Sliding her fingers into the elastic waistband, she tugged him into the shower with her.
He came willingly, eagerly, kissing her before she could have any regrets. Holding both her wrists in one hand, he raised her arms over her head so that he could caress her bare breasts with his other hand. He brushed his thumb over her nipples while seductively nibbling on her lower lip. His kisses trailed down her throat to her right breast, where he took her into his mouth, his teeth tenderly grazing her sensitive skin.
A wave of passion threatened to overcome her. She’d already been primed by that erotic dream and now the reality was enough to send her spiraling out of control. When his fingers slid lower to seek out her clitoris and fondle it, she almost screamed with pleasure. She went weak at the knees as he pressed her against the ceramic tile wall and continued his sensual moves.
“Now,” she whispered, freeing her hands so she could reach for him. Somehow his boxers were gone and he was all male flesh, silky and hard in her hand. “I want you in me now.”
“No condom,” he growled.
“Bathroom drawer,” she gasped.
With record speed, he whisked her out of the shower, and set her on the granite countertop. The steamy mirror showed their blurry reflections as Michael tore open a packet. Seconds later he stood before her, sheathed in the condom and positioned between her legs.
He kissed her with hungry passion, instantly reigniting her entire body. His hands moved down her back to grab her bottom as he pulled her closer to him. She guided him in and then held on for dear life as he thrust deep within her. Wrapping her ankles around his waist, she gloried in the intimate contact, the friction, the elation. In, out. In, out. Slow and sweet. Fast and hard. Her orgasm came with clenching bliss, her shout of satisfaction followed by his.
Ten minutes later she still felt boneless in his arms as he carried her back to bed, where they made love again before drifting off to sleep.
Pam bounced awake, smacking the alarm before realizing the noise came from the phone. It was Monday. Bloomers was closed. She always slept in on Monday. “Hello?”
“Did you know that Michael Denton is the guy?” Mabel said.
Yeah, Pam was starting to realize he really was the guy. The guy for her. She could hear him in the bathroom and couldn’t wait for him to return to her side.
“He wrote the book,” Mabel continued. “I Googled him and his name came up on a site listing pen names and real names. At first I thought it had to be some other Michael Denton. But I checked some more, and it’s him, all right.”
Yeah, it’s him, Pam thought dreamily.
“He’s the one,” Mabel said.
Yeah, he is.
“The one who wrote How to Hook Your Guy.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Pam fell out of bed, narrowly missing Rosebud, who yelped and dove under the bed.
“Hey, are you okay?” Michael asked from the threshold to the bathroom. He rushed to her side.
The man who’d given her multiple orgasms last night.
The man who’d written the book.
The book that said give him space.
The book that declared men wanted one more inch in their pants.
The book that advised women never to admit to having more than ten lovers. Okay, not a problem for her, but still . . .
Michael wrote the book. The wall-banger book. The banger book.
“Hello, hello?” Mabel shouted into the phone.
Pam hung up. She couldn’t deal with the town gossip right now.
“Are you okay?” Michael repeated as he helped her to her feet.
She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the sheet over her naked body. Suddenly, she felt chilled to the bone. “Is it true?”
“Is what true?”
“Did you do it?”
His grin was wicked. “We both did it. A number of times this morning.”
“I’m not talking about sex. Well, I am . . . but not between the two of us.”
“Huh?” He put his hand on her forehead. “Did you bump your head when you fell?”
She pulled away. “You. Did you write that book?”
“What book?”
“Don’t play dumb with me. You know damn well what book. How to Hook Your Guy.”
His hand fell to his side. “Where did you hear that?”
“From Mabel. Are you saying she’s wrong?”
The guilty look on his face was answer enough.
“So what was this?” She waved her hand at the bed. “Research for a sequel?”
“No!”
“What, then? I can’t believe you’re the idiot who wrote that book.”
Clearly stung by her disdain, he said, “It’s on the bestseller lists.”
