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by M. A. Ellis

  “No,” Erin said firmly, pulling free of them both and pushing her chair away from the table. She stood and planted her palms facedown on the tablecloth. “Not for that. I need you to help me with scene choreography.”

  “Scene choreography?” Paul said, his voice slipping into a somewhat dejected tone.

  “Oh my god,” Linda added, raising her hand to the neckline of her sweater and jiggling the fabric back and forth to allow a little extra air to circulate across her bosom. “For your book?”

  “Yes, for my book,” Erin added. “I’ve got great notes from RomantiCon and I want this scene—the first sex scene—to be so dead-on and perfect the editor will cream her panties, keep reading and tell herself she can’t live another moment without accepting the manuscript.”

  “Wow,” Paul said dejectedly. “Disappointed in you nixing the threesome. Interested in the panty creaming, however. Do go on.”

  Linda snorted. “Here I thought you’d had a come-to-Jesus moment, inspired by the women in that forum you log on to with a daily devotion that could put the strictest of novitiates to shame. An enlightenment that told you to go for a younger guy and his nearly-back-to-before-pregnancy-shaped wife.”

  Erin had to laugh. “There’s no way any spiritual moment would include group fornication. And quit fishing for compliments. You know you look as hot as you were before Laurel arrived.”

  “Hotter,” Paul said, walking around the table to stand behind his wife. Erin watched his hands reach around Linda’s body, clearly on a path to her breasts. Their innuendo never bothered her, but the touching—that was another matter altogether. Catching glimpses of them, whether they were trying to be secretive or whether they knew they had an audience, never failed to leave Erin more than a little unsettled.

  “Please,” Erin said, her words stopping him before he grabbed hold. “I have no issue with you two justifying your love of multiple bedmates but that’s not part of my makeup. It never has been and never will be.”

  “Obviously. How could you resist all this?” Linda asked, spreading her arms wide.

  “But you’re not ruling out the younger-guy thing, are you?” Paul crossed his arms over Linda’s chest and wiggled his brows.

  Erin didn’t answer. Frankly, she didn’t trust herself enough to look them square in the eyes and deny the fact. Thanks to the forum being attached to an online dating site where she continued to lurk, the possibility of finding a younger guy was all she’d been thinking about.

  These days when her mind wandered at work, it had nothing to do with which celebrity might be cajoled into doing a photo spread for a new product and everything to do with finely chiseled younger men who wanted her spread. In any manner—on her back or on her belly. Ass in the air or ankles wrapped behind her shoulders. Okay, that last one was a total impossibility in her present non-exercising state but one of the women on the blog swore by it.

  Talk of older women and younger men had permeated the conference as well. The publishing company had an entire line of books with that particular theme. She’d surfed the web like a maniac when she returned home and zeroed in on what appeared to be the premier cougar dating venue hoping for a little free research. She got that and a whole lot more.

  The latest entry, one that dealt with a six-foot-five-inch fireman and the forty-seven-year-old woman who had found him in the chat room, had gotten Erin so revved up she had made a beeline for her hidden suitcase of battery-operated delights. It hadn’t mattered that it was midday, sun shining through her bedroom windows. She’d thrown herself down on the bed, closed her eyes and thought of England.

  Seventeenth-century England. Estates comprised of expansive rolling fields. Dark clouds hanging low in the sky, heralding the latest storm. Horses galloping headlong toward the safety of their stalls. Hot, half-naked stable hands in tight breeches, grabbing the reins Erin would toss at them, along with an order to take good care of her mount. An order delivered in a haughty tone of voice that the man had no desire to obey. He clearly proved his insolence by hauling her body into his arms and silencing any further orders with a long, mind-numbing kiss. Right before he dropped to his knees and tongued her clit to a blinding climax.

  It was immediately after her historical-fiction-induced orgasm that Erin decided she needed to focus on her book and forget about any real-life hotter-than-hell hookups. The likelihood of her having a sexy younger man parade into her life was all but nil.

  “Erin? Hello?” Paul waved his palm in front of her face and she blinked.

