Naked Love

by Jones, Lisa Renee

  I stuffed my dick back in my pants and zipped it up, returning my outfit to its original state. I held out my hand, helping Izzy off the bed.

  “If you’re a good girl, I’ll let you play mistress again tonight,” I whispered, brushing my lips against her mouth.

  A smile spread across her face as her blue eyes blazed. “Only if I can use the whip again,” she said, clapping her hands as she bounced.

  “I’ve created a monster.” I laughed, picking her up and tossing her over my shoulder before I swatted her ass.

  “Mm, I liked that.” She giggled before biting the sensitive spot just below my shoulder blades.

  “Fuck, Izzy,” I growled, slapping her ass a little harder.

  “You better watch yourself, Jimmy. I’m gonna get you later,” she said through her laughter as we descended the stairs.

  I pulled her body down, letting it slide against mine until we were eye to eye. “You already got me, Izzy Gallo. Bring it.” I cradled her face in my hands and kissed her hard, demanding entrance into her sweet mouth.

  I finally felt at peace and secure with Izzy. Although we hadn’t professed our undying love to each other, I could see the sadness in her eyes every time I had to say goodbye and head back to Leesburg to work. We spent a couple of days every week together, but it was becoming harder to stay apart.

  My phone rang in my pocket, echoing throughout the hallways. I sighed, pulling it from my pocket. “I gotta take this. It’s work.”

  She nodded and walked away as I hit answer.

  “Yeah?”

  “Get your ass back here now,” Bobby barked, his breathing fast and hard.

  “What the fuck, Bobby? It’s my day off, man,” I whispered, trying to not draw the attention of the family.

  “The bust. Thomas called. It needs to happen tonight. It’s all hands on deck, James. Wipe the pussy off your face and stick your dick back in your pants. You have two hours to get the fuck back here and be ready.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked, pinching the bridge of my nose as panic started to grip me.

  These were the final hours of the thing Thomas and I had been working years to accomplish. This was our chance to bring the MC to its knees and bite off the head of the snake. One fuck-up and everything could go wrong.

  “You got a dick?”

  “Yeah. Dumbass question.”

  “Well, so is questioning my orders. Get the fuck off the phone, kiss your lady goodbye, and get the hell back here ASAP.” A loud bang in my ear caused me to pull the phone away from my head before the line went dead.

  “Izzy!” I called, waiting for her to come back so I could spill the news.

  “Yes, Jimmy,” she answered as she walked in with a confused look on her face.

  “I gotta run, doll.” I kissed her on the forehead.

  She gripped my arms, staring into my eyes. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah. I got called into work. Tell your folks I had to run and that I’m sorry.”

  “I wanted to play mistress tonight.” She stuck out her lip, pouting at me.

  “I’ll be back in a couple of days and we can play mistress all you want.”

  “Jimmy.” She pulled me closer, her grip tightening around my biceps.

  “What, Izzy?” I leaned forward, resting my forehead against her.

  My heart ached from having to say goodbye. I’d told her I’d be back in a couple of days, but I didn’t know when I’d see her again. With the case wrapping up, I could be buried under a sea of paperwork and court dates.

  “Promise me everything will be okay?” she whispered with sad eyes.

  “I promise,” I lied. I couldn’t promise a goddamn thing except that I would do everything in my power to be back in her arms as quickly as possible.

  “Bring him home to my parents and yourself back to me.” She leaned forward, tenderly kissing my lips.

  “I will. We’ll be here together before you know it,” I said, kissing her one last time, inhaling and memorizing her scent and taste. “Izzy, I lo—” She placed her finger against my lips.

  “Don’t,” she whispered. “Tell me when you come back to me.”

  I nodded and released her, touching her hand until my fingers slipped from hers as I walked out the door. She waved from the doorway as I jumped in my car and sped off to the one thing that could bring me back to her forever.

  We needed to put an end to the Sun Devils MC and I needed to bring Thomas home safe.