“I don’t care if it sells more copies than The Da Vinci Code, it’s still an insult to women.”
“It was never intended that way.”
“If you’re so proud of writing it, why didn’t you tell me you were the author?” she retorted.
“Because I knew you wouldn’t take it well.”
“You mean I wouldn’t have sex with you if I knew you’d written that book.” Pam was smart enough to realize the book was an excuse. All her earlier doubts about him had returned tenfold. What he saw in her. Why he’d left her. Those were huge unknowns. “And since you were only going to be in town for a few days, you - didn’t want to ruin your chances of getting some. Smart move.”
“You’ve got it all wrong!”
The sound of their raised voices propelled Rosebud into guard-dog mode. The little dachshund shot out from beneath the bed ruffle as if from a cannon. She growled at Michael.
Pam yanked on a tank top and shorts from the dresser beside her bed. “You’ve already walked out on me twice,” Pam told Michael. “There won’t be a third time.” Bending down, she scooped Rosebud into her arms, the same arms that had wrapped around him only a few hours before. “I’m taking Rosebud for a walk. I want you gone by the time I get back.”
“Pam, you’ve got to listen to me . . .”
But she was already gone.
Michael got it. He understood that Pam had left him before he - could leave her yet again. He got that. But he didn’t know how to make things right.
So he called in reinforcements. Maguire’s was closed on Mondays, so Adele had offered the pub as a meeting place.
“I’ve asked you here because I need your help.”
Adele smiled at him reassuringly. “Whatever I can do to help, you know I’ll do.”
“I don’t even know why I’m here. Not that I’m complaining,” Mabel quickly added.
“I screwed up,” Michael admitted. “Big-time.”
“You’re a man. You can’t help screwing up,” Mabel said. “Trust me. I’ve been married three times. Men screw up all the time. No news there.”
Maybe calling in Mabel hadn’t been one of his better ideas, but he was desperate here. “I hurt Pam and I need to do something to make it up to her.”
“Did you try talking to her?” Adele asked.
“She won’t listen to me,” Michael replied.
“Why not?”
“Use the dog,” Mabel said. “That always gets to a woman, when a man is kind to her pet.”
“Have you tried Googling romantic apologies?” Adele asked.
Michael blinked at her.
Adele shrugged. “What? You don’t think I’m connected to the Internet? Half the people in this town are blogging.”
“Yeah, I noticed that.”
“Didn’t they teach you anything in that big city of yours?” Mabel said.
Michael rubbed his forehead wearily. “Apparently not.”
“Let’s get back to why she’s angry with you,” Adele said before pouring him another cup of coffee. “How exactly did you screw up?”
“I didn’t tell her that I wrote How to Hook Your Guy. She only found out this morning—”
“Oops. I told her,” Mabel confessed.
“So this is all your fault.” Adele’s concern for Michael turned into aggravation with the town gossip.
“Hey, don’t try to pin the blame on me,” Mabel retorted. “He should have told her himself.”
“She does have a point,” Adele had to admit, returning her attention to Michael. “So how can we help you?”
He had no idea. What had he been thinking, asking these two older women to give him advice? Both women knew Pam, but were hardly her best friends or anything. He’d heard her closest friend, Julia the librarian, had left town with Luke Maguire, so he couldn’t ask for her advice. “Maybe I should try calling her friend Julia. Do you have a number where I could reach her?”
“I have Luke’s cell number,” Adele said. “But I don’t think talking to Julia would help. She’d just kick your butt for hurting her best friend.”
Mabel nodded her agreement. “She used to be quiet but now she’s a kick-butt kind of librarian.”
“Anyone else I should consult about Pam?” Michael asked.
Adele’s expression turned thoughtful. “Well, her parents are out of town on that cruise. Her brother Harry is still here. But I’m not sure that discussing this with her family would be a wise move.”
“Yeah,” Michael knew he sounded discouraged. He didn’t care. “Probably not.”
