by Mary Winter
Sadie pressed her back against the wall, fiercely staring anywhere but toward the door from which Devon’s voice emerged. She sucked in gulps of air. With each breath, she reminded herself that she worked for Devon. The fact she lusted after his body didn’t change a thing. Not their employer-employee relationship and certainly not the fact that his family money had obtained the vet practice for him. She heard rustling from the small bathroom, and a few moments later, Devon emerged wearing only a worn pair of jeans and carrying the rest of his clothing.
He glanced over her dirty coveralls. The heat of his gaze burned through her, and even reeking of cow and covered with blood and fluids, Devon’s focused held the power to make her breath catch in her throat. Water over the bridge, under the bridge. It doesn’t really matter. We’re from two different worlds. I put myself through vet school, and he was born with the platinum spoon in his mouth. I’ve been through that once and won’t do it again. “Thanks,” she muttered, racing into the room and closing the door behind her.
Juli’s Choice
By Mary Winter
Available Now from Pink Petal Books
The birth of a foal never failed to move Juli. She watched as Lacey gave two more pushes, then the baby slid to the ground. Instantly, Juli moved to its side.
She finished ripping the sac from its head, and then used a cloth to wipe the foal’s nostrils. It took its first breath of fresh air and raised its head. Juli smiled down into its eyes.
“A colt,” Riley said, kneeling by the foal’s side and beginning to briskly rub him down with towels. “Windfree’s first son,” he breathed, the awe more than apparent in his voice.
Juli finished tying off the umbilical cord. She watched Riley stare at the colt, all his hopes and dreams visible on his face. She’d seen it before with other owners and their foals. Watching the tiny foal take in his surroundings, she had a feeling this one would surpass all expectations.
Behind them, the mare lumbered to her feet, and Riley and Juli backed off to allow the new mother to greet her baby. Lacey sniffed the colt before licking it.
Juli backed out of the stall. “I want to stay until he passes the meconium, and to make sure that all is well with mother and baby.”
The colt lurched to his feet, standing and falling in a comical splay of limbs. He shook his head, looking disgusted with himself, and then tried to stand again.
Juli stepped just outside the stall door, followed by Riley. He stood just behind her, his body heat radiating into her back. Watching the foal struggle to his feet, finally getting his spindly limbs beneath him, made her smile. She loved this part of the deliveries. Seeing a healthy foal nurse from its attentive mother made the eleven months of waiting and her own efforts worthwhile. She looked up at Riley and saw him starting at the foal. Love shone from his eyes.
“Is this Lacey’s first foal?” Juli had heard of the mare’s retirement two years ago.
Riley nodded. “We thought we had her bred last year, but it didn’t take. Windfree had a pretty heavy competition schedule, so we couldn’t get her settled.”
Juli nodded. The foal nudged his mother with his skinny head. The two touched noses, then on wobbly legs, the foal stepped back. Ducking its head beneath Lacey’s belly, it grabbed onto a teat and began to nurse.
Lacey lifted a leg, and Juli tensed, afraid the mare might try and hurt the foal. The first nursing always hurt, and some mares took it better than others. Lacey turned her head, stared at her baby, then snorted, but stood completely still.
Riley rested his arm around her shoulder. “You did it,” he said, giving her a tiny squeeze. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your first name.”
“Juli. And thanks. I just helped the little guy into the world. You’re the one who cared for Lacey for eleven months. That’s the hard part.”
She stood there, her heart hammering in her chest. Juli tried to chalk it up to the adrenaline of delivering a healthy foal. She couldn’t quite. All of Harris’ inadequacies came to mind, how he wouldn’t be caught dead out in the barn anytime, let alone in the early hours of the morning. Feeling Riley’s body pressed next to hers, she felt as if the two of them were in synch, both wishing for a healthy mare and foal. Comparing her relationship with Harris to her and Riley at this moment was like watching a horse fighting the bit and a beautiful high-level dressage performance. There was nothing remotely similar between the two.
Aware she stood next to him, her coveralls covered in bodily fluids, she stepped away. “Is there somewhere I can wash up?”
