A Question of Love: Sequel to A Question of Trust

by Jess Dee

  Now the fragile bond they’ve developed hangs in the balance, threatened by a reality that love may not be strong enough to overcome…

  Warning: This book might just make you cry, but it’ll make you smile as well. The story will probably get you all hot and bothered too. It contains naughty activities in the car, sex on the kitchen counter (and up against the wall), a quickie in the garden, a little experimenting with scarves—oh, and some hot loving in the bedroom.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Steve’s Story:

  With the door securely locked behind her, she collapsed against the wall, panting.

  Oh God. Her heart hammered against her chest and her hands shook, her body desperately craving a fix.

  Steve infuriated her. He drove her nuts. He was the most stubborn, obnoxious, presumptuous man ever, and yet she still hungered for his body and his touch. Like an addict. She clenched her fists and howled in frustration—then nearly jumped out of her skin as the securely locked door opened beside her.

  She stared in horror as Steve stepped inside. “How…?”

  “Key,” he offered helpfully and held it up to show her. “The receptionist gave me an extra one when you checked in. You didn’t notice?”

  “What…?” Shit, what was he doing here?

  “Weren’t you listening?” He set the key on the table and stepped closer, trapping her against the wall. “I told you in the car. When we get back to your apartment, I’m going to kiss you.”

  “You can’t.” Could he?

  “Oh, but I can.” He pressed his hands against the wall on either side of her head and dipped his face towards hers. “And I will.”

  And he did. His lips claimed hers. In seconds, he was devouring her. Enticing her. Exciting her.

  Penelope reacted on instinct, in the same way any fuming woman in her situation would. She lifted her rage-filled arms and threw them around his neck, kissing him right back. Ravenously. It didn’t matter how hard she’d rallied against him in the car or how much she’d refused to take his verbal seduction seriously. The instant he touched her, any idea of resistance melted away.

  When he did as he’d promised and ripped off her shirt, Pen didn’t flinch. On the contrary, she yanked off her bra and pushed his head down to her aching, swollen breasts. As his lips touched her burning skin she couldn’t suppress the moan that burst from her throat. He suckled her tight nipples, his predatory mouth lighting fires all over her body.

  The five o’clock shadow on his chin grazed her sensitive flesh, the light burn triggering a sweet, urgent ache. “Steve,” she gasped, “please…”

  He raised his head from her breast, stared at her through midnight blue eyes. Eyes darkened by desire. “Please what?”

  “Please.” She couldn’t talk. Couldn’t think.

  “Tell me, Pen.” He nibbled her lower lip. “Are you wearing panties?” His hands covered her breasts, kneading them.

  “Oh.” Her head fell back.

  “Are you?” Fingers pinched lightly at the taut nipples, the erotic pain shooting through her in tiny bullets of pleasure.

  “Yes,” she managed to whisper.

  He sucked gently on her lip, running his tongue along the inside. “Do you want to be wearing panties?”

  “No.” That wasn’t a whisper. It was a heartfelt plea. She didn’t want to be wearing anything. She wanted to be naked. With Steve.

  She’d barely drawn breath when she found herself in his arms as he carried her to the bed. Her mouth was on his neck, feeding on the salty skin of his jaw line. Her hands were in his hair and her breasts were pressed against the steely muscle of his chest.

  Pen was a fool and she knew it. She was weak and in need of a hit and could not resist what Steve offered. While in theory she’d told herself repeatedly she would not make love to him again, in practice it was a whole other story. A whole other story of sleek, rugged sinew, of hard male muscle and of sensual, sexy man.

  He set her down on the mattress and tugged his T-shirt off. As his washboard abs came into view, Pen wanted more. She wanted to see all of him. When, still standing, he leaned over to kiss her, her hands went to his waist and fought with the buttons on his jeans. The task was tough—his tongue did crazy things to her, scattering her concentration, but the end result was worth it. She freed his erection from the tight confines of his pants and held it in her hands as he groaned.

