Love at First Sight Series Boxed Set: (Books 1-5)

by Lynn Cooper

  As I climb the steps leading me to Winter’s side, she scurries ungracefully to her bare feet. Out of the ten women who participated in the auction, she was the only one not wearing shoes. I don’t have a foot fetish, but damn if she doesn’t have the cutest little pugs I’ve ever seen. Her toes are short and stubby, and the nails are painted the palest, most alluring shade of pink.

  She appears to be about five foot nine. Nice and tall, but she still has to lean her lovely neck back to look at me. I’m exactly six foot three, and I fucking love towering over this woman. When she extends her hand as if we are formally introducing ourselves at a business meeting, I give her what I know to be my best panty-melting smile. Ignoring her gesture of greeting, I say, “We already know each other’s names, Miss Primrose. It’s time for us to be going.”

  Her hand instantly drops by her side, and her mouth twists into a glacial frown while her gorgeous green eyes blaze with fury. Chad’s still standing on the stage. Sarah is by his side with her arm looped through his. I give them a smug wink before bending at the knees and lifting Winter Primrose over my left shoulder.

  She gasps, then screams, “Put me down, you damn Neanderthal!”

  Balancing her body with one hand, I use the other to grab and secure her ankles to stop her shapely legs from kicking and flailing.

  “Be still before you hurt yourself.”

  “You’re the one who’s going to get hurt if you don’t set me on my feet this instant.”

  Chad shrugs his wife off and steps toward me with his fists balled by his sides. “You heard the woman, Stoke. Release her.”

  I keep my tone even and voice low. “This woman is none of your concern, Hellerman. She’s mine for the weekend. I paid for her.”

  “Well, you can keep your damn money. Winter is no longer on the table.”

  “She’ll be anywhere I want her—the table, the sofa, the bed, even the fucking kitchen counter. Understand?”

  Chad snarls, bearing his tiny teeth. “And you’ll be in jail within the hour.”

  I glance apologetically at Sarah who looks positively mortified by her husband’s behavior. Through a clenched jaw, I say, “Stop being a spoiled shithead, and act like a decent husband for once. Your wife is waiting for you.”

  His face turns red. “This isn’t over, Torin. You’ve broken the rules here.”

  I smile. “That’s what they were made for.”

  Turning on my heel, I walk out of the theatre with Winter fuming and cussing in my ear.

  When we get to my limo, I open the back door, bend down and toss her onto the seat. As she squirms herself into a properly-seated position, I slide in beside her.

  Chapter Five

  Winter Primrose

  THE HEAT OF TORIN Stoke’s unwavering gaze peppers my flesh with goosebumps. Wearing only this flaming-red, one-piece swimsuit while he sits next to me in a midnight-black, tailor-made tuxedo makes me feel nearly naked. I’m shaking from the inside out with the worst case of nerves I’ve ever had, and he looks completely unshakeable. Like confidence personified. Like buying a woman for the weekend is the most natural thing ever, even if it is for charity.

  Swallowing past the lump lodged in my throat, I rest my hands in my lap, drop my head and whisper, “My being a part of the auction was all wrong. Being here with you now and us spending the weekend together is a mistake.”

  Draping one arm across the back of the soft, leather seat, he angles his long, muscular legs toward me. With the other hand, he firmly grabs my jaw, forcing my head up and around. “When you speak to me, Miss Primrose, you will look me in the eye. Is that understood?”

  I give him my iciest, go-to-hell glare and try to jerk my jaw free of his grasp. Without inflicting any pain, his grip tightens. His nonverbal message is clear; he’s the one in control here, not me.

  “As to your concerns, human beings are miserable disasters. They make mistakes. Do the wrong things all the damn time.”

  The depth of his dark eyes makes me feel as if I’m drowning in a warm pool of molasses. As I’m being pulled under, I can’t help but wonder what kind of mistakes he has made. “Then you agree the right thing to do is to take me home and forget you ever bid on me.”

