by Beverly Rae
The man was perfect. At least physically, but physical was all I had to go on. His wet hair, silky and shiny black, slicked away from his forehead and curled around his earlobes. Just the right amount of matching chest hair glistened with drops of perspiration, drawing my gaze to all the right places. Notice I said perspiration, not sweat. No one this good-looking ever sweats.
I’m talking the perfect model of a man. The kind of man I’d buy if I could call in my order and have him delivered to my doorstep in thirty minutes or less. Remember how moviegoers went gaga over Matthew McConaughey when he started taking off his shirt? Yup, me, too. I was one of the hundreds, probably thousands of women, who sat through his movies, not caring about the plot. Instead we sat glued to our seats and waited for him to strip off his shirt and take the heroine to bed. Take M’s sex appeal and multiply it by a zillion times more heat and that’s what oozed from this guy.
His shoulders, wider than the beach chair he leaned against, mesmerized me and I couldn’t keep from imagining the way they’d feel. I’d have donated my whole stack of traveler’s checks to charity just to feather my fingers over them. I could see the strength in his muscular arms and sense the power he could unleash at any moment. He pressed his mouth to the highball glass, moving his square jaw, and I had to fight to keep from dashing over and licking off the tiny drop of whiskey left on his upper lip.
His eight-pack abs called to me. Come, Jenn. Come and run your hands over me. I let my gaze glide down his rock-hard abdomen. Can you blame me when my heart started pounding and my mouth went dry? Can you understand why the place between my legs overflowed with wetness?
I pondered what to do. Should I say something? Why didn’t he say something? How long could we lie here and stare at each other? What would I do if he got up and walked away? Or even more frightening, what would I do if he came over?
Then he smiled at me.
My mouth dropped open. I lifted my head from my beach towel, forgetting to play it nonchalant. Instead I gaped like a schoolgirl with her first crush. He stood and started toward me, making me oh-so-aware of his height and brawn. My examination of this spectacular specimen started at the top and moved slowly downward.
I’d never found men’s legs attractive before—I’m an upper torso kind of gal—but the black hairs on his legs, the firm tanned skin stretched over his runner’s tendons, converted me to a leg gal right then and there. My membership in the leg lovers fan club was sealed the minute he squatted next to my blanket and gave me a front row seat to the hard bulge in his swimsuit.
Granted, his first words weren’t anything particularly clever, but he didn’t need clever. He could have read me the directions on how to buckle a seat belt and I’d have thought it wonderful, riveting, mysterious and oh, yes, sexy as hell.
“Hi, there. Why are you watching me?”
Thick as molasses and hotter than the center of the sun, his warm voice traveled over my naked skin and made me shiver in anticipation of steamy nights and luxurious mornings in bed.
“Uh, no. I mean, no, I’m not watching you.” I rolled off my stomach and onto my side in what I prayed was a slinky kind of move, and propped my head with my hand.
Sliding his sunglasses to the end of his nose, he arched one thick eyebrow upward and knowing eyes twinkled the word liar at me. “Oh, I see. My mistake.” His gaze left mine to make a very slow, very deliberate trek down my thong-clad body, and the tips of his mouth tweaked a bit higher.
Thank you, oh tortuous elliptical machine.
I swallowed, trying to force the liar’s lump in my throat all the way down to my stomach. Since when had I ever felt guilty about lying? I was proud I could lie with the best of them. In my line of work—both lines of work—I have to be able to stretch the truth. Otherwise, I might not live very long—or sell a bug-ridden condo. But something irresistible about him drew the truth out of me. “Okay. Maybe I was. But I was simply returning the favor, if you know what I mean.”
He reached out to take a wayward strand of my hair off my cheek. Yet instead of putting it behind my ear to join the rest of my ponytail, he played with it, rubbing the strand between his two fingers as if he’d never experienced the texture of hair. I found myself wishing I’d spent the extra bucks for a salon-quality conditioner.
“I do and you’re right. I apologize.”
Huh? “What for?” I suddenly envisioned those fingers playing with my nipple instead of my hair. Forget the conditioner, think scented body lotion. The image was so intense, I wanted nothing more than to take his hand and bring it to my breast. How I kept from grabbing his hand, I’ll never know. “Why are you apologizing?”