Riley looked down at her. His eyes widened when he saw the extent of the damage on her coveralls. “I have a shower just off my back porch if you want to clean up? Otherwise, there’s a utility sink next to the tack room.”
Juli plucked at the sodden fabric. A change of clothes waited in her truck. Riley’s gaze followed the motion. His gaze lingered on her curves beneath the heavy fabric. Birth moved people different ways, and watching his eyes darken, she suspected how it affected Riley. He raised his hand, and then rested it on the stall door.
“A shower would be great.” She realized her voice was huskier than usual. Looking at him for a moment longer, she wished her eyes weren’t drawn to his full lips. She turned and fled for the safety of the dark night.
Ghost Redeemed
By Mary Winter
Available Now from Pink Petal Books
Shay’s stomach flip-flopped. Looking at Kyle standing just outside her bathroom door, a boyish grin on his face, made her wonder what would happen if she invited him to join her. She’d planned on taking a shower, figuring that would be the easiest way to wash the wound on her back. But with Kyle there, she wouldn’t need to go to such lengths. Then again, maybe she would anyway.
She stepped back and opened the door, suddenly nervous about her plan. “I guess you’re right,” she said, trying not to sound too eager. “I will need some help.” Turning from him, she pulled her shirt over her head. She swore she heard Kyle’s swiftly indrawn breath. She glanced into the mirror and saw the angry red gash start just below her shoulder blade to disappear beneath her bra clasp. She reached around her and unfastened the hooks. Her peach lace bra hung loosely on her shoulders, and she noticed Kyle trying hard not to look at her breasts in the mirror.
She slipped the lingerie from her shoulders. “The peroxide and some antibiotic ointment are in the medicine cabinet.”
Kyle opened the mirrored panel. She watched, noticing the light glow surrounding his skin. If it weren’t for that, he’d look completely normal standing in her bathroom, reaching for the brown plastic bottle of peroxide. He grabbed several cotton balls and turned his attention to her back. His movements seemed slow, as if he had to think about each action.
“This is going to sting a little. There’s not much I can do about that.” He unscrewed the lid of the peroxide bottle and doused a cotton ball. “Are you ready?”
“I’ll be fine,” she said. His fingers brushed her skin, and tiny shivers darted from the touch. Her nipples pebbled, and she resisted the urge to cover her breasts with her hands. A soft fizzing sound filled the bathroom, and then the wound stung. Shay sucked in a quick breath and gritted her teeth.
“I’m sorry.” Kyle continued to dab the cotton ball on the wound.
“It’s okay,” Shay ground out. She reached in front of her and wrapped her fingers around the towel rod on her shower door. Clenching her fingers around it, she focused on breathing in and out to distance herself from the sting of disinfectant on her wound.
His motions slowed, and she heard the soft clunk of the bottle on the counter. The trash bag rustled as he tossed the cotton ball into it. The room closed in. She became aware of Kyle standing behind her, his body just inches from her. The thudding of her heart sounded loud in her ears. She longed to turn around and see him, but didn’t, afraid of the desire she would see in his gaze. Keeping her eyes down, she waited.
He touched her. His fingers slid across her shoulder, a feat
her light touch against her skin. Tiny sparks danced at the contact. Telling herself he was a ghost did little good, as heavy warmth filled her limbs. His hand skimmed her side, barely touching the side of her breast. She wanted more. Him. His cock. Her lips parted.
“Kyle,” she breathed.
“Shay.” His other hand reached around to palm her breast, a light touch that soon had him standing against her. The ridge of his cock pressed against her buttocks.
Her knees went weak. She leaned against his strength, not wanting to get used to his warmth surrounding her. The fact he was a ghost mattered little. Some part of her mind rebelled, but she refused to listen. Right now, still aching from the fight and heart-sore from her best friend’s death, she wanted his warmth, his strength surrounding her.
She shifted her weight. Her ankle protested, and she quickly moved her weight to her good foot.
“Let me help you.” His hand slid down her back, to her hip. “Turn around and wrap your legs around me.”
