pencil.” Thank God they’d moved on to sisters. Maybe they’d start talking about each others’ moms soon and would keep their fat mouths shut about Dahlia.
“Yeah, but Dahlia Clarno’s such a whore—”
No such luck. Depending on what the guy said next, he’d have to kick some ass. His fists clenched in anticipation, like he was in a game and one of his teammates just took a check and the refs refused to make a call. He’d love to feel the crunch of that motherfucker’s nose under his jaw. It would cure him of a lot of frustration.
Finish that fucking sentence. Dare you.
Instead of finishing his sentence, Red Hat and the Blonde laughed. And laughed. And laughed. They laughed as though calling Dahlia a whore was the funniest thing they’d ever thought of in their pathetic lives.
He couldn’t stop himself. Once they found out who’d hit them, neither would press charges. If they did, his agent could deal with it. Sam obviously didn’t have to field any new deals now.
Anders grabbed the Blonde by the long hair at the back of his head. With a snap of his wrist, he smashed guy’s face into the bar. Red Hat looked at his friend in disbelief, which gave Anders enough time to wrap his hand around the guy’s neck and back him up off his barstool and bend him over against the bar.
“What the fuck?” The blonde clutched at his face, but blood seeped through his fingers onto the bar.