“For staring at you. I apologize for my rudeness.”
Unnerved by his words, I sat up and tried to position my body as I’d seen countless swimsuit models pose in glossy magazines. Yet instead of stretching my torso and legs in an alluring way, I ended up sitting cross-legged like a big kid. A real turn on—not.
“Oh, were you?” Argh! Stupid comeback, especially since I’d already accused him of staring at me.
“Yes, but you can hardly blame me.”
“I wasn’t blaming you, but I’d be interested in knowing why I can’t. I mean, since you’re apologizing.”
He took off his glasses and, like in all those cliché romance books my mom used to read, our eyes met and a sizzle passed between us. “The answer is very simple. What man could not look at such a tantalizing sight?”
Sure it was a corny line, but I fell for him right then and there. Off the deep end, over the cliff, dived in head first and all those other sayings people use when they fall in love at first sight. As if he could read my thoughts, he leaned closer and placed a feather-light kiss on my lips. Yet, although his touch barely brushed against my mouth, the result rivaled the explosion of a nuclear bomb between my legs. My body’s temperature jumped sky high, matching the burn of the sun on my shoulders.
“What are you doing tonight?”
I knew a leading line when I heard it and I heard this one loud and clear. “The same thing I’m going to be doing in about fifteen minutes.”
His eyebrows dipped toward his nose and he cocked his head to the side. “And what would that be?”
“Having the best sex of my life.”
Scrambling off my blanket─yeah, I know, a bit too eager, huh?─I gathered my things and dumped them into my bag. I shook the sand from my body in a blatant sexy way─yes, I admit it, I brushed my hands over my boobs just for his benefit─and made what I hoped was a come-hither gesture with my head, signaling for him to follow me. Then, in a move more daring than any attack on a ghoul, I took his hand and started walking toward the hotel, letting him trail slightly behind me.
His low chuckle gave me his consent and he repositioned his hand to cover most of mine. I couldn’t help but gloat at the scores of women watching me with envious eyes.
Look all you want, ladies, but hands off. This catch is mine and I’m not throwing him back.
I didn’t ask his name until we’d made it to my suite and slipped off our swimsuits. In my defense, however, he didn’t ask mine, either. Instead, we dropped our suits on the plush carpet and hurried into the oversized shower of my palatial suite. Once inside, we let the warm water run rivulets over our bronzed bodies—his darkened by the sun and mine by the most expensive self-tanning lotion I could find─and learned about each other with our hands and our eyes.
“I’m Jennifer Randall.”
“Blake Barrington.”
Could a name sound more perfect? No Harold or Wilbur or Ronald for this guy. Hell, no. Blake. A hard B followed by a quick, no-nonsense, one-syllable ending. B-lake. A strong virile name for a virile kind of a man. I suddenly had the overwhelming desire to say my name was actually Angelina, Cassiopeia or even Athena. I needed a beautiful, captivating name to match his dashing masculine one. Unfortunately, my mom had named me after her favorite aunt.
Since I’d gotten a good look at most of his
body back on the beach, I went for the prize I’d fantasized about when he’d knelt beside me. In not-so-subtle anticipation, I cast my lecherous look on the reward previously hidden behind Door Number One, aka his swimsuit. His shaft was even better than expected. Several inches—my kingdom for a ruler!—stood at the ready, commanding me to reach out and touch. Let me assure you, I gave his shaft its much deserved attention.
I wrapped one hand around his massive member, loving the way it jerked at my touch. Obviously, it was thrilled to see me. My other hand went exploring for the golden nuggets of treasure by cupping his balls and weighing them to my satisfaction. His quick intake of breath drew my gaze away from his lower regions to meet the sultriest eyes I’ve ever seen. They grew darker with my every stroke, fascinating, mesmerizing me.
He moaned and covered my breast with his palm. Granted, I’m not the most endowed woman in the world, but I’m no pancake-baby, either. My breast fit his hand without any leftover to spare and nothing missed. It was as if my boob had been made for his palm.