  * * *

  Thank you for reading RESIST ME!

  Thomas Gallo’s story continues in UNCOVER ME now available everywhere

  Thomas Gallo has been living undercover with the Sun Devils MC for far too long. He's lost track of his life, becoming absorbed in the excess and violence surrounding him. The only bright light in the darkness is Roxanne, a stripper born and raised as a member of the club.

  When his assignment with the MC draws to a close, he needs to make a decision-- either walk away from Roxanne forever, or take her from the only life she's ever known.

  But unveiling his true identity may jeopardize more than just his life.

  ONE CLICK UNCOVER ME NOW

  Turn the page for a protective, strong, sexy fireman ready to weep you off your feet in TEMPTATION.

  Temptation

  Robin Covington

  At sixteen, Kit ditched her crappy life and moved to Nashville with only $200, her guitar, and a notebook full of songs. She hit it big, but five years of living like a rock star plus a stint in rehab has killed any good will she had with her label. The suits have ordered Kit to shape up or ship out of the limelight. The last thing she needs is a hot, sexy distraction with a sinful smile.

  He doesn’t know the meaning of the word.

  Max Butler is as far from a celebrity as you can get and he likes it that way. A Nashville firefighter, he’s living the single life with a revolving door of parties, friends, and a different woman in his bed every night. When his normal life suddenly collides with the girl on his favorite Rolling Stone cover, he sees the perfect chance to fulfill his ultimate fantasy and see just how bad Kit can be.

  Sometimes bad is so very good.

  With three weeks until Kit leaves for her big tour, Max promises to give her a break from being the good girl--no strings attached. But when hot days lead to sultry nights, the lines get blurred and suddenly three weeks of bad might not be good enough.

  1

  Kit

  I was going to die in a bathroom.

  Just like Elvis.

  The thought that I might end up as one half of a morbid trivia question—I’ll take “name the music stars who died in the bathroom” for $400, Alex”—did not stop the panic from rising in my throat as I struggled to focus my thoughts over the God–awful shrieking of the fire alarms. In the restroom of my record label’s rehearsal studio, the emergency lights gave off just enough light to let me see the smoke creeping under the edge of the door. I was no expert on the ideal smoke–to–actual–fire ratio before you died of smoke inhalation, but I knew I had to get out of here and make it to safety. Now.

  Physically shaking off my dark thoughts, I stumbled over to the row of sinks, grabbed several lengths of paper towels, ran them under water and squeezed out the excess just like they’d taught me in school many years ago. Hey, Mrs. Midkiff; I really was paying attention!

  I caught my dim reflection in the mirror and it wasn’t pretty. Terror was not a good look for me. My long curly hair was in snarls and sticking to my face and neck with sweat, the crimson streaks that were my trademark looked Halloween–costume creepy when paired with my runny mascara and eyeliner and the smeared red of my lip gloss. I hadn’t looked this bad since I’d checked my ass into rehab.

  Coughing at the smoke irritating my throat, I slapped the towels over my nose and mouth, my hands shaking as I desperately tried to get my nerves under control.

  I didn’t want to die. I was only twenty–one years old.

  Succumbing to panic
was not an option.

  I took another look at the smoke creeping under the door.

  And neither was staying here any longer.

  The smoke was definitely getting thicker now and I had to force my wobbly legs to take me to the door. I reached out with the back of my hand and touched the metal door to see if it was hot and I almost wept when it wasn’t. I might have a clear path to safety once I got out of the restroom.

  Dropping to my knees, I covered my mouth and eased the door open with my free hand. The alarm was even louder in the hallway and the smoke so heavy the emergency lighting was useless out here. I was now virtually blind and deaf because of the noise. Not a good combination.

