Unraveled Page 11

  Gabriel has ached to make Charity his for years, and finally having her in his bed, not just enduring but enjoying his darker urges is more than he'd ever imagined it could be. Despite what she says, he knows she deserves candlelight and roses, not candle wax and ropes. He'll enjoy her while he can and let go when she finds the right man.

  Charity knows Gabriel's game and she's not having any of it. A man can like it rough in bed and still be good and kind. He's exactly the kind of man she wants to marry and she will. She loves him and she knows he loves her and she's not taking no for an answer.

  So when he runs off "to think" just after Christmas, it's up to her to let him know that good girls can like it dark and rough and bad boys can be good men.

  Warning: Bad boys and their toys and the sweet girls who love them. Naughty sexin', the appearance of floggers, blindfolds and a crop. The occasional bad word.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Sweet Charity:

  "Why don't you put us all out of misery and fuck the woman?" Rafe asked Gabriel.

  "What? Who?" He'd been staring so hard at Charity he'd only halfway heard the question. He turned to Rafe and Brian and exhaled sharply.

  Brian laughed. "Charity Harris. You know, the woman you told me two years ago that if I ever touched or tried to get naked you'd kill me and bury my body where no one would find it? The woman you've been staring at all night? All that licking business is making me wonder about my chances at being murdered by you. I do so love all that long, curvy stuff she's got under her clothes. Why you two sniff around each other but never do anything about is beyond me. It's also a waste of a very hot woman."

  Who wasn't staring at her in that sweater? Her sable-dark hair loose around her shoulders, lips as red as the sweater. Her tongue, each time she took a shot, and it had been four now, darting out to lick her hand, God, the sight had been enough to make him whimper.

  He focused his eyes again to glare at Brian. "She's a friend. You're a hound. Of course I warned you off." Even Gabe didn't believe himself. He supposed if he hadn't lost his voice twice in one sentence it might be more convincing.

  "Hi."

  He looked up, and up some more past the breasts heaving from the front of the sweater, past the hair and up into those green eyes of hers. Zing. Their connection shot straight to his toes. And um, other parts.

  "Hey, Charity, you and Jose Cuervo having a good time?" Keep it light.

  She plopped herself in his lap and his arms went around her to keep them both from falling. So much for that. "Gabriel, why don't you find me fuckable? What? Am I ugly? Fat? Do I smell? Did I make a weird noise before? Why do you run from me?"

  "I'm going to check on Belle. You know, to see if she wants a ride home," Rafe said, shoving at Brian who stared at the mouthwatering tits currently pressed against Gabe's chest.

  Gabriel wanted to throttle his friend for looking at her that way and didn't truly relax until the other two guys had gone and he and Charity were left alone. Although relaxed wasn't exactly what he felt just then.

  Her lips just touched his ear, her breath against the sensitive skin. "Now that we're alone, you can tell me. It drives me crazy, you know. Why don't you want me?" She nuzzled into his neck and he stifled a groan.

  "Honey, you're drunk." He knew it from the way she spoke. He'd heard her say the "f" word maybe a handful of times in the years he'd known her. She was also clearly out of it not to feel the rock hard cock she'd planted her sweet ass on.

  "I am drunk, yes. If I wasn't, I'd be pretending that night eight years ago never happened. I'd be pretending it doesn't bother me that you didn't make me come. That I ran off and then we didn't talk to each other for nearly a year and now we circle each other and I think you're interested but other times you couldn't be less interested. It makes me very frustrated and there's only so much masturbating I can do and now apparently you've been warning men away. Tsk tsk, Gabriel. Brian might be the guy to give me what I need. Why so interested in telling him to back off?"

  He tried not to smile. She was drunk and slurring her words slightly but she was on a mission and this was the woman he'd known for nearly thirty years demanding an answer. She was damned cute although squirming a lot, which wasn't helping his cock or his resolve to keep away from her.

  Rafe approached, one of his eyebrows rising as he caught sight of how low Gabriel's hand rested on Charity's back, just above the sweet curve of her ass. "I'm going to take Belle home. She's very fun when she's been taking tequila shots. Thanks for that, Charity." He winked and Charity laughed.

