Seduction in the Sun: Adult Romance Box Set (9 Sizzling Tales with BBW, Billionaires, Bad Boys, and Alpha Males)

by Hawkeye, Lauren

  At that Elijah smiled and raised an eyebrow.

  “I told you last night not to lie to me.” As he spoke he drew up straighter, pulling his dominance to him. He watched Samantha inhale sharply, looking him over this time.

  But she didn’t drop her gaze, didn’t seem eager to please him. Instead she ran her tongue slowly over her lips, considering.

  “All right,” she said slowly, nodding thoughtfully as she spoke. “Fair enough. I’m . . . attracted to you. That doesn’t mean I’m going to do anything about it.”

  Elijah cocked his head to one side as he studied her. He enjoyed the dance of seduction, but here she had him on uncertain footing. He didn’t think she was deliberately trying to be a brat, something his ex had done quite frequently.

  Most of the world didn’t understand the needs that brought people to seek something beyond vanilla sex, and because of that they frowned upon it.

  For years Elijah had felt a drive to help people work past those biases. His desire for Samantha gave him an even greater incentive.

  She was searching for something, and he didn’t think she even knew what yet. He was more than happy to help her find it.

  “What if I told you that I could answer the questions that brought you to the show last night?” Deliberately he took a step closer to Samantha, just barely invading what he figured she probably considered her personal space.

  She eyed him warily, her fingers twisting in the hem of her tank top.

  “Maybe I don’t need the answers anymore.” She thrust her chin into the air.

  Elijah thought it was cute.

  “Again with the lies, Samantha?” He reached out and ran his finger lightly over the curve of her cheekbone, savoring the resultant quiver. “Your pants are going to catch on fire any second.”

  Samantha narrowed her eyes at him. Elijah waited patiently, making sure his expression was calm but stern.

  Those green eyes never wavered in their focus, never looked down, as he would have expected from a submissive. But finally she swallowed, and he saw acceptance in the stubborn set of her shoulders.

  “All right. I want answers, but I’m not sure I’m ready for them.” Her face showed him nothing but stark honesty, and Elijah felt a tug of pleasure.

  It was a step in the right direction. Being a Dom, he was inclined to push her, but he was also a strategic businessman, and he knew that in that exact moment she would have dug her heels in and pushed right back.

  “I’d love it if you showed me how this all works.” He deliberately phrased his words as a statement, not a question. Samantha furrowed her brow, seeming to sense that he was maneuvering her, but finally shrugged in acceptance.

  “Fine.” Eyeing him suspiciously, she turned and picked up the long metal rod that she had leaned against the wall earlier. Turning back over her shoulder, she shot him an exasperated look. “Since my concentration has been broken anyway.”

  Elijah bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking as he followed her across the room. The contrast between her somewhat sweet inquisitiveness the night before and her smart mouth today was delightful. Each new facet of her personality he encountered told him how amazing her eventual submission would be.

  She placed a hand on her waist as she stood outside the door to the furnace, the metal rod still in one hand. She frowned at him, and he was struck again by how pretty she was.

  Then she opened the mottled metal door, allowing an inferno of orange light and heat to escape into the room. It bathed her face with an unholy gleam, made her silken curls shine like rubies, and Elijah’s mouth went dry.

  Had he seriously thought she was just pretty? That she was cute? She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen, a goddess of fire.

  “Are you paying attention?” Again that slight frown furrowed the space between her eyebrows, and Elijah found that he wanted to reach out and smooth the skin with the tips of his fingers.

  He didn’t know how she would react to a simple touch like that, which wouldn’t normally stop him . . . but she had a furnace full of molten glass behind her.

  He wasn’t stupid. He’d wait until he wasn’t literally playing with fire.

  “I’m paying attention.” Though it might not have been wise, he moved a step closer to her than he suspected she was comfortable with. Her shoulders stiffened, but a sidelong glance also showed him that the brush of their arms made her nipples tighten.