  I picked the direction that I thought led to the stairwell, briefly considering going back to the studio for my beloved Martin guitar, Jolene. I loved that instrument more than anything in the world but I couldn’t risk trying to find my way back through the twisty hallways of the One More Song Entertainment studios. The thought of never holding it again made me want to lie down on the floor and bawl like a baby, but I couldn’t do it. I’d worked too hard to get clean and bounce back from all the stupid decisions I’d made eighteen months ago. I was just starting to see the future that I could have—one where I called the shots and where I figured just who the hell Kit Landry really was in and out of the spotlight.

  It wasn’t going to be easy—there were so many people who didn’t want me to rock the successful, money–making boat that they’d all ridden on for years. They wanted me to be the same girl—America’s country–music sweetheart—and I was just figuring out that I was more; that I could be more. More than the image I’d hidden behind for the last five years. I was determined to have the chance to find a balance between the old and new Kit and that desire kept me crawling on this floor. It kept me from lying down and giving in to the exhaustion that was weighing me down.

  The top of my head hit an immobile object with a brain–scrambling thud and I reached up, feeling the emergency door under my fingertips. Thank you, baby Jesus! With the excitement of potentially avoiding death giving me an extra jolt of energy, I lifted up and pushed on the release bar.

  It wouldn’t budge.

  Shit.

  Overcome with the urge to take a deep breath, I dropped to the ground and re–covered my mouth with the cloth. Panic hovered on the edge of reason as I frantically searched my brain for what to do next. I was running out of all the stuff I’d learned in the few years I’d attended school regularly.

  Okay... just staying here sounds like a bad idea, but I can’t see down the hall...maybe I should just stay here... the fire department will see me signed in on this floor... the smoke is getting really thick... don’t cough... makes it worse... damn, I really don’t want to die like this... this will be on one of those awful “How did they die?” documentary shows... I’m just getting my life back...

  Huddled closer to the ground, I tried to breathe in shallow bursts but the smoke was so thick I couldn’t stop coughing, and inhaled more and more smoke. I couldn’t go forward. I couldn’t see enough to go back.

  I was so screwed.

  Paralyzed with fear and only shitty options, I re–covered my face with the towels and listened for any sounds of rescue.

  I was dizzy and disoriented, a heaviness settling in my arms and legs—making it hard to keep my mouth covered. I tried to focus, but my mind was drifting, memories moving through like the way sunlight skated across my eyelids when I was a kid lying on the soft grass near my house—my Daddy and Mama, being on my own way too soon, coming to Nashville alone and broke at sixteen, selling my first record... touring... Jake when he was my first love and the first one to break my heart... my months at Spring Ridge Rehab... the fans... performing....

  Fuck; they were right. It really does pass before your eyes...

  But what killed me were the things I didn’t see. A normal life. A real date with a guy I hadn’t met through my publicists. An end to all the lying and secrets. A family. Marriage. Kids. A home.

  Hell, yeah, to the minivan. Bring it on—at least someday. I wasn’t going to judge something I’d never had.

  And if someone didn’t find me quick... I never would.

  I heard noises in the distance, relief kicking up the adrenaline again and giving me enough energy to raise myself up on my knees. I tried to see if anyone was coming down the hall but the smoke had thickened, the smell of burning plastic, commercial carpet, and electronics getting stronger by the second. Hot tears fell from my burning eyes and down my face, and I knew I was about three seconds from losing my shit. I was a tough girl. Life had knocked me around, but this blow had come from left field and I zigged when I should have zagged.

  Too fucking bad.

  I removed the towels from my mouth and yelled as loudly as I could. Which wasn’t loud at all.

  I sucked in another breath through the towel filter and coughed before trying again. “Help!”

  Oh, shit. That took it all out of me and I collapsed on the floor, ignoring the pain that shot through my chin when my head landed with a THUNK! on the nasty commercial carpet. I hoped to God that someone heard me because I had just blown my entire wad with that stunt. My eyes were sliding shut and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

  A voice, distant and muffled, filtered into my consciousness. “Hey, Dean! I found someone over here!”

  Through the fog in my brain, I registered a pair of rough gloves yanking on my arms and hauling me close to a large body. A mask was placed over my mouth and I sucked in big gulps of smoke–free air. It was delicious. Better than chocolate, I swear.