  "Merry Christmas from me to you."

  Gabriel stood, bringing Charity to her feet but keeping an arm around her waist. "I'm going to take you home. You can't drive like this."

  "I can take her," Brian said, wearing a smirk.

  "I've got it." Gabriel glared and walked her out.

  "I'm fine. I can get a ride with someone else since you hate being with me so much."

  Gabe leaned her against his truck until he got it unlocked and opened. "Get in and stop that now. You know that's bullshit."

  She snorted but got in, swinging those long legs inside.

  He walked around, taking a deep breath of the cold air and praying for strength. He hated that she'd think he felt she was unattractive. Especially when the opposite was true. Eight years ago was not her fault.

  "You're not going to puke in my truck are you?" he asked, starting the truck and putting his seatbelt on.

  She rolled her eyes. "I'm not some college dumbass who can't hold her liquor. I only had four shots and we both know I'm capable of keeping up with you on that score. I wouldn't drive just now, but I'm not gonna puke."

  "Just checking. Don't get pissy with me. You're at that new townhouse complex now right?"

  "Yes. I'll get pissy if I want to. And you haven't answered my questions."

  "Because they're stupid questions. We were kids eight years ago and you know damned good and well you're a beautiful, sexy woman."

  She crossed her arms over her chest and fumed the rest of the way to her house, which was fine with him.

  "Take this lane here on the left. I'm the last driveway on the end."

  He pulled up, turning the truck off. He turned to speak but she practically leapt at him, throwing her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts against his chest and her mouth to his.

  It was over for his self control as those lips of hers touched his. Within moments he was out of his seatbelt and his hands were in her hair. That soft, beautiful hair he wanted to wrap around his fist.

  He let himself kiss her, let himself marvel at her taste when his tongue slipped into her mouth. She moaned, pressing against him more confidently, tossing her leg over his body and straddling his lap.

  White bursts of light pinpricked against his closed eyelids as she ground herself over his cock and it was his turn to groan.

  Firmly but not as hard as he really wanted, he pulled her hair enough to break the kiss. He'd intended to get out and drag her inside and run the other way but her neck was too tempting. Instead, he angled her the way he wanted. He feasted on her frantic pulsebeat just beneath her ear before cruising down the column of her throat where she was warm and smelled damned good.

  The edge of his teeth tested the skin at the hollow of her throat and she moaned, arching into him. Her fingers pulled his hair, keeping him close.

  The sound of a car door closing somewhere else on the small lane broke into his brain, and he grabbed her by the waist and set her on the seat again as he tried to catch his breath.

  "Christ."

  ...all signs point North for Not-So-Saint Nick

  Mistress Christmas

  (c) 2008 Lorelei James

  A part of the Wild West Boys series.

  In a rare moment of recklessness, mild-mannered accountant Holly North lets her best friend guilt her into filling in as Mistress Christmas at Sugar Plums, a Christmas-themed strip club. Fearing she'll be recognized--or worse, considered a fraud-
-she dons a velvet mask along with the Mrs. Claus-meets-dominatrix costume. She's shocked at how deliciously wicked anonymity feels.

  Detective Nick West is determined to discover how his friend was supposedly robbed after a lap dance at Sugar Plums. His visions of revenge vanish faster than a flying sleigh upon his first peek at Mistress Christmas--a leggy brunette with smoky eyes and a lush mouth begging for hours beneath the mistletoe.

  Their attraction flares hotter than a fireplace on a cold winter evening, and Nick is only too happy to oblige when Holly blurts out her one Christmas wish...

  For a naughty secret Santa to sweep her away for a night of anonymous sexual pleasure.

  Warning: This erotic comedy contains naughty holiday innuendo, creative use of garland, sexy love scenes hot as spiced cider, a heroine as sweet as sugared plums, and a wildly romantic hero with a great big...candy cane.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Mistress Christmas:

  "I believe you mentioned something about buying me a drink?"

  "Absolutely. What's your pleasure?"

  You. "I'm in the mood for peppermint schnapps."

  "A taste of sweet and sticky coming right up."

  He scooted close enough she could differentiate the varying shades of gold, blond and brown in his wavy hair. And the scent of him was intoxicating--clean linen and hot man.