  He made her uncomfortable, but she also wanted him. He was immensely pleased with the combination.

  Holding herself rigid, as if unwilling to give in to the urge to move away from him, Samantha held out the metal rod for Elijah to see.

  “This is a blowpipe. And I just dare you to make a joke about that.” She raised an eyebrow at him, and he gestured for her to continue. “This pear shape at the end is what I use to collect a gather of glass.”

  Elijah watched, fascinated, as Samantha placed the end of the blowpipe into the glowing orange interior of the furnace.

  “This is called the melting furnace.” She rolled the pipe competently, wrapping a thick substance around its end. “This is always kept hot, and it’s always full of colorless liquid glass.”

  “Where do you get the glass from?” Elijah remained transfixed as Samantha removed the blowpipe from the furnace.

  “I make my own. It’s mostly silica, with some potassium and limestone as stabilizers.” Samantha rolled the glob of molten glass against the edge of the oven, her fingers working with small, competent movements. “After twelve hours at twenty-two hundred degrees, it becomes liquid.”

  The red-hot glow of the glass was fading, the gather cooling, Elijah guessed, now that it was outside of the oven.

  “Pick a color.” Samantha looked at him, still twirling the pipe. Her eyes were bright, that snapping apple green, and in that moment it was the only color Elijah could see.

  “Green.” He watched as Samantha pulled a dish full of what looked like dark sand from a metal shelf.

  “What’s that?” He watched, fascinated, as Samantha rolled the glass in the powder.

  “This is colored glass, ground down as fine as salt.” Her biceps flexed with the effort of keeping her movements even as she moved to another, smaller furnace and opened the door.

  “This is called the glory hole. It’s a smaller furnace used to reheat. This will fuse the green into the colorless glass.” Samantha removed the blowpipe from the glory hole, and Elijah was surprised at the jolt of delight he felt when he saw that the gather of glass was now a deep green.

  Except . . .

  “Can we make it lighter?” He was intent now, engrossed in the project. Samantha pressed her lips together as she looked at him.

  “Micromanage much?” Her voice was tart. He grinned at her, pleased to see she couldn’t quite control the quirk of her own lips.

  Leaning closer so that his lips brushed against the lobe of her ear, he whispered, his voice husky, “You don’t know the half of it.”

  She didn’t jerk away, didn’t try to deny the heat that sparked between them as their eyes met and held.

  She kept her eyes on his face as she moved to a table, still turning the rod.

  “The glass is the consistency of honey now.” Her own voice had thickened with arousal, and Elijah inhaled deeply. A fine sheen of sweat covered her skin and made it glow as she finally looked away from him to her work, holding something that looked like a ladle against the glass.

  “This helps me shape it before I start the glassblowing.” Her eyes flicked from the glass to him, just briefly. “That’s when you’ll get your paler green.”

  “How?” Elijah watched intently.

  Samantha rolled her eyes, then put the ladle aside. Seating herself on a low stool, still rolling the glass back and forth on the narrow table, she ran her tongue over her lips.

  “Breath is the magic of glass art.” Her eyes darkened, a small smile curving her lips, which sent a surge of need straight to Elijah’s groin.<
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  Magic indeed. As she placed her lips around the edge of the metal blowpipe and exhaled, her focus entirely on the glass, Elijah would have absolutely believed she was a witch if someone had accused her.

  He couldn’t look away.

  She blew delicately into the pipe, turning it evenly all the while. The glob of glass expanded like a balloon, thinning and stretching and, as she had said, becoming a paler shade of green.

  “There.” Her voice was satisfied and slightly breathless as she removed her mouth from the pipe and stood, her tall, slender frame in motion the whole time. She picked up a flat paddle and held it to the bottom of the blown glass, flattening it. Then she picked up a thick stack of what looked like soggy newspaper and shaped the object some more, steam and smoke issuing from the paper as it rubbed against the hot glass.