  “Hang on. I’ve got you. Just hang on.” The smooth, deep voice of my rescuer rushed over me, calming me until I suddenly remembered Isaac, the security guard on duty.

  Pushing off the mask, I croaked, “You’ve got to get...” I wasn’t able to finish the warning because I started coughing, so much that I expected to see my toenails go flying across the room with the next big hack.

  “Is there someone else in the building?” He looked down at me, up close and definitely space–invading because of the thick smoke, but he was able to see me nod. He pressed a button on his uniform and spoke into a walkie–talkie mounted on his shoulder. “Dean, we’ve got a second vic in the building.”

  “Get yours outta here. I’m on it.”

  “My guitar.” I knew it was stupid and selfish to mention an object, but she was like a person to me.

  “Your guitar?” he asked and when I nodded he immediately shook his head. “Sorry, I’m not going back for a guitar. My captain would have my ass in a sling for that one.”

  My rescuer lifted me up, murmuring into my ear as he moved down the hallway, “Let’s get you safe and checked out. Just hang on, ma’am.”

  Shifting his hold on me, he shoved against the emergency door several times. It still wouldn’t budge even with his ginormous body ramming against it. That fucking door was really messing with my need to get out of the blazing inferno. Mr. Rescue wasn’t happy either.

  He let out a creative curse and spoke into the walkie–talkie again. “Unit Three. I have a female victim on the third floor. Emergency exit blocked. I’m headed to the windows on the northeast side of the building. Going to the fire escape. Over.”

  Fire escape. Heights. Rickety stairs.

  I pushed down the panic that surged up from my stomach and threatened to splatter all over his nice fireman’s uniform. I hated heights. When my team had suggested my adding some of that Cirque Du Soleil stuff that P!nk did in her shows to my concert, I told them that I was all for it as long as they issued raincoats to all the seats under me. I would hurl. Everywhere. I’ve seen me do it.

  But now, I could do nothing but cling to him as he carried me into an office, shut the door, and walked over to the expanse of windows.

  Placing me on the floor, he eyeballed me through the safety glass of his mask. “I have to break out this window.” He positioned my mask more firmly o
n my face. “Stay here and keep this on.”

  I started to nod my head in agreement but moving made me feel sick all over again, so I slumped against the wall and waited for him. Glass shattered and a clean rush of evening air cooled my cheeks. My rescuer knelt down, lifted me up, and propped me up close to the new opening.

  “Let’s get you outside for a little fresh air.”

  Let’s not. Let’s get out of the building in a way that doesn’t require me to suspend myself three stories above the very hard concrete on nothing but a rusty metal staircase.

  I kept my death grip on the wall as he stepped onto the escape and kicked at the ladder release with a booted foot several times. It shuddered and squealed and made noises that did not assure me of its stability. If he suggested that we jump, I would kill him.

  He swore and turned on his walkie–talkie. “Unit Three. Fire escape on northeast side is broken. We need a bucket.”

  Oh, great. I’ve seen this on TV. I’ve watched “Backdraft”. We were going to leave the fire escape and get into a container suspended on top of the fire ladder. Why was I here on a Friday night?

  That’s right; I was being a good girl these days.

  After confirmation squawked back into his device, he reached inside and lifted me through the open window and over the windowsill. I had shut my eyes tightly the minute it looked like he was going to take me out on the suspended death trap, but when he stopped I couldn’t help myself. I opened my eyes and immediately, involuntarily, looked down. On instinct, I jumped back away from the ledge, grabbing the fireman standing next to me.

  “Whoa, whoa. You okay?”

  Heart pounding, I hid my face against his chest like a little kid. “I’m afraid of heights.”

  He chuckled. “Well, we could go back inside...” When I grabbed him and lurched towards the opening that led back inside, he held me tighter and stroked my back soothingly. “Hey, we can’t go back in there. Sorry. Fireman humor.”