Bachelor Number Four (15 page)

“All right,” she breathed, voice hoarse, when he slid a hand beneath the hem of her toss-away. “But I’m warning, you, I expect to be completely satisfied, and I’m not interested in working too hard for it.”

Jarden pulled away to look at her face, and something in his gaze made Milla wish she’d been a little kinder. “It’s what I’m here for, miss.”

Hit the erotic jackpot.

Sin City

© 2010 Lacey Alexander

Hot in the City, Book 2

Diana Marsh is trying to change her wicked ways. She’s even dating a guy everyone agrees is prime husband material—conservative and boring, everything her family could wish for. There’s only one secret vice left to eliminate: Marc Davenport, the super sexy co-worker she’s been flirting with online. A business trip to Las Vegas is her opportunity to do just that, to sow the last of her wild oats with Marc before retiring behind the white picket fence. And where better than the ultra-erotic playground of Sin City?

A new job awaits Marc in France, and a casual fling with Diana is the perfect send-off—together they indulge in every conceivable hot and scintillating fantasy the town has to offer. Even if her resolve to turn off her sensual nature bothers Marc, he reminds himself that their naughty games are only temporary and she’s a determined woman with a plan.

However, when the two are ripped apart without warning, all bets are off. To Marc, Diana’s wild side is too beautiful to be contained. Too beautiful, he suddenly realizes, to let him walk away without playing to win.

Warning: Contains a full deck of erotic delights and a heroine who's holding all the cards—three of a kind and
everything’s
wild. Who says the house always wins?

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Sin City:

Diana Marsh had just switched off the light next to her bed when the phone rang. She reached out in the darkness and put the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.” Marc Davenport, her work associate and long-distance friend. Or was he more than a friend?

Their office-to-office work calls had gotten longer and more flirtatious recently, and hearing his voice made her smile in the dark. “Hey.”

“You sound sleepy—were you asleep? Damn, what time is it there? I totally forgot about the time difference.”

“It’s—” she switched on the light and sought out her bedside clock, “—just after eleven, but that’s okay. I only went to bed a few minutes ago.” In fact, she’d decided to turn in after she’d given up on him calling, thinking maybe he’d decided it was a bad idea.

“Are you sure, sweetheart?”

So simple, one little word—
sweetheart
. Despite herself, just the sound of the endearment, delivered in his rich baritone, made her breasts ache a little, her pussy tingle with a hint of awareness. “Yeah, I’m sure. I want to talk.”

It was a first for them—a call outside the office. But the workload had been light today and a phone call to ask her opinion on the wording of an entry in the fall catalog had turned into a phone call about a hundred other things: movies they’d seen lately, music they listened to, Marc’s hopes of moving to Europe for a while, and even the guy Diana was currently seeing—although she’d tried to steer away from that topic quickly. Before they’d finally hung up, Marc had said, “Hey, why don’t I call you later tonight? We can talk some more.”

She’d agreed, thinking it was safe, harmless. Just a little fun, just talking with a friend—a friend that sent frissons of heat echoing through her veins more and more lately.

But she couldn’t think about that—in fact, she had to
stop
those feelings before they got out of control.

Because Diana was done being the black sheep of the family, finished being the Class A Bad Girl she’d been her whole life. She was cleaning up her act, playing it safe for a change.

Surely a late night call from a…
friend
wouldn’t interfere with that?

“I thought maybe you’d forgotten,” she said, “or decided not to call.”

“No way, sweetheart—you know I love to hear your pretty voice. I’d have called earlier, but I just got home.”

“I hope you weren’t at the office all this time.” Marc worked at the company’s corporate headquarters in Las Vegas, where she calculated the time to be after eight.

“No, nothing like that. I just went out with some guys after work. A long happy hour.”

“Sounds fun.” Diana didn’t
do
happy hour anymore and the pleasure-seeking part of her soul experienced a small bout of envy.

“I wouldn’t have called, though, if I’d known you’d already put on your jammies and gotten all tucked in to bed.”

She laughed. “I’m not exactly four years old, you know. I don’t have a strict bedtime.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m very aware you’re not a little girl.”