  When he reached across the bar, the inside of his thick wrist grazed the bared skin below her ribcage. The electric shock of the simple contact nearly buckled her knees. A little gasp of surprise escaped before she could stop it.

  His frown was there and gone as he paid the bartender and slid two shot glasses within reach.

  When Holly faced him fully, his gaze focused on hers with an intensity that caused her eyelashes to tingle. As she attempted to gulp down her shot, he placed his warm, rough-skinned hand atop hers, stilling the motion.

  "Ah ah ah. Not before we toast."

  "To what?"

  "Come now, I'm sure this isn't the first time you've made a toast in here."

  How wrong he was. Holly racked her brain for a clever phrase. "How about...to Christmas wishes coming true?" Heaven help her, this man appeared to be everything she'd ever wished for.

  "Don't you think that's a little vague, Mistress Christmas?"

  Lord. His sexy voice was as dangerous as his sexy smirk. She managed, "Do you have a specific wish in mind?"

  His burning gaze raked her from the tips of her pointed ears to the tips of her pointed nipples. "I've got a very explicit wish. Would you like to hear it?"

  Her body vibrated as if he'd whispered very explicit across every inch of her passion-soaked skin. "Maybe you should tell me your name before we start sharing wishes and dreams."

  "Nick."

  "Hmm. Are you anything like your namesake, Saint Nick?"

  "Not even close, darlin'. I'll offer no apologies that I've always been more sinner than saint material."

  "You do have that devilish look about you, Not-So-Saint Nick."

  Nick stared at her mouth, virtually growling, "I like the way my name sounds tumbling from your sweet lips."

  Playing with fire, Holly.

  But she wasn't brainy Holly North, shy accountant. She was bold Mistress Christmas, embodiment of sexual fantasies. And she'd milk that persona, live the dream of being the object of men's physical desire, if only for a single night.

  Holly lifted the glass to her mouth and ran her tongue around the rim, licking at the thick liquid clinging to the edge. The man's gaze darkened; another thrill zipped through her. "Where'd you learn to talk so sweet?"

  "Wyoming."

  "Does that make you a real cowboy?"

  "Yep. Born and bred, dust on my boots, sage in my blood, dyed-in-the-wool gen-u-wine, native Wyoming hell-raiser." He raised his glass to hers. "You impressed?"

  "Very."

  "So let's toast to overcoming first impressions."

  Weird toast, but she smiled. "I'll drink to that."

  They chinked their glasses and knocked back the schnapps.

  Holly welcomed the sweet fire flowing down her throat and slammed the empty glass on the bar with a heartfelt, "Ah."

  "Another?"

  She automatically started to decline, but her inner vixen cooed, "Why not?"

  "Coming right up." Nick signaled the bartender.

  The next shot boosted Holly's confidence. "Tell me, Nick, if you're really a cowboy, where's your hat?"

  "Same place as my horse--at home in Wyoming."

  "Do you live there?"

  "Nope. I'm riding a steel horse in Denver these days. What about you?"

  "No hat or horse," she hedged playfully. "Not that it matters because I don't know the first thing about riding."

  A twinkle brightened his eyes. "Really?"

  She cautioned, "Before you ask, no, I don't want to save a horse and ride a cowboy."

  "Pity."

  Nick's you-caught-me-with-naughty-thoughts grin made her stomach cartwheel as fast as Wyoming tumbleweeds.

  "I'd be more than willing to show you a few secret cowboy tricks once you mounted up."

  "I'll just bet you could," she murmured.

  "I'll just bet you were born to ride. You'd look amazing on top. Your thighs clamped tight, your back arched just so, your head held high as you find the natural rhythm of moving on a powerful body. This gorgeous mane"--he twirled a section around his index finger--"trailing between your shoulder blades as you buck bareback. Every part of you bouncing as you're pushing faster and harder, until you explode from the sheer joy of the ultimate ride."

  Holly didn't dare look away from the sexual challenge in Nick's eyes, but she couldn't keep the heat from rising in her cheeks, nor from hearing her mother's warning: If you keep playing with matches, child, you're gonna get burned.