  The taste of his salty skin lingered and she wanted more. With Steve she always wanted more. She pushed his jeans over his hips then pulled away to watch him shrug them off. She could not wait to dip her head down and wrap her lips around the tip of his penis.

  When she did, Steve muttered something unintelligible. She went to work making love to him, sucking and kissing and licking in ways she knew would drive him to distraction. His musky scent filled her nose and his masculine taste exploded on her tongue. His cock swelled and thickened as she caressed. The skin of his toned butt filled one hand, while round, soft testicles nestled in the other.

  For someone who knew the smallest morsel of Steve would only serve to fan the flames of her addiction, she was being given a sensory overload—and she only wanted more.

  “I thought,” Steve rasped, “you were not going to kiss me.”

  “I wasn’t.” Her answer was muffled.

  “Well.” Steve shuddered and pulled away from her. “I’m glad we’ve got that sorted out.”

  He drew her up until they stood face to face. “You said I couldn’t tie you up either.”

  “You can’t, and it’s not negotiable.”

  Steve blinked. Once. “But kissing is?”

  “Kissing is.”

  He took her mouth with his. Negotiations on this topic weren’t necessary. While his lips beguiled, his hands undressed. Her jeans landed in a pile on top of his.

  “You are wearing panties,” he acknowledged as he slipped a finger beneath the silky material.

  “I won’t be if you take them off.” His finger felt shockingly cool in the heat of her slick folds. She shivered as he ran it over her lips once before dipping it inside. Deep, deep inside. The pleasure was so sharp her inner walls clamped around him.

  He dropped to his knees and pushed her until she sat on the edge of the bed. Still he did not remove her panties. Instead he withdrew his finger and lowered his head to her lap. Through the silk and lace he kissed her, running his tongue slowly over her throbbing clit. He kissed her until she was a shivering wreck on the bed. Until she was panting and sobbing.

  “Fire it up, Steve,” she begged, and finally, finally her panties were discarded.

  He moved away for a second, grabbed his wallet and put it down again, and then he was back, fired up and ready to go.

  Pen scooted up the bed, making space for him between her legs, and Steve settled there, right where he belonged, with the tip of his erection torturously close to her aching center. Her body trembled with longing, her hunger so insatiable she had to swallow down a cry.

  “You told me you weren’t going to kiss me,” Steve said again as he lowered his face to hers and kissed her chastely.

  “We’ve been through this already,” she answered and deepened the kiss. As her tongue invaded his mouth, he nudged his erection stingily between her lower lips. In response, she wrapped her legs around his waist, inviting him in further.

  Sweet heaven, if he didn’t take her now, she would not be held accountable for her actions.

  “Steve,” she moaned. “Please.”

  “Please what?” Beads of sweat formed on his brow.

  “Please.” She ground her hips against him, trying to increase the depth of penetration. “Make love to me.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, as though in pain, and then opened them again. “You told me you weren’t going to marry me either.”

  Oh, please. Not that again. Not now. “I’m not.” Again she ground her hips into his. The ache between her legs grew worse, the longing brutal. “I’m going to use you for sex.”
<
br />   The voice of an angel, a husband who loved her—she had it all…until a tragedy took it away.

  Songbird

  © 2009 Maya Banks

  A Linger Story

  They called her their Songbird, but she was never theirs. Not in the way she wanted.

  The Donovan brothers meant everything to Emily, but rejected by Greer and Taggert, she turned to Sean, the youngest. He married her for love, and she loved him, but she also loved his older brothers.

  Her singing launched her to stardom. She had it all. The voice of an angel, a husband who loved her, and the adoration of millions. Until a tragedy took it all away.

  Taggert and Greer grieve for their younger brother, but they’re also grieving the loss of Emmy, their songbird. They take her back to Montana, determined to help her heal and show her once and for all they want her. They’re also on a mission to help her find her voice again. Under the protective shield of their love, she begins to blossom…until an old threat resurfaces.