  She scored the green glass where it met the blowpipe, then picked up a nozzle and flicked a switch. “This is compressed air, to cool it.”

  Once she’d cooled it, she hurriedly carried the blowpipe to the first furnace.

  “Now I put a bit of hot glass on the bottom of the piece.” Removing the project from the furnace, she picked up a long metal rod and attached it to the piece with the hot glass. “This is a pontil. It’s essentially a maneuvering rod.”

  Elijah found that he didn’t want to say a word even though he had a million questions . . . He didn’t want to disturb the rhythm of Samantha’s work. She was clearly aware of him, spoke to him, but her attention was fully on her work.

  It was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

  He watched as she dipped a stick into a bucket of water, shaking it until a fat droplet landed on the glass.

  Samantha then broke the glass off the blowpipe, picking up another pontil and moving back to the first furnace. She used yet more hot glass to plug the hole that had resulted from breaking the glass off of the blowpipe.

  Her breath was now coming faster, her breasts pushing against the thin fabric of her tank top. The sight, combined with her unholy beauty as she worked in front of the glowing furnace, had Elijah shifting uncomfortably, willing his cock to behave, lest he scare her off.

  “Almost done.” The tension in the air eased just the faintest amount as she used a small machine to polish the edge of what Elijah could now see was a simple, elegant vase. She aimed the nozzle with the compressed air at it again.

  “There.” Satisfaction rang true in her voice as she picked up the piece between stacks of damp newspaper and held it up for him to see. “That last blast of air was to equalize the temperature throughout the piece. Now it goes into this electric kiln. It will cool slowly for twelve hours, so that the glass doesn’t crack.” As she opened the kiln, Elijah, unable to stay away from her any longer, moved to stand just behind her.

  She placed the vase on a shelf in the kiln, amid a forest of glass palm trees.

  “These are quite different from your sculpture at the show.” He reached out a hand to run a finger over the glossy trunk of one tree, and Samantha smacked his hand away. The movement caused her scent to waft toward his nose, and he inhaled the smell of wild flowers and smoke.

  “Tourist tchotchkes are easy cash.” Samantha closed the door to the kiln, then turned. She started when she looked up and found him right behind her.

  Yet she didn’t move away. Heat began a low burn in Elijah’s belly, searing the thin ribbon of space between them. “How did you get started with glass art?” He didn’t mind making small talk, if it meant he got to stand close and bask in her heat.

  She eyed him warily, and he could see her pulse, a rapid beat under the line of her jaw.

  “When I was eighteen I had a crush on someone who was a glass artist. I asked for private lessons.” Her voice was breathy, and Elijah watched her lips part slightly beneath his stare. “Soon I was more interested in the glass than in him. It was . . . I found something that I’d always been looking for, even though I didn’t know it—” She hesitated, clearly swallowing back the rest of her words.

  He thought he knew what she was thinking but couldn’t say: that now there was something else she was looking for. A desire she wanted to fulfill.

  He waited for her to continue.

  “You’re involved in . . . you’re a . . .” She worried her lower lip with her teeth, and Elijah had to clench his hands into fists to refrain from leaning forward and running his tongue over the place her teeth worked.

  “Are you a . . . a Dom?”

  Elijah cocked his head, studying her intently. She looked so nervous he wanted to laugh and tell her that no one was going to tie her up and spank her for asking the question. But to laugh would be to diminish her question, so he swallowed the chuckle and instead nodded solemnly.

  The image of her bound, quivering with need, was something he longed to see.

  “Yes. I am.” His voice was even. Her eyes widened a fraction, but she kept her composure. Afraid to discourage her curiosity, Elijah didn’t voice the second half of his answer: that he wasn’t at all sure Samantha was a submissive.

  She ran her tongue over those lips again, and again he felt his cock begin to swell.

  “Is BDSM something you’re interested in?” Since she had paused, her next questions seemingly stuck in her throat, he tried to nudge her with his words.

  Her face reddened, a delicious shade of pink, and he reached out to graze his knuckles over the curve of her cheekbone.

