by Sarah Hegger
Every single muscle in his body ached. At. The. Same. Time. It even hurt to blink. He lay there and whimpered at the effort it took to pull air into his lungs. The door opened, and he manfully bit back a monster groan and struggled into a sitting position.
“Good morning.” Holly smiled at him.
It was the sweetest, loveliest smile she’d ever given him. A warning niggled in the back of his brain and then went silent.
She carried a tray with a glass of orange juice and the bottle of magic Richard had left behind. And—thank you, Lord—a cup of espresso.
“Good morning.” His voice came out in a god-awful croak.
“Richard thought you might be feeling a bit rough this morning.”
“I’m sorry, Holly.” Best to get the groveling over quickly.
She gave him another sunny smile. “What would you like first, juice or ibuprofen or both together?”
“Now I’m sure I love you.” His eyes fixed on the little blue pills and stayed stuck.
“You have to get out of bed to get them.” She grimaced sympathetically. “Richard said to get you up and moving.”
Josh nearly let the pills go, but in the end he managed to heave himself, hissing, groaning, and moaning like an old truck going uphill all the way. She didn’t seem to mind his nakedness, so he didn’t do anything about it.
In fact, she looked at him like he was walking chocolate. Apparently there were a few muscles not too sore this morning.
Her eyes widened appreciatively and she gave him a smile laden with promise.
He swallowed two of the pills and drank the juice in one long gulp.
Holly took the glass from him and handed him his espresso. She put the glass down and sashayed back to him. “There was something I didn’t get to last night.”
She came up behind him and pressed her breasts against his back. Her hands slid around his waist and spread over the ridges of his abdomen.
Josh’s pain melted away as she planted hot little kisses across his shoulders. Her teeth against his shoulder bit hard enough to get his attention but not cause any real discomfort.
“You are a very beautiful man.” Her fingers trailed across his abdomen and left little trails of heat in their wake. She moved around to the front of him and pressed her nose against the skin of his neck and breathed.
Screw Richard’s pills, this was what he needed.
“You smell wonderful.” Her mouth replaced her nose and she sucked gently. “Just like my man.” She bit him and then licked the mark to take away any sting. Her hands drifted over his chest, grazed his nipples, and moved lower to stroke the arrow of hair from his navel.
Her soft hands grasped his cock. Heat shot through him. It got better as she stroked her hands up and down his length. Her other hand cupped his balls in a firm grasp.
Slowly, without taking her eyes off his, she sunk to her knees in front of him.
Josh stilled.
She dragged her mouth in a slow, sliding caress down the skin of his chest and then his abdomen as she went. Her mouth was wet and hot, and the soft rasp of her teeth was sweet, sweet torture on his sensitive skin.
She stopped level with his cock. It jumped in her hands and strained toward what he wanted.
Josh forgot to breathe.
She dipped her head. Her hot pink tongue shot out and licked the tip.
He groaned as she blew against the moisture, his hands so tight around the espresso cup it might shatter.
She palmed him firmly and guided her mouth over him.
Josh hissed and tensed as the searing heat of her mouth opened over his erection. Jesus, he was in heaven as she sucked him deeper into the hot, wet cavity of her mouth.
She took him deep and then withdrew, her tongue making lazy circles over the sensitive tip.
As she took him even deeper, his eyes rolled back in their sockets. Her mouth was a thing of glory, wet and scorching as she worked the length of him in and out. Her other hand cupped his balls as her tongue stroked him.
“Holly, baby.” He hung on by a thread. “I’m going to come if you keep that up.”
He tried to grip her head to stop her, but she moved faster, and his fingers tangled in her hair and kept her where she was.
His orgasm built from the very end of his toes.
Her mouth disappeared.
She rocked back on her heels, her beautiful face alight with trouble. Josh reached for her, but she dodged quickly out of his hands.
“There’s a good boy.” She stood and gave him a swat on his bare ass. “Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it? Don’t fall asleep on me again.”
She sashayed through the door and shut it behind her. She’d left him here with his balls ready to burst and she wasn’t coming back.