  “Will you two help me or not?” Erin finally asked.

  “Do we actually get to have sex in front of you?” Paul asked. “You may not go for the threesomes but maybe you’re a closet voyeur? We can work with that, can’t we, honey?”

  Erin felt her cheeks heat and consciously rolled her gaze toward the ceiling, hoping neither saw the telltale blush. There was no doubt in her mind that watching them actually have sex would be astounding.

  “Hah! You didn’t say no,” Linda said, wiggling out of his embrace. “But we’ll be your guinea pigs anyhow. Just remember, I am double jointed so some of the stuff might not be doable for mere mortals.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, Gumby.” Erin laughed. “Let me grab the tape player and my manuscript. I printed it out earlier, hoping you’d agree. Meet you in the bedroom.”

  Erin hurried to her office and gathered what she needed. The workshop had stressed the importance of a taped recording of the scene and Erin had done just that. Clear and at a slower pace that would allow her “actors” to follow the directions.

  She walked through the living room, her spirits suddenly lifted. She had worried they might not agree. Which was stupid. Linda and Paul had been wonderful neighbors. Before and after her divorce. She’d been a little shocked to discover they were swingers, but in the big scheme of things, it could have been a hell of a lot worse. They weren’t on a most-wanted list, they weren’t hurting anyone and they were undeniably happy.

  “Here we go,” Erin said, handing Paul a fluorescent green ruler. “Put that in your belt. It’s your rapier.”

  “My what?”

  “Your sword. Small. Mainly used for thrusting attacks. And before you even go there, you can shitcan the double entendre. Come stand over here, Linda,” Erin said.

  “You should have told me it was a pirate story. I’ve got a saucy wench costume and Paul has this sweet little flogger with—”

  “Don’t tell me.” Erin chuckled, holding up one hand. “The less I know about your personal proclivities, the better.”

  “Role-playing is not a proclivity. It’s a way of life,” Linda teased. “Perfectly natural.”

  “Fine. But it’s not pirates. It’s Britain—early eighteen hundreds. You’re part of the Earl of Belgrade’s winnings but the earl doesn’t realize who you are.”

  “Who am I?” Linda asked.

  “You’re the ward of the earl’s nefarious host, a man who secretly needs you compromised so he can get you out of the picture and have full control of your estate.”

  “So what’s the earl need the rapier for?” Paul asked. “He’s not going to force her, is he? Remember how you nearly took my freakin’ head off when you told us you were going to write a romance and I made that comment about ‘bodice rippers’? Holy shit, Erin. I’d never seen you so pissed before.”

  “Maybe he’s just going to pretend to force her,” Linda said, swaying her hips sexily as she walked over to her husband and wrapped one hand around his neck. “Maybe he knows that’s what headstrong women secretly crave. A little aggressiveness now and again.”

  She turned her head and shot Erin a pointed look.

  “Rule number one,” Erin said. She sat on the corner of the bed and flipped through the stapled pages until she found chapter three. “No rewriting the story to fit your favorite dress-up scenarios.” She grabbed the small tape player and held it toward them, smiling.

  “You are no fun at all, Erin. You know that?”
Linda said.

  “But you are,” Paul suggested in a husky voice, yanking his wife’s hips against his lower body.

  “Ooooo, your earlship,” Linda said, giving Paul a long kiss. Complete with tongue. “Is that a small thrusting sword in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?”

  Erin hid her smile and shook her head. Then turned on the recorder.

  * * * * *

  They were twenty minutes into the visualization process when Linda’s cell phone buzzed a second time and she leaned around Paul’s body and looked at the text.

  “It’s Danny,” she said. “I’ve got to answer this.”

  Erin was thrilled with the progress they’d made in such short time. They’d walked through paragraph after paragraph of heroine-hero interaction, allowing Erin to recognize and reconfigure more than a few impossibilities—including the fact that her hero apparently had the longest penis known to man when he was standing a few feet away from her heroine, yet she was clearly able to feel his bulge against her throbbing nether regions. It seemed like such an amateur mistake. Something she should have caught on her own.