  He releases my chin. “I agree to no such thing.”

  “In that case,” I say, looking out the window, purposely disobeying his order to maintain eye contact, “you should tell your driver he is headed in the opposite direction of the hotel. The Hyatt is north of the interstate, not south.”

  I watch him take a deep breath and clench his square jaw. The play of muscles dancing along his five o’clock shadow is mesmerizing. My fingers are itching to touch his face, and my tongue tingles at the possibility of tangling with his. Holy hell! These are not the kind of thoughts I normally have about real-life men. Book boyfriends, definitely, but not the real-world men in my circle. In regards to those lying, cheating turds, my mind is too busy thinking about ways to castrate them, not make out with them.

  Before I can fully process these feelings, Mr. Stoke’s strong hands are bracketing my waist, lifting me off the seat and then depositing me on his lap. Given my height, if we weren’t in a Hummer limo with a high ceiling, I would have bumped the top of my head. He turns me mid-lift so that I’m naturally straddling him.

  A fresh surge of shock and anger overtakes me. “Wh-what the devil do you think you’re doing?”

  “Since you can’t follow one simple rule, I’ve arranged it so you have no choice but to obey me. If I tell you to look me in the eye when we’re talking, that’s what I mean for you to do, Miss Primrose.”

  Just because he bought me doesn’t mean he owns me. He’s not the boss of me, and if he thinks I’m his for the taming, he best think again. Since I have plenty of room to show him how wildly I can behave, I do.

  With both hands fisted, I pound his chest then shove as hard as I can against it. Squirming my hips violently, I try with all my might to push away from him and off his lap. My efforts are quickly quailed by his fingers digging into my hips. Irritatingly, he easily stills my movements and renders me speechless with the intensity of his gaze. Just as I attempt to open my mouth, his driver hits a pothole. The sudden jolt bounces my bottom against the full length of Mr. Stoke’s hard-as-a-rock erection.

  Even though I figured he found me somewhat attractive or else he wouldn’t have bid on me, I am still surprised by his body’s reaction. Of course, it could have nothing to do with me at all. It’s common knowledge that a man’s penis can be stimulated by something as simple as friction from the fabric of his pants.

  Still, the intimate feel of him makes me dizzy. He raises an eyebrow as if daring me to speak.

  I accept that dare. “Tell your driver to take us to the hotel now or else this weekend is officially canceled, and I am going home.”

  “James has his instructions and, unlike you, he will follow them without question.”

  “Where did you tell him to take us?”

  “Stoke Estate.”

  “Where you live?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’re going to your house?”

  “Is your blood sugar too low, Miss Primrose? Have you lost all mental focus?”

  “I could definitely use a snack. I haven’t eaten since lunch, but I still have the ability to fully comprehend,” I say, folding my arms across my chest defensively. “I just can’t believe the extent of your arrogance and audacity. As much as I dislike and almost always disagree with Chad, he’s right in this instance. You are breaking the auction contract.”

  “For good reason. I’m protecting you.”

  “From?”

  “Bed bugs, bacteria and probably food poisoning.”

  “What?”

  “Hotels are filthy, Miss Primrose. I am not interested in either of us being bitten by insects, contracting a staphylococcus infection or throwing our guts up from salmonella poisoning. Perhaps your views are different, but I do not consider those things romantic in the least.”


  I huff my indignation. “The time we’re spending together isn’t about romance. It’s about you helping sick children, not helping yourself to me.”

  “I disagree. It’s well within my rights to do both.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “I figure a million dollars buys me a lot of leeway.”

  Chapter Six

  Torin Stoke

  WITH BARE ARMS CROSSED under her beautiful breasts and her raised chin radiating attitude, Winter Primrose has no idea how badly I want to restrain her delicate wrists, spank her fine ass and fuck her pretty cunt until every inch of her frigidity melts into a river of hot, molten lava beneath me.