Ah, hell no.
Josh flung the bedroom door open and charged down the stairs. Into the kitchen he stormed.
The sisters, clustered around the table, stopped and stared. They took one look at him and scattered, clucking and squawking like hens in battery cages.
Josh tried to cover himself with his hands, his face so hot it was ready to spontaneously combust.
And then he got a look at Holly.
Her dark eyes glinted, evil with mischief and ripe with the challenge.
He reached her in two easy strides.
“You’re naked,” shrieked one of the sisters, probably St. Emma.
“It’s my house.” He didn’t give a shit as he locked in on his target. “Look away if you don’t like it.”
Emma was already doing so and Portia stood like a deer in the headlights, while Grace crossed her arms and grinned at him.
He dipped his shoulder and hauled Holly up and over.
She gasped and laughed through a protest. “It was payback.” She wriggled like a trout on the hook. “For falling asleep on me.”
“It’s about time you learned who’s in charge here.” He jostled her on his shoulder and strode up the stairs. He was breathing fast by the time he reached the bedroom. He slammed the door shut with his foot and dropped his flushed, laughing bundle onto the bed. He came down on top of her before she could move.
“Stop.” She giggled and tried to fend him off with her hands.
Josh grabbed both tiny fists in one of his and held them over her head. “No way.” He loved the way she squirmed and wriggled beneath him. “We’re just getting started.”
“I can’t believe you charged into the kitchen naked.” She collapsed into a jellied mass of spluttering, snorting laughter. “You should have seen the look on Emma’s face.” That brought about fresh peals of laughter.
“Hey,” he said in protest as her body shook with laughter beneath him. “Pay attention here; you’re about to be ravished.”
“Ravished? Who says ‘ravished’?”
“Fucked senseless?”
She went still under the profanity. Heat replaced the amusement in her eyes.
“So?” Gotcha! “Holly likes it when I talk dirty.”
She wriggled beneath him, pushing against him impatiently with her hips. “You might have to practice a bit to make sure.”
He got down to the matter at hand. “I have the rest of my life, Holly.”
Epilogue
Josh heaved a sigh of relief as the taillights of Grace’s SUV disappeared around the corner. Grace and the twins were on their way back to London, Ontario. Holly, his Holly, was still here, tucked under his arm and waving her sisters good-bye.
Grace would stay with Portia until the baby was born.
Emma had received the news with trepidation. Tough shit, Emma, because Grace had turned her formidable energy in the twins’ direction.
Josh suspected their lives were never going to be the same.
Holly had loose plans to stay here in Willow Park with him for a while longer and then go home. Then they would take it as it came. London was less than a day away, unless Emma was driving, and there were lots of reasons to stay in Willow Park. Josh was working on one
more.
“You should marry me, you know?” He pulled her body in front of him and cradled her from behind.
Holly snorted rudely. “Why would I do that?”
“At the very least, you would get a good wardrobe out of it.”
“You aren’t going to go Pygmalion on me, are you?” She nestled under his chin like a small bird going to roost. “Because I’ll fight you.”
“I expected no less.” He leaned his cheek on her head. She was exactly where she belonged and where he needed her the most. “But you know you looked good in those shorts.”
“What crap.”
It was still early in the morning and the neighborhood lay peaceful around them.
In a moment they would go inside and she’d get him to make her a cup of coffee, but for now they stood still and listened to the stirring of things in the trees and grass.
His!
His arm tightened around her middle. “Those jeans will meet with an unfortunate laundry accident.”
“Stop trying to change me,” she growled.
Josh hummed a few bars of Billy Joel before he got an elbow in the gut. “You know,” he said to the top of her head, “they’re going to kick you out of the US if you don’t marry me eventually.” He wasn’t too proud to use every weapon in his arsenal.
“I know that.” She laughed softly and wriggled in his hold.
Josh loosened his arms enough for her to turn to face him.
“Are you sure your mother isn’t going to come to live here?”