  “Hey, brother of mine. What’s wrong?” Linda asked, not moving from the position she and Paul had contorted into.

  Erin studied the two, fairly confident insertion would be possible if she had her hero ease the heroine off her toes. Actually lift her up about four inches and then thrust into her. Erin made a note in the margin of the manuscript, half listening to Linda.

  “Why don’t you just grab a bottle and bring her over here? I’ll rock her and you can be my stand-in. We’re helping Erin figure out sexual logistics for her book,” Linda said.

  “That’s not going to work. Danny’s too tall,” Paul added loudly.

  Good god. She had really wanted to keep everything quiet. She needed to make sure her friends knew that and didn’t tell another solitary soul. Not until the book was polished, submitted and hopefully accepted.

  “You’ll have to pretend to be me, baby,” Linda said, looking at her husband as she slid her legs from around his hips to stand on the floor. “Danny can be the hero.”

  Paul reached over and pulled the pages out of Erin’s hand.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. No way. As soon as the face-to-face scene is done it says the earl…blah, blah, blah…kisses heroine into senselessness. Bends her over the side of the bed…blah, blah, blah…her pale, heart-shaped ass—I like that, Erin. Great imagery. Here! I knew it had to be leading quickly to her proceeding to take ‘every glorious inch of his hard, throbbing cock’.”

  Paul shoved the pages in Erin’s direction and offered his wife a mock scowl.

  “I’m not bending over in front of your brother. We both know he didn’t get laid on his tour of Tokyo. He sees a nice ass, male or female, and he’s likely to drop the cloak of conservatism and get his freak on.”

  Erin smiled and slid off the bed. It was clear the choreography was over for the night. But for a second she thought, strangely enough, about Linda’s brother getting his freak on and what that might entail.

  “No no no,” Linda said into the phone. “Don’t bounce her. I did tell you Erin was writing a book. You probably had your ear attached to that damn Crackberry. I’m playing the sexy heroine and Paul’s an English lord who’s about to breach my maiden hymen.”

  “It’s a maidenhead,” Erin groaned but Linda ignored her.

  “No, smartass, the heroine hasn’t given birth to a howling toddler,” Linda said hotly into the phone. “If that were the case, Daniel, her freakin’ cherry wouldn’t be intact, now would it? My literary virginity is still there, Erin, right? Her ladyship hasn’t been doing every Mr. Darcy in sight, has she?”

  “Oh my god. Just tell Danny I’ll meet him at the front door,” Erin said, hurrying from the room.

  She heard Linda’s voice trail off. “It’s an erotic romance…”

  Erin rounded the corner of the foyer when she heard the doorbell chime. Danny must have been walking and talking at the same time to traverse the expanse of lawn that separated their homes so quickly. She opened the door to find Laurel at eye level, thumb in her mouth, tear stains on her chubby cheeks and her other hand grasping her bottle. Danny was holding her against his chest, his chin resting atop her blonde head.

  “I’m here with the ‘secret baby’ delivery,” he said in a smooth voice that sent an unexpected jolt through Erin’s body. She looked up into his twinkling green eyes and took a step backward, heart hammering. “That is what they call it, right? In those stories? When a baby shows up out of nowhere?”

  When the hell had he become so freakin’ sexy? She’d just seen him a little less than a month ago, for shit’s sake. He’d been dressed in khakis and a loose polo shirt. His garb had all but screamed “tee time at two o’clock”. But now, wearing a worn T-shirt and snug, faded jeans, he seemed a hell of a lot more approachable and even more attractive.

  Holy shit! She’d never had the urge to actually check out her friend’s sibling—not in a lustful way, at least. Not in a manner that had her thinking how wonderful it would feel to have him back her up against the wall and press the bulge of flesh his jeans were cradling to the tiny pulses that had begun to throb at the juncture of her thighs. He’d probably rock in the sack.

  Cougar alert! Cougar alert! Cougar alert!

  There it was. That’s what this was all about. Her unusual reaction was simply the result of the ramblings on the internet dating forum where she had been secretly lurking for the past three months. A little acorn of an erotic idea being planted in very fertile imaginations. Just because the others yearned to fulfill their fantasies of sex with younger men didn’t mean Erin would. Or could.