“And just what does
that
mean?” she asked in a playful tone. Despite talking on the phone a couple of times a week for the past year, not to mention sending lots of e-mail—some of it work-related, some of it chatty—she and Marc had never met.

“I’ve seen your picture on the company website, sweetheart,” he admitted. She’d seen his, too, and found him utterly hot—the best-looking thing in a suit and tie she’d ever laid eyes on.

“And?”

“And…” She could almost hear his playful grin. “I liked what I saw. A lot.”

“What did you like so much?”

“Your gorgeous brown hair with just a hint of auburn, your hazel eyes and creamy skin, and that sexy pinstripe suit you were wearing.”

She let out a small giggle. “You can’t even see my suit below the shoulders in that picture. And besides, I didn’t know pinstripes were sexy.”

“What can I say? Professional women get me hot.”

Diana didn’t reply, just sat up in bed a little and let
herself
get hot at the knowledge that she wasn’t the only one caught up in a bit of lust here.

“Just please tell me,” he said, “that the skirt is as short as I like to imagine it is.”

She let her voice go a little husky. “Uh, yeah, it is. I’m a short skirt kinda girl.”

“Mmm, I like the sound of that.”

But I’m a
good
girl, too
, she reminded herself. Marc had the ability to make her forget herself, the self she intended to be from now on.

“So what kind of pajama girl are you? What are you wearing right now?”

She sucked in her breath—this was starting to get steamy. And was about to get even steamier, she had a feeling. “The white baby-doll tank and panty set from the catalog,” she said, unduly gratified to know he’d be able to picture the skimpy outfit with ease. They were employed by Adrianna, Inc., a maker of fine lingerie and loungewear, and Marc worked on the team that designed and produced the quarterly catalogs.

“Damn, honey—any chance you’re on a cell phone that can send me a picture?”

She laughed. “Even if I was, what makes you think I’d send you one of me in my little nighties?”

His chuckle was rich and full-bodied. “Well, maybe you wouldn’t, not yet. But I bet I could talk you into it.”

“How?”

“That’s for me to know,” he said, then shifted the subject back to her baby-doll tank set. “So, tell me, does the ultra-soft cotton we describe in the catalog feel as good against your skin as we promise?”

She smiled to herself. “Mmm-hmm. Very soft and silky, just like the copy says.”

“And do your nipples show through the white?”

Her breath caught and her cunt turned restless, tickly. “I’ll…have to check on that,” she said, aware her voice had come out more whispery than she’d intended. Getting up, she walked to her dresser and glanced in the mirror. Two dark, sexy shadows puckered against the fabric; her breasts turned heavy. Returning to the bed, she picked up the phone, bit her lip slightly, then answered. “Yes, quite clearly, in fact.”

“Mmm, I bet you’ve got very pretty breasts.”

She wished he could see the come-hither smile she knew she wore. “Well, if I do say so myself…”

He offered a light laugh before getting sexy again. “Are your nipples hard?”

Another quick wave of heat. “Um, yeah. They definitely are.”

“And your pubic hair? Does it show through the white cotton, too?”

What a wicked boy, she thought. And what a wicked girl she was, as well. For the moment, she’d given up trying to fight it. “I don’t
have
any pubic hair. I keep it waxed off.”

A slightly stunned silence met her ear and she enjoyed it immensely. “All of it?”

“Yeah.”

“God, sweetheart, you just made my dick hard.”

Her voice came breathy, hot. “And you just made my pussy wet.”

Another tense silence—but this one was pure heat, shared across a distance of over two thousand miles.

“Touch it for me,” he whispered. “Will you do that?”

“On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Wrap your hand around your cock for
me
.”

Redefining room service…

Suite 69

© 2011 S.L. Carpenter and Sahara Kelly

The Zephyre Corporation’s annual convention may be designed to let colleagues kick back in the Florida sun, but Riley McGuire doesn’t plan to let anything interfere with her chance to shine for corporate management. Not even the devastatingly sexy guy playing air guitar—naked—in her hotel suite.