  It’s a universal truth; the more forbidden something is, the more desirable it becomes. At this moment, I have never desired a woman as much as I do Winter. Holding her firmly in my lap, the feel of her butt pressing against my aching cock is pure erotic torture. I can’t stop my eyes from roaming over her flushed face, the ivory column of her neck, her curvy waist, the flare of her hips and those long, sinful legs pressed on either side of my thighs.

  She’s straddling me like she would a horse, and I want nothing more than to buck against her while she rides me all night long and into tomorrow morning. Unfortunately, my wishes are pure fantasy. This woman is sending out fuck-off signals so strong they could be seen from the moon.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I know I have to stop ogling her. It would probably be a good idea to get her off my lap while I’m at it. The problem is, I just want to get her off. Period. To make her come so hard the entire neighborhood hears her screaming my name.

  While I’m plotting my next move, she straightens her spine, inadvertently pushing out her ample boobs and glaring at me like she has read my dirty mind and finds it appalling.

  My attraction to this woman and my interest in her is searing and tangible, but her expression tells me she has misjudged the way I operate. I would never force or coerce a woman into sex. It’s not my style. To show her my intentions are noble despite my raging hard-on, I gently lift her up and place her back on the seat beside me.

  I can literally feel the temperature in the car drop with each sullen breath she takes. I don’t want either of us to spend an entire weekend with a black, angry cloud hovering above our heads, so I decide to play nice.

  Clearing my throat, I say, “Miss. Primrose, I’d like for us to start over. I want us to enjoy our time together, and I really would like to get to know you better.”

  She cuts her eyes at me and exhales heavily. “How do you propose to do that?”

  “It sounds a little juvenile, but we could play Twenty Questions. What do you say?”

  “I say I’m barely in the mood for five.”

  I nod. “Five it is then. I’ll start off with something simple. What’s your favorite food?”

  Her stomach growls on cue. “Pepperoni pizza with mushrooms, black olives and extra cheese.”

  “Any particular retailer preference?”

  “Nope, and that counts as two questions.”

  “Smartass,” I say, chuckling before pressing the intercom button. “James?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Stop at the next pizza place, hit the drive thru and order two large pepperoni pizzas with mushrooms, black olives and extra cheese.”

  “Consider it done, sir.”

  When the intercom clicks off, Winter turns toward me and says, “Two? God, you must think I’m a big, fat freight hog.”

  “In case my cock didn’t make it clear earlier, I think you’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid hands or eyes upon.”

  She snorts. I know it’s in disbelief, and that makes me feel sad, but I can’t help but smile because the noise she made sounded like a cute little piggy. I don’t dare tell her that.

  “Maybe your cock needs glasses.”

  I take her by the shoulders and force her to look at me even though I silently swore not to touch her again until she asked me to. “That makes absolutely no sense, Miss Primrose. Everybody knows one-eyed trouser snakes wear contact lenses.”

  She falls back against the seat laughing, and my insides light up like a fucking fireworks show on the fourth of July. When she grows quiet, I say, “You owe me three more questions.”

  “Fire away.”

  I want to make them count without being too serious or heavy. “If you enjoy reading, what is your favorite genre?”

  She blushes, and I adore the way her rosy cheeks warm up beneath my gaze.

  “Romance.”

  My reaction is knee-jerk and definitely not the right thing to say, but the words tumble out before I’m able to stop them. “That’s an odd genre for an ice queen.”

  Her face falls, and her eyes freeze over anew. Fuck. I should have said anything but that.

  “Why would you call me that?” she asks, frowning. Then she looks like she’s having a lightbulb moment. “Oh, my, God! Now I know why you stepped up with your million-dollar gesture. Chad told you to bid on the ice queen. This is some sort of ploy. The two of you are in this together, right?”

  I shake my head. “In what?”

  “Cahoots. He’s been trying to get into my pants for five years with no luck.”