  “I don’t know.” The way she ducked her head as she spoke told him that she was evading. The little kitten was intrigued by the notion—that much was plain—but how far would she go?

  “What I’m feeling right now . . . for you . . . Is it just because you’re a Dom?” Samantha’s eyes were huge as she stared up at him. Elijah suppressed a moan.

  What was this intriguing artist looking for? What would he find if he pushed her?

  “No,” he said finally, bending his head a bit lower. “No, it isn’t because I’m a Dom—or at least, not entirely. This . . . it doesn’t happen between everyone, just like you don’t feel a connection with every person that you date.”

  He waited, trying to appear patient, as she mulled that over.

  Elijah wasn’t often shocked, but when Samantha rose to her toes, clasped his upper arms, and pressed her lips to his, he found himself unable to do anything but react forcefully. He hadn’t been expecting it—and, indeed, he didn’t care for it when a woman took control.

  But he couldn’t deny the fever that surged through his entire body as she tentatively explored his lips with her own. Her nipples grazed his chest as she moaned softly and leaned in closer, and the slight touch made his cock harden to the point of pain.

  Without thinking, he threaded one hand through the length of her ponytail and pressed the other between her shoulder blades, pulling her flush against his body. He rocked his hips forward, pressing his erection into the softness of her belly, asking her without words if this was what she really wanted.

  “Elijah . . .”

  He’d let her draw back enough to speak his name, and rather than hesitation or the innocent nerves that he’d expected to see on her face, he found determination.

  Determination mixed with need—need as hot as the air that was scorching his lungs in the small, enclosed studio.

  “Be sure, Samantha.” His voice sounded rough, like shards of broken glass, even to his own ears. Deliberately he added a hint of meanness, and though she never would have believed it, it was because he was experiencing a twinge of guilt.

  He wanted her, and if she continued using that wicked mouth on him, he’d have her. But if he could scare her off, it would be better for them both.

  Tightening his fingers in her hair, he pulled roughly until her head tipped back and she was forced to look up into her eyes.

  “Fuck,” she whispered. Rather than nerves or indecision over his roughness, Elijah found that Samantha’s lips had parted and that her skin was flushed with arousal.

  She liked it.
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  It was his undoing.

  “Come here.” His voice stayed rough, just a bit mean as he pulled her flush against his body. This time when their lips touched, he took control of the kiss, parting her swollen lips with his tongue, tasting her sweetness, stroking in her mouth the way he was dying to do inside her pussy.

  With a needy sigh of pure pleasure, Samantha melted against him, letting him take control of the kiss.

  Sliding his hands down to cup her ass, he pressed upward until she wrapped her legs around his waist. As he carried her across the torrid glass studio, he contemplated setting up a small scene, an introduction to submission, to see how she reacted before either of them took this any further.

  But when she eagerly began to press kisses into his neck and along the line of his jaw, each resonating in a throb between his legs, Elijah found that, for once, he didn’t want the ritual or rules of a BDSM scene.

  He wanted this woman, just like this.

  He was going to have her.

  Breathe- available now!

  Breaking Free (Masters of the Shadowlands 3) by Cherise Sinclair

  Copyright © 2009 by Cherise Sinclair

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

  What reviewers are saying about Cherise Sinclair...

  Ms Sinclair sets the bar for the BDSM erotica genre, especially with her hot dominant alpha males. ~ The Romance Reviews

  Breaking Free is an incredible story; it engaged my emotions, captured my interest, brought a blush to my cheeks, and left me a supremely satisfied reader. Joyfully Recommended! ~ Joyfully Reviewed

  Sinclair showcases her talent for taking her readers on a sensual journey of delights and dark taboos opening their eyes to the compelling and intriguing world of the Masters of the Shadowlands. The tightly wound and riveting plot will have the reader’s heart pounding with its dramatic, emotional, and passionate edge. This is a must read story! ~ The Romance Studio