  Now the Donovans face a fight for what they once threw away. Only by winning it—and her love—will their songbird fly again.

  Warning: Explicit sex, ménage a trois, multiple partners, a committed polyamorous relationship, adult language, and sweet loving.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Songbird:

  The gentle strains of a guitar woke Emily from her sleep. She blinked fuzzily, wondering if it was just part of a dream. It was still dark outside, but a quick glance at the clock told her dawn wasn’t far off.

  A haunting melody, so simple and beautiful, floated over her ears. Her chin trembled. It was the first song she’d recorded—a song she’d written long ago when she and the Donovan brothers had spent a spring afternoon in the rain. Mountain Rain.

  She closed her eyes and let the chords take her back to the nights spent round a campfire, Sean playing the guitar while she sang. Taggert and Greer sat by the fire, their long legs stretched out, their brims pulled low over their foreheads and their worn boots reflecting the flicker of the flames.

  Drawn to the music, she eased out of bed and walked into the hallway to stand at the top of the stairs. Clad in only her flannel PJs, she followed the sound of the guitar down to the living room and realized it was coming from the front porch.

  Her legs shook, and she had to steady herself by reaching down to grasp the arm of the couch. Who was playing? And moreover, her song?

  The words to the song floated through her mind, and she was reminded of earlier, happier days. Carefree.

  She opened the front door and stepped into the chilly morning air. The music stopped, and she found herself staring at Taggert, his hand frozen over the strings as he stared back at her.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you,” Taggert said.

  “I didn’t know you played.”

  He glanced down at the guitar, and it was then she realized it was Sean’s.

  “I don’t play well. Been fiddling with it for the last year.”

  “It sounded beautiful,” she said in a low voice.

  He looked back up at her, his gaze roving over her face until she could feel it caressing her cheek.

  “Will you sing if I play?”

  Her hand flew to her throat and she shook her head forcefully. “No. I c-can’t.”

  “Why can’t you?” he persisted. “Emmy, it’s been a year. Yours is the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard in my life. You have a talent that astounds me, and you’re wasting it.”

  She shook her head again, unable to voice her terror, to admit her guilt, that it was because of the voice he loved so much that Sean was dead. She hated it. She couldn’t even think about singing without her throat closing in on her.

  She sank down onto one of the rockers. “Play for me,” she begged.

  His fingers stuttered over the strings for a moment, clumsy at first, and then he strummed the first chords of Montana Memories, a song she’d written specifically for the Donovan brothers. Did he know? Had he guessed?

  She wrapped herself in the beauty of the music, allowing it to give her comfort when nothing else had. When the last note died and the skies began to lighten in preparation for sunrise, she sought his gaze and asked the question burning a hole in her mind.

  “Why?”

  His brow furrowed. “Why what?”

  “Why did you come after me? Why did you bring me back here? Why…do you and Greer act as though I mean something to you…more than being your brother’s widow?”

  He sucked in his breath and carefully laid the guitar aside. His hands wiped along the tops of his legs and then gripped the area just above his knees. He looked…nervous. That puzzled her. Taggert was brash, temperamental, outspoken, opinionated, but she’d never seen him nervous.

  “We made a mistake,” he said in a raw voice. “One that’s cost us a lot. One we’ll regret making the rest of our lives.”

  “We?”

  “Greer and I, but he’s not here, so I can only speak for me. I made a mistake, Emmy. I pushed you away. I was surprised, even a little appalled that you claimed to love all of us, that you wanted to be with us. I was angry—jealous—and so I sent you away.”

  She stared at him in shock. Had he changed his mind? Now? After four years?

  “Don’t you see, Emmy? If I hadn’t sent you away, you could have been with us. You would have never turned to Sean the way you did and the two of you wouldn’t have left here. You would have been happy and wouldn’t have spent so much time avoiding us. You and Sean would have stayed here and not in a hotel in town, and you damn sure wouldn’t have been walking back to the hotel from the café the night Sean was killed.”