I wondered. Would he fit inside me as perfectly?
I started to speak, but he held up one finger and pressed it against my lips. I obeyed him only because his lips followed his finger to my mouth. Taking me by the nape of my neck, he positioned my head backward, lifting my mouth to his. His tongue swiped over my lips, asking permission to enter. I opened my mouth wide enough for him to push his tongue through and sucked to capture it for as long as I could.
Although the tenderness of his approach was wonderful, I needed more. Slipping my arms under his, I slid my fingers over the water-slicked muscles of his back and pulled him to me. Our bodies crushed together and I gasped. His hand fondled the curve of my bottom and his fingers teased the crack between my cheeks. I shoved my breasts against him, wanting his rock-solid pecks against them. He grabbed my ass with both hands and lifted me.
I hooked my legs around his trim waist and he rammed against me, placing me against the shower wall. I sighed and led his shaft inside my welcoming cave.
“Jenn.”
I grinned at the familiarity of the name and answered back. “Blake.”
He kept his hold on me and I kept mine on him. Working with every thrust, I moaned and clenched the walls of my vagina. He groaned in satisfaction and shared his breath with me in a kiss to end all kisses. The water tunneled between us, mixing with the juices flowing down my legs, and climax after climax tore me apart. I struggled to stay up with him, dragging the musky taste of his mouth into mine as if it could give me sustenance and stamina.
He released my mouth, leaned away to look at me, and continued to pound into me. Molten gray eyes met mine and we held each other, both of us waiting for his release. I’d lost count of mine. When his came thundering through him, I held him and shouted with him in pleasure. I stared, wanting to see his climax on his face. Yet along with his climax, I caught a flash of red blazing in his eyes. Lost in lust, I dismissed it as an illusion my tired mind had decided to play on me. After all, demons, not sexy men, have red eyes and after my five recent mistakes, I knew better than to trust myself.
Minutes later, we collapsed on the bed and rolled to our backs, panting our happiness. Naked and sated, I turned my head to him and asked the question I had to ask. “Are you real?”
He laughed, a dark rich sound, and pivoted toward me. “Am I real? Real what?”
I giggled and followed the way he’d twisted my question. “Are you still real horny? ’Cause I sure am.” I dropped my gaze to his probe which was already pointing to the ceiling and saluting a definite “yes”.
“What do you think?” Blake tugged me on top of him and I guided him into me again.
Thirteen days of fun and sun later, we were married on board a cruise ship sailing toward America. Later on, I’d learn the truth.
I’d married a demon.
Some Like It Warm—Others Like It Hot
“Blake! Hey, Blake!”
“Yeah?”
My gorgeous new husband of nearly four weeks stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in one of our flimsiest bath towels. I could see his jewels almost as if he didn’t have anything covering his lower torso. He’d asked me repeatedly to buy new towels, but I’d always found an excuse to keep the old ones. And why not? I’m a red-blooded American woman and I’m not about to give up my daily peep show. Or, as my dear old dad always said, “If you can see a show for free, sit down and enjoy it.” I don’t think he was talking about a peep show but, with my old man, ya never knew.
Blake’s body had me inhaling a quick gulp of air to replace the one I’d exhaled in stunned delight. This hunk of hunks, this man of men, this sexy piece of male animal was my husband. All mine. Every day and every night.
Ain’t life grand?
I caught the sparkle in his eyes and knew a session of hot sweaty lovemaking was on his mind. I lifted my hand to the buttons of my blouse, already thinking of tearing it off my body and jumping into bed with him. But the vacation was over and today was my first day back at the job as a struggling real estate agent, and I was already running late.
“No, Blake. Behave.” He swept his arm out to drag me to him, but I feinted to the left and barely escaped his reach. I skirted around him, out of the bedroom and into the living room with him right behind me. “Some of us have bosses who would not be happy if we arrived late for work—especially since I took extra time off after my scheduled two-week vacation.” Like I really cared what Herbert Swindle thought.
“Like you really care.”
The man knew me well, which is why I had no choice. I had to lie. “I do care.”
“Quit your job. Tell Old Swindle to kiss your ass.”