Shay started to turn. “But you’re a gh—” Words died when she saw the naked hunger in his eyes. He wanted her, his gaze sweeping over her bared breasts.
“Perfect,” he whispered, covering one with his hand. He brushed a thumb across a distended nipple, and Shay closed her eyes. His free hand slid over her back, down to her ass. Pulling her against him, he urged her to wrap her leg around his waist.
She complied. The first touch of his hard cock against her coaxed a low moan from her throat. She wrapped her arms around him and brought her other leg around his waist. He easily lifted her, carrying her out of the bathroom.
“Where’s your bedroom?” He glanced down the hall, before looking back into the living room.
The Purrfect Man
By Mary Winter
Available Now from Pink Petal Books
“I’m sorry.”
The masculine words sounded truly remorseful, and it took Althea a moment to realize she was dreaming. “It’s okay,” she automatically replied, though she knew not who this man was or why he apologized to her. In fact, she couldn’t really see him. Instead, it seemed as if she still lay in bed, though the edges of the room seemed fuzzy. An effect of the sinus medication, she wondered, but she’d never had dreams like this before.
Gradually, her surroundings became visible. A man sat on the foot of her bed. Though he didn’t move, she sensed an inherent lithe grace in his form.
“Wha--?” she asked, coming out of a medicine-induced fog. “Who are you?”
Tawny hair crowned his head and feathered over his shoulders. His brilliant blue eyes held warmth. A straight nose divided his face, leading to the fullest, most sensuous pair of lips she’d ever seen on a man. He wore no shirt, and the view of his chest nearly took Althea’s breath away. Matching tawny hair dusted his pectorals, and then arrowed over a work-hardened set of abs and disappeared beneath the waistband of a gray pair of sweat pants. His feet were bare.
She blinked at the sweat pants. Until that modern piece of clothing, she expected him to be dressed in historical clothing. She didn’t know why. She saw only his body; he hadn’t even spoken yet. Still, something about his manner, the way he sat with his hands resting on his muscled thighs brought back images from a bygone era. She chalked it up to the timelessness of the dream state.
He moved closer, the efficiency in the way he inched toward her pillow reaffirming her belief that this was a man unlike any she’d met. After settling himself next to her hip, he trailed his fingers over her arm. The caress, so light, reminded her of the way she’d petted the cat on her porch.
“I’m Dante,” he said. Reaching out, he brushed his thumb against her lips. “So beautiful. So warm.” He bent over, replacing his thumb with his lips. Gently he kissed her, drawing her deeper into the dream, into him. His lips coaxed, nibbled, ate as daintily as a cat enjoying a tasty morsel. With his tongue, he traced her lower lip.
Althea parted her lips to allow him entrance. Dante’s answering moan sent warm shivers darting through her body. She wrapped her arm around him, tangling her fingers in his silky soft hair. His hard body pressed against hers, and arousal drew her nipples into tight beads. She wanted to be devoured by him, to feel his lips on every inch of her flesh. Allergies forgotten, she clung to him and slid her other hand down over his muscled back to his buttocks. This was a dream, after all.
And thank goodness it was a dream. Her body hungered for the touch of flesh against flesh. Reaching for him, curling her fingers around his biceps, something awakened deep inside. She’d ignored the months of celibacy, hadn’t really thought about them, but now, the need to make up for lost time drove her. She moaned as he deepened the kiss. Passion flared in her blood. She wanted him—her dream man. Now.
A quick tug pulled her shirt free of her jeans. His hand splayed across her abdomen. His touch branded her. He laid her back on the bed, tugging at her T-shirt. She released him long enough for him to pull it over her head. He unfastened her bra and slid it off her shoulders.
Althea reached for him once more. She wrapped her fingers around his hard biceps and pulled him to her.
Dante lowered his head and nibbled along her collarbone. He laved each kiss, each love bite, with a long sweep of his tongue that had her shuddering to her toes. The crisp whorls of his chest hair tickled her nipples and stomach.
She arched beneath him, her breasts begging for his touch. “Please,” she whispered, unaware she voiced her plea.