  Why the hell not?

  Because as brave as she’d been, more than a little of her self-esteem had been shattered with the divorce. It was so much easier to turn her attention to writing instead of to real men. The men in her stories weren’t shitheads. They didn’t cheat on their wives or roll over and fall into an immediate deep sleep after perfunctory sex. While they did tend to get her juices flowing, they weren’t flesh and blood. Not like the man standing before her.

  He shifted Laurel to one arm and offered his hand. “Nice to see you again, Erin. Sorry for the interruption.”

  Uh-huh. Right. The interruption. The interruption by a totally different Daniel than she was accustomed to. She couldn’t help herself, it was terribly rude she knew, but she let her gaze drift down his long body and up again. When she reached his face, his smile had tightened.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, shaking his hand. It was warm and he gave her fingers a little squeeze that had her watching him closer. “You look so much different than the last time I saw you.”

  “At Laurel’s party,” he said, tilting his head at a sexy angle.

  He remembered. Erin found the fact odd. He’d barely spoken to her. He had seemed more interested in visiting with his friend.

  “Yes. At the party,” Erin said, motioning for him to come inside. He handed Laurel to her and walked a few steps into the foyer and then turned.

  “Do I look better? Or worse?” he asked, sticking his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “I’m still a little jet lagged.”

  Jet lagged? Where the hell were the dark circles under the eyes? The overall look of exhaustion?

  No. He didn’t look anything except totally sexy. Erin’s eyes dropped to his waistband. If only the top few buttons of those jeans were undone, he’d give any one of the guys posted on the dating site a run for their money in the yum-o-licious department. Dear god!

  “Y-you look good, Danny.”

  “Wow,” he said, pulling his right hand out of his pocket and running it slowly up his long torso until it covered his heart.

  Erin’s gaze followed the journey and met his hot gaze.

  “Just good? That hurts, Erin. It really does.”

  She could tell he smiled by the way the lines around the corners of his eyes deepened, but she was so
hung up on the way he’d said her name. How it sounded like a soft caress. How a stab of desire shot through her body.

  “Y-you look great,” she said, clearing her voice when it threatened to squeak. “Danny.”

  Could he hear her heart thumping? He must have because he gave her a huge grin and she found the wherewithal to walk toward him. Laurel waved her free hand, brushing it against Erin’s head a few times before laughing loudly, sticking the bottle into her mouth and sucking furiously.

  “The munchkin refused to eat. Apparently she likes you better than me. You look great too. I like the shorter hair,” he said, brushing the strands that Laurel had disrupted behind Erin’s ear. He paused, ran the pad of his thumb against the bottom of her lobe. Inadvertently, she was sure, yet she couldn’t contain the shiver that floated down her spine.

  “I just had it trimmed a little. For the conference I went to.” Small talk. That was good. A lot better than holding his niece while thinking how good it would feel if he wrapped his palm around the back of her neck and pulled her in for a long kiss.

  “Ah, the writing one. In Ohio, right?”

  She stared at him, making a concentrated effort not to allow her mouth to drop open in shock. “How did you—”

  “It’s a gift,” he said with a quick wink. “I tend to pay attention to the small stuff when Linda or anyone else is talking. You never know when some tiny little detail will help you out down the road. Get you a little advantage. Let you—”

  “There you are, my precious one.” Linda’s voice put a stop to whatever else he was about to say. She took Laurel from Erin’s arms and continued to coo. “After all these years, doesn’t Uncle Danny know what a sweet little lady needs to make her happy?”

  Erin shot a sideways glance at Danny, shocked to find him staring straight at her and not their goddaughter.

  “I know exactly what a lady needs, Linn. I bounced her a little bit. Up and down. Over and over. That generally works. But for once it didn’t seem to satisfy.”

  What the hell was going on?

  She was either delusional or her friend’s brother—her friend’s tall, toned and suddenly sexier-than-anything brother—was flirting with her.