  Oh God, it hurt. She couldn’t breathe. She wanted to deny that he was at fault, but she couldn’t find the words. Her mind screamed no, no, no in a never-ending litany, but instead of saying it, she got up and walked back into the house, leaving Taggert calling after her.

  She walked past the living room, through the kitchen to the back door with no destination in mind. She let herself out, shivering when her bare feet made contact with the cold ground.

  She went in the opposite direction of the stables, through the gate and down the worn pathway to the pond. The water looked dark and forbidding in the faint light, and she hurried on until she topped the slight rise beyond.

  She came to a stumbling halt by the large oak tree that sheltered the headstones beneath. Some of them old, dating back a hundred years, and one much newer.

  It wasn’t necessary for the sun to shed its light over the engraving. She knew it by heart. Sean Donovan, beloved brother and husband.

  Pain. Unrelenting pain. A tiny crack formed in the thick ice protecting her. Spreading rapidly, splintering in all directions. Unstoppable.

  Panic swelled in her chest. A garbled noise caught in her throat. She couldn’t breathe and oh God, it hurt. She needed help. She was going to explode. Something was terribly wrong. She was losing control and felt her insides straining against unbearable pressure.

  She tried to take a breath and then another. Her eyes flooded with tears and sobs piled up deep inside her chest. The agony was unbearable. She was going to break. Maybe she was having a heart attack. How could it hurt so much?

  A horrible noise echoed across the hillside, startling her, and then shockingly, she realized the sound came from her, from the very bowels of hell.

  Another followed, and she fell to her knees as finally, she shattered.

  The best mistake she ever made…

  With or Without You

  © 2008 KyAnn Waters

  Tessa Brooks is dated. Not dated as in going out with men—having dinner and light conversation in poorly lit restaurants in hopes of finding someone with whom she can get naked. No, Tessa is dated. And the year she seems stuck in is 1988. The year her life changed.

  With her twenty-year high school reunion coming up, Tessa’s daughter has surprised her with a makeover on the Jade Star television talk show. However, that’s not the only surprise. Enter
Matt Toler, the best mistake she ever made. Tessa might not feel a ribbon of panic tightening around her neck if Matt had spoken to her again after their one-night sexual encounter…and if knew he had a daughter.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for With or Without You:

  Tessa sat on the loveseat next to Matt. Her left knee jiggled a nervous tempo and, of course, he noticed. He covered her knee with his palm. The weight and warmth of his hand seared her flesh. Butterflies flitted about in her stomach. Her eyes locked on his hand.

  He had long fingers with dark whorls of hair over the knuckles. They were hands of a man. Not the boy who had given her one night of teenage passion twenty years before, but hands she imagined drifting higher on her smooth thigh, slipping beneath her dress and seeking her heated folds.

  Wetness dampened her panties. She squeezed her thighs together and shifted her knees.

  Matt lifted questioning brown eyes and her breath caught in her throat, making swallowing difficult. She’d seen those same eyes often over the years. Matt had been starring in her nighttime fantasies since their magical encounter on that warm spring night.

  “I’m sorry about all this. I thought it was a makeover show.” She clasped her hands in her lap. If only the couch could open up and swallow her whole. Mortification heated her cheeks. “I’m surprised too.”

  She’d forgotten the lopsided smile that disarmed and could disrobe a girl in thirty seconds flat.

  “Surprised is a good word. Tessa, it’s not an unpleasant surprise…just unexpected.”

  He leaned back and settled more comfortably in the loveseat. His hip still rested against hers, sending alarming heat into her core. She hoped he couldn’t feel her temperature because she felt like a nuclear reactor with the red warning lights blazing and emitting dangerous levels of sexual radiation. Overexposure could lead to fried brain cells. Clearly hers had already been damaged. Had it been that damn long since a man had heated her to the point of meltdown from innocent skin contact? Well, okay, there was one memory, most likely distorted with age, supplying the fuel.