  A mischievous grin tilted his mouth as he leaned forward. "You're awful quiet all of a sudden, darlin'. You okay?"

  Smug man. If she were going up in flames, she'd drag Nick right along with her. "Oh, I was just thinking."

  "About?"

  "Something you oughta remember, cowboy. Not all women mount up the same or crave that type of wild ride. See, you're all about fast, furious, pulse-pounding action. I imagined a slower, sweeter pace for the first go-round. Taking time to learn the subtle signals before handing over the reins. Not rushing headlong to the glorious end, all hot and sweaty and tired." Holly bit her lip, as if deep in thought. A little buzz fizzed in her blood when Nick's gaze zoomed to her mouth.

  "I'd prefer drawing out the excitement. Gliding along with abandon. Building the pace one step at a time until that moment you dig your heels in and break free, reveling in the rush of an unbridled, unbound, rigorous ride."

  Nick just blinked at her and then he swallowed hard.

  Hah. "You're awful quiet all of a sudden, darlin'," she teased. "You okay?"

  "You're good at that."

  Holly cocked her head saucily. "Good at what, cowboy?"

  "Reminding me you're a professional."

  He's going to give her the Christmas gift of her dreams...in triplicate.

  Unwrapped

  (c) 2007 Jaci Burton

  When Justin Garrett accidentally views Amy Parker's private online journal, he sees the cold corporate exec in a brand new light. It seems the icy, unapproachable Amy has fantasies. Fantasies that both appall and intrigue her.

  No one knows the real Amy Parker, and she's satisfied to keep it that way. A woman with kinky tastes wouldn't cut it in the straight-laced law firm where she's fought her way to partnership. And she certainly refuses to let an underling use her to advance in the firm. Justin Garrett might be brilliant, gorgeous, and sexy as hell, but he's firmly restricted to her fantasies and that's where he'll stay.

  While working together on a corporate acquisition in Hawaii over the Christmas holidays, Justin sets out to make Amy's secret fantasy come true--a night of passion with two men who adore her. And he knows the ideal other man to help Am
y unwrap the perfect Christmas gift.

  But first he has to melt her heart and convince her he sees her as a woman, not a rung to climb on the career ladder. In fact, by giving Amy exactly what she's always wished for, Justin hopes to climb right into her heart.

  This title contains the following: explicit sex, graphic language, menage a trois, a trip to Hawaii and maybe a glimpse of Santa on a surfboard.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Unwrapped:

  The sand was hot. She hurried to the water's edge, relieved when the waves lapped at her feet and ankles. It was cold. She needed the cool water to knock some sense into her. As soon as she was in waist high, she dove in, letting the waves crash over her.

  It was heaven. She swam out a few yards, loving the feel of the waves undulating under her. It was incredibly freeing, and oh so relaxing. She finally stopped, treading water and feeling for footing, landing on a sandbar. She stood in the water up to her breasts. Mitch swam up next to her and grinned as he stood up, shaking his head.

  "Now that was refreshing," he said with a wide grin.

  "Yes it was. I needed that."

  She screamed when arms encircled her waist and swept her off her feet. Flailing about, she turned, realizing she was being held in Justin's arms.

  "You scared the hell out of me," she said, splashing water in his face.

  He shook his head and laughed. "Thought I was a shark, didn't you?"

  "Maybe." All too aware of how good it felt to be nestled against his chest, she said, "You can put me down now."

  One raven brow arched. "Oh, I don't think so." Instead, he bent a bit, then lifted her, clear out of the water, and she went sailing in the air, screaming at the top of her lungs. Instead of landing somewhere in the water, she was caught by another set of strong arms. This time, it was Mitch.

  She glared at both of them. "You guys are not funny."

  "We think we are," Mitch said, cradling her close, turning her toward him so her breasts were mashed against his chest. "You're safe with us, Amy. Don't worry."

  She wasn't worried at all. Justin swam up and linked hands with Mitch underneath her, dropping her into the middle between them. She lay in their arms in the water, cradled against their chests while the two of them carried on a conversation about sports, seemingly ignoring her. It was a man hammock. She was comfortable, safe, and absolutely petrified. She was a sandwich in the middle of two amazingly desirable men.