“Oh, shit, Blake, I can’t. Old Herbie might take me up on it.” The image of Swindle pressing his thin lips to my cheeks burst into my mind and I shuddered. Yuck. “Thanks for the visual.”
Running with shoes in one hand, I positioned the love seat between us and tried to stop giggling. I’d never giggled—I mean really giggled—until I’d met Blake. “Excuse me, but I like my job. I’m a modern woman and I want a career. You may as well know it now, bucko, I have no intention of doing the barefoot and pregnant thing.”
“What? No home-cooked meals when I walk through the door at the end of a long day?”
“Not unless you’ve got another wife hidden in the basement.”
He paused, cupping his hand to his jaw in the time-honored sign of contemplation. “Now there’s an idea.”
“Damn, he’s not married a month and already talking about other women. Take heed, lover-man.” I squinted and pointed a finger at him. “Play and you’ll pay.” I dropped my sight to the bulge under the towel. “And pay big time. If you know what I mean.”
“No worries, hon. You’re more than enough woman for me. Two wives would be one too many.”
“You’ve got that right.” I stuck out my tongue at him and wiggled my ass for an added little tease. Then again, maybe little wasn’t the correct description.
He pointed at my butt. “Which reminds me. Can you pick up some hot sauce on your way home?”
Having a butt that reminds my hubby of hot sauce is a good thing, right? Better hot sauce than pork chops, I’d say. A smidgen of concern popped into my head, but I forced it away. Demons love hot sauce. But lots of good mortal men like it, too. Besides, Blake’s from Texas, which makes it natural for him to love hot sauce. In fact, he likes hot sauce and my rump, both at the same time. I gave serious consideration to the tantalizing idea, swallowed a lump of desire and forced my thoughts back to the matter at hand. Sure, I’d choose sex over work any day if I could, but I needed the paychecks to keep rolling in.
He hopped over the love seat as if it were nothing. I hurdled the coffee table and headed for the island counter in the kitchen. “Why not let me help you start your own agency? I’ll bankroll you. I can be your horny silent partner.”
I slammed to a stop, stunned into immobility. “You’d do that for me?”
“Be silent and horny? No prob.” He caught up, snared me within his arms and hugged me to him. He was all seriousness now. “Sure, I would. I’d do anything for you. I love you.”
Could any woman ask for sweeter words?
His deep mind-melting kiss had me ignoring the fact that he was still dripping water and getting me wet. “Must be nice to have money you can throw away on risky businesses. I didn’t know investment analysts were independently wealthy.”
He nuzzled my neck, making me rethink going into the office. “Perhaps not wealthy, but well-off enough to provide for his beautiful wife. You don’t have to work, you know.”
“But I want to work.” I pulled his face to mine and looked into the eyes of the man I loved. “Seriously, I do. You’re a sweetheart for offering, but I don’t have enough experience to own and run my own agency.” I kissed him again, forcing myself to make this kiss a short one. “Anyway, thanks for the offer.”
Sad eyes, more pitiful than a basset hound’s, blinked at me. His puppy eyes were effective tools against my resolve and he knew it. “Do you really have to go to work?”
I opened my mouth to tell him I did, but couldn’t get the words to come out. Instead, I sighed as if giving into him was the biggest sacrifice a woman could make and tipped my head toward the bedroom. Two minutes later, I was on top of our bed, naked and loving it.
“How do you do what you do to me?” He slid his tongue over my throbbing clit and I clenched the bedspread and held on. He pressed his mouth to me and sucked. If his silent action was his answer, then it was a damned good one.
I moaned and lifted my hips against him, wanting him to drink me dry. “Eat me, Blake. Suck hard.” One thing about my man, he took directions well.
I bit my bottom lip, trying to relax, but the rush after rush of climax after climax tensed my body until I knew The Really Big O was near. Blake pulled my legs on top of his shoulders, placing his arms to my sides and his big hands on my breasts. Clamping my hands over his, I braced for a second, felt the intense pain-pleasure of the eruption coming and let go. He didn’t miss a beat but kept lapping up my juices, ignoring my screams of delight.