Oliver Wilson expected to share a deluxe suite with what he assumed was an amiable Irish-American beer drinker, not an acid-tongued Boston beauty who can’t hold her liquor.

Their agreement to muddle through is shot to hell by a tug of attraction that, in the convention’s decadent atmosphere, grows too strong to resist. Oliver discovers there’s more going on under Riley’s suits than good marketing ideas. And Oliver’s gentlemanly teasing gets under Riley’s skin…in a sexy way.

Behind closed doors, lust explodes between the sheets. But is a pair of vibrating panties a temporary pleasure, or the start of something that doesn’t require batteries?

Warning: Please check with your hotel concierge to ask if the handsome naked man playing air guitar comes with the room. There may be an extra surcharge not covered under federal business reimbursement regulations. Be sure to tip the bellboy.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Suite 69:

The elevator ride was a brief, nightmarish interruption in Oliver’s plans. He found himself clenching his teeth in an effort to keep his hands off Riley while the car rose to their floor. The presence of five other people made it an utter necessity, but it was the hardest thing he’d ever done. His mind was overflowing with images of what he wanted to do when he had her alone and the knowledge of what she’d slipped into his pocket.

She was holding the key card as soon as the doors slid apart, and the two of them hurried down the passageway, only to curse as her fingers fumbled when she tried to unlock their room.

Finally they were inside, reaching for each other even before the thud of the door locking them away had faded.

Riley grabbed Oliver, dragging his head to hers, kissing him frantically, hungrily, thrusting her tongue into his mouth and moaning as he pressed against her face in his turn. They stumbled, moved and ended up with his back to the wall, her body a fierce lick of heat against his chest.

“God,
now
.” She tugged at his clothing, managing to pull his jacket off and his shirt free of his pants.

He helped, pulling his shirt off, then slipping the tiny straps of her dress down over her arms.

She hissed in frustration as her arms caught, panting until she managed to push the silk down and bare her breasts. She leaned against him, the hard buds of her nipples searing his skin. “Oh, better.” She kissed him again.

“Yeah.” His hands stroked her spine and moved downward, inside the rumpled fabric, to find her buttocks. He forced her body against his erection, moving slightly, loving the deep groan she made and the way her thighs parted for him.

She bit his lower lip and sucked it as he pushed the rest of her dress to the floor, baring her to his gaze. Not that he could see much, since his brain was rapidly fogging up with a single focus—to get all that heat around his cock.

He turned them, putting her back to the wall, intending to unfasten his pants. But she was way ahead of him, her hands already loosening the button at the waistband and delving inside to cup him.

It was his turn to groan as she found him, held him—and squeezed.

“Jesus.” He tore at his fly and kicked at his clothing as it dropped to his feet. Her tongue left his mouth and traced a path down his neck to his shoulders and his chest as he toed off his shoes. She licked his nipple, then nipped it gently, sighing with delight as she discovered his naked body. His shorts were gone, he wore nothing but his socks, and damned if he had the time or the inclination to deal with those.

Her thong vanished with a snap as he grabbed it and pulled it away from her. He heard her gasp as his arousal slipped between her thighs and rubbed against the bare skin of her pussy. “Oliver,
please
…do it now. I’m gonna explode here any second…”

“Wait, we need…”

“In your jacket pocket.” She dug her fingers into his ass and rubbed herself over his cock, hot moisture slicking him with her juices.

“I know. Wait…”

Managing to retain two or three functioning brain cells, he grabbed for his jacket, dropped it twice, cursed and then discovered the foil packet. All while being wonderfully assaulted by a desperately horny naked woman wearing red high-heeled shoes. He’d seen a porno movie like this once, but never imagined he’d be in the starring role one day.

“
Hurry
.” She urged him on with a teasing brush to his balls with her fingertips and a quick bite to his earlobe. Damn, this woman could multitask with a helluva lot more skill than he could. He wanted to suck those hard nipples, explore her pussy with whatever body part was available and fuck her blind.

He was barely managing to open the condom and find his own cock, let alone sheath it. Everything else would have to wait. Except the fucking her blind bit. That was top priority.