“I asked Pam at Joy’s wedding yesterday if you two were going to get married,” Mabel stunned him by abruptly announcing.
His heart raced. “And she said?”
“You know, it occurs to me that she never actually denied it. So are you two getting hitched?”
Michael tugged at the tightening collar of his shirt. He couldn’t breathe.
“You see?” Mabel’s voiced faded in and out of his consciousness. “He’s not denying it, either.”
Michael saw spots in front of his eyes.
Suddenly his head was shoved down between his knees. “Do not faint!” Pam growled in his ear.
“What’s going on here?” she demanded of the other two women.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Mabel said impatiently. “Can’t you see the poor guy is crazy in love with you?”
Pam started seeing black spots in front of her eyes.
Mabel pushed Pam onto the seat beside Michael and shoved her head onto her knees. She turned her head at the last minute. Bad move. Now she was facing Michael.
“I don’t faint,” Pam growled.
“Me neither,” Michael growled back.
Still she remained where she was, her cheek against her knees, her eyes fixed on his, her voice uncertain. “You’re not really crazy in love with me, are you?”
“Yeah . . . yeah, I am,” he huskily admitted. “What about you? Any chance you’re crazy in love with me, too?”
Here was the moment. The question. She’d been walking around Serenity Falls all morning searching for the right answer.
What were her feelings for Michael? Was it just sexual attraction? Nostalgia for her first love? Or was there more?
He’d just admitted he was crazy in love with her. In front of witnesses. And not just any witnesses. In front of Mabel, who’d spread the news from one end of Serenity Falls to the other.
Which meant he loved her. Maybe he was as mixed-up as she was. Maybe he hadn’t seen this coming any more than she had. Maybe he’d run scared and that was why he’d left before.
Maybe it was time she just laid her feelings on the line. “Yeah.” She cleared her throat and wiped away a tear. “Yeah, I am crazy in love with you.”
A second later, Michael was on his feet and had her in his arms.
“I’m not sure it’s wise to be kissing like that when you both almost fainted,” Mabel said with obvious disapproval.
Pam ignored her and spoke to Michael, her hands cupping his face. “You live in Chicago. I live here. You told me long-distance relationships don’t work.”
“He was young and dumb,” Mabel stated. “Ouch! Why’d you hit me, Adele?”
“You be quiet now,” Adele advised. “Michael is a problem solver—”
“He’s a troubleshooter,” Pam corrected her even as she spread a string of kisses across his face.
“Same thing,” Adele said. “He’ll come up with something.”
“Feels like you’re coming up with something right now,” Pam wickedly whispered in Michael’s ear as she rubbed against him.
“Excuse us, ladies,” Michael said as he swept Pam out of Maguire’s. “We’ve got a few details to work on in private.”
Fifteen minutes later, Pam and Michael were naked on her bed, where he was rolling a condom on with her sultry assistance.
“I thought we were going to work on details,” she murmured. “This doesn’t feel like a detail to me.” She held him in her hand. “This feels like something major.”
“It is something major. Major Mike standing at attention, ready and reporting for duty.”
“Mmmm. I can tell you’re ready.” She perched atop his thighs and grinned down at him. “I’m ready, too.”
“You think so?”
“You don’t?”
“I think I should check to be sure.” He tugged her up to his chest and leaned her back against his upright knees. Then he parted her legs wide.
Her feet were braced on either side of his head. “What are you doing . . . Oh!” She gasped at the intense jolt of sizzling bliss that shot through her at the darkly erotic touch of his curled tongue.
He made a meal of her—devouring her, feeding her hunger, satisfying her while making her want more.
“Now I think you’re ready.” He breathed the words against her thigh before repositioning her so she could ride him.
She sank down onto his throbbing hard length. “Are you sure you’re ready?” Her sultry smile belonged to a woman who knew she was loved.