  I’m secretly relieved to hear her revelation. The jealous way Hellerman was acting at the auction had me worried there was something sexual going on between him and Winter. And the very thought makes me see red. “What the hell does his hitting on you have to do with me?” I ask, feigning offense.

  She rolls her eyes as if the answer should be obvious. “He wanted you to get me in bed so you could give him all the juicy details. So he could live vicariously through you. He’s so perverted; he probably asked you to record us so he could watch.”

  I have two questions left, and she’s pissed me off enough to deserve this one. “Would you like it if other men watched us having sex?”

  Chapter Seven

  Winter Primrose

  THE SLAP OF MY hand against Torin Stoke’s face ricochets loudly inside the limo. For a few seconds, both of us seem stunned by my actions. During those few heartbeats, I have an epiphany. The reason I’m so angry is that this stranger’s question has hit a little too close to home.

  I’m drawn to erotic romance novels that fuel my most secret and kinky desires. Late at night when I touch myself, it’s those fantasies that play out in my head. Ones where a sexy male voyeur is watching me being fucked by my lover. Ones where I’m being pleasured by more than one man. Ones where I’m lying nude on a soft, shaggy-carpeted platform and multiple men are so excited and turned on by my beauty, they jackoff to me, squirting their cum all over my body. Ones where I’m tied up and spanked by a Dominant who commands my every move and uses me for his own pleasure.

  I can’t read the expression on Mr. Stoke’s face, but he seems to have recovered from the initial shock of me hitting him. I don’t think he is going to retaliate in kind or even verbally lash out in anger. He just looks oddly determined.

  “Answer me, Miss Primrose.”

  “I will not dignify such filth with a response.”

  “You agreed to five questions. That was number four.”

  I can see he isn’t about to let this go, so I say, “My answer is, no.”

  He furrows his brow. “Your answer is a lie.”

  “You’re calling me a liar?”

  “Yes.”

  “Charitable cause or not, I don’t think this is going to work, Mr. Stoke. Can you please order your driver to take me home?”

  “Nope.”

  My face burns with fury. “You can’t hold me against my will.”

  “I can hold you against anything I want. Your will. My chest. My mattress. The backseat of this car. I’m bigger than you. Strong than you. Quicker than you.”

  “You wouldn’t dare. Why tha—that’s practically rape.”

  “Final question. Do you have a rape fantasy as well, Miss Primrose?”

  Now he’s done it. My God, is th
is handsome devil a damn mind reader, too? I mean, no woman wants to be raped by some violent criminal in a dark alleyway. But lots of women love the idea of being taken against their wishes within the confines of safe, consensual role playing with a partner they trust. Which is the main reason I won’t ever have my fantasies fulfilled. I don’t trust any man, especially not one I just met.

  “I’m not answering anymore of your sick questions.”

  “Fine. It’s your turn then, but you only get four since you refused to answer number five.”

  I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm my nerves. I’m not sure I want to ask him anything. Yet I’m dying to know everything about him. I take a few minutes to think before carefully choosing my first question.

  “How many women have you had?”

  “By had, I’m assuming you mean fucked.”

  I nod, feeling bashful and wishing I hadn’t asked.

  “Fifteen, but I’m clean. I always practice safe sex, making sure the women I’m with also have clean bills of health.”

  “Have you ever been in love, Mr. Stoke?”

  “No.”

  This shocks me. I can’t imagine a man being with that many women and never falling in love. But then again, Giovanni was a hound, too. I thought he was in love with me and believed we would get married someday. But finding him in bed with my cousin on Christmas morning cured me of that notion quick enough. Honestly, I’m beginning to think not even one single male in the entire species is capable of truly committing to just one woman.

  Mr. Stoke rubs his hands together in what I can only interpret as anticipation. “What else? I’m enjoying this line of questioning. It makes me think you might want to take a ride on the old Torin Train,” he says, giving me a cocky wink.

  Smirking, I say, “I will never have sex with you.”

  “Never say never, sugar.”

  His sweet endearment makes me shiver.