“Oh, yeah.” His wicked grin belonged to a man looking at the woman he loved. “Bring it on.”
Heaven Can’t Wait
PAMELA CLARE
“Do you, Lissy Charteris, take me, Will Fraser?” He looked down at her, his dark hair damp with sweat, a half-grin on his face, and nudged the thick, hard tip of his cock inside her.
Lissy could wait no longer. Her legs caught above his shoulders, she lifted her hips, reaching for fulfillment. “Yes! Yes! Oh, now! Yes!”
An amused gleam in his blue eyes, he withdrew, his thumb drawing lazy circles over her swollen, aching clitoris. “Uh-uh. You’re supposed to say, ‘I do.’ ”
She moaned in frustration, clutching fistfuls of linen tablecloth, her body about to combust. “I do! I do! God, I do, Will!”
“That’s better.” His gaze locked with hers, and his big hands seized her hips.
Then with one slow thrust he filled her.
“Oh! Oh, God, Will!” His name was the last coherent word she spoke, her voice unraveling into a long, throaty moan as he pushed himself in and out of her, thick and hard.
It felt so good. It felt better than good. Having him inside her was both bliss and torture.
He groaned. “Damn, Lissy! You drive me insane!”
But she was the one going crazy, the sweet, slippery friction of his thrusts fueling the raw ache inside her, forcing her to the jagged brink.
She would never, could never get enough of him. She wanted to touch him, frantic to feel the rasp of his chest hair, the iron ridges of his muscles, the velvety softness of his skin. But he was just beyond her reach.
He took her ankles in his hands, spread her legs further apart and forced her knees to bend, opening her completely, exposing - every bit of her to his view. He was watching—watching where his body slid into hers, hot and slick and demanding.
“Jesus, Lissy, sweetheart!” He drove into her deep and hard and fast, penetrating her to her core.
In a heartbeat, she hovered on the radiant edge of an orgasm, the shimmering ache inside her now a tight, pulsing knot.
“Look at me, Lissy!” he growled. “I want to see your eyes w
hen you come!”
She did as he asked, found herself staring into eyes dark with lust, with hunger, with love.
And then, even as his gaze held hers, it took her—blinding-bright and shattering.
Orgasm surged through every inch of her, a merciless rush of white-hot ecstasy, ripping a cry from her throat, her muscles clenching greedily around him as he kept up a relentless rhythm, prolonging her pleasure with forceful strokes.
Then she saw his pupils dilate with the shock of his own climax, his forehead furrowed as if he were in pain. He groaned, arched his back, his body shuddering with the force of release as he drove himself hard into her once, twice, three times, coming deep inside her.
Lissy had no idea how long she lay there on the dining room table, floating in the musky scent of sex, listening to the sound of their mingled breathing, feeling him pulse inside her. She probably - could have stayed that way forever, body and heart and mind utterly satisfied.
She felt him press kisses against her moist skin, paying special tribute to her now ultrasensitive nipples. Then he wrapped her legs around his waist and drew her into a sitting position so that she was pressed against his bare chest, his arms around her, her bottom resting on the edge of the table, his erection still hard enough to stay inside her.
He kissed her hair. “God, woman, I can’t get enough of you!”
She rubbed her cheek against the damp curls on his chest, let her hands explore the smooth muscles of his back. “That’s good to hear, because two weeks from tomorrow you’ll be Mr. Lissy Charteris, and you’ll be stuck with me.”
He chuckled, a warm sound that vibrated deep in his chest, then held her closer, his lips still pressed against her hair. “Please tell me you don’t have any damned shows or gallery openings tonight.”
“Not a one.” She snuggled more closely against him, savored the hard feel of his body against hers. With the demands of her job as fashion editor and his as a sports columnist and football commentator, it was rare for them to have a Friday night at home together.
“Good, because I intend to keep you naked . . . all . . . night . . . long.” He punctuated his words with kisses, then nipped her lower lip.
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