“Trust me.” The only person who wanted that less than Holly was his mother. “My mother has been trying to get her hands on my condo since I bought it. The trouble will be getting her out of it.” Not a total lie, and they had time to work on the rest.
“Are you going to get a job or something?” She narrowed her eyes up at him.
“Or something.” He grinned back unrepentantly. “Sooner or later something new will grab my attention and then I’ll do that. You worried I won’t be able to support you while you go back to school?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m worried you’re going to be under my feet.”
“Cherie,” he whispered next to her ear. “It’s not your feet I want to be under.”
“Don’t even try with the French. I know for a fact you only know enough to get a woman into bed.”
“Doesn’t do it for you, hmm?” He pulled away from her slightly and grinned. “Then how about I promise to fuck you hard and fast—”
“Get your pretty boy ass into the house right now, mister. Don’t make me embarrass you in front of your neighbors.”
Keep reading for an excerpt from
NOBODY’S PRINCESS,
the next Willow Park Romance
from
Sarah Hegger,
on sale in March 2016!
And don’t miss
NOBODY’S ANGEL,
available now.
Tiffany needed a man, about six two with blond hair and a tan. Right now, or life as she knew it was over. Teeny exaggeration but she was desperate and one man, how hard could that be? It wasn’t as if she needed anything unusual. One white male, twentysomething, handsome, light-eyed, and ripped and cut like every girl’s dirty dream.
In Chicago, a city of a shade over 2.7 million people, forty-eight percent of them male, and thirty-one percent of them white. Of course, to accurately calculate the chances she’d need to break that down into how many of the male residents were white and between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five. If she could get five seconds to write this all down in her book, she could do it.
“Did you get hold of the casting agent?” Piers fussed with his camera, his face already the telltale pink prefacing a meltdown. Dear God, not that. Piers could throw a time-chewing tantrum to rival a toddler. Time was not her friend today. Where the hell was her white male?
“No.” Tiffany snapped her book shut and hit redial. She kept Piers in sight in her peripheral vision. Please, let the woman be there. Piers was going nuclear any second now. If Piers lost it, the shoot would run over. Her new life started in a little under three hours and she couldn’t be late for that.
“Hi, you’ve reached the voice mail o—”
“Shit.” Tiffany ended the call. She refused to let this stop her. If necessary, she’d march outside and drag the next blond man in here, but she was going on her date. Tonight. “I’ll keep trying.” She smiled apologetically at Piers. As if that would stop a meltdown. Not. “Okay, let’s get the rest of you ready.”
It was so unfair, she had all the other models—Asian, Black, Hispanic, Indian—and Franco, who was Italian, but had the bone structure and sleek, long hair to pass for Native American. Tiffany wasn’t sure his real name was Franco. Maybe he wasn’t even Italian.
“Tiffany?” Piers tapped his foot impatiently.
She spun toward the cluster of hotness lounging about, looking effortlessly gorgeous. Except that much perfect took serious work. The fresh bagels she’d fetched this morning lay untouched—two hundred and fifty calories per bagel, another fifty for the cream cheese. She moved the bagel plate to the other side of a dish of strawberries. One dish aligned to the right of the cream cheese, another to the left. She snatched up a strawberry and popped it in her mouth. Four calories. You had to love numbers.
The models shifted to their feet in a tidal wave of undulating muscle. Pumped up, made up and ready to shoot. Six two, six four, six one—no, the order didn’t work for her. Tallest to shortest or the other way around would be better. Maybe even tallest in the middle and descending in height order on either side. If Piers ever asked her opinion, she would tell him so. This was not her job, however. Her job was gofer, as in go for this and go for that. Shut your mouth, do as you’re told, and show up looking fabulous. She took a deep breath. Two hours and fifty-five minutes to the launch of New Tiffany.
“Give me beautiful, darlings.” Piers glanced up from his camera. “Get me that casting agent,” he yelled at her. “And for Christ’s sake get them oiled down.” Piers winked at the models. Flirting with the “meat” his soul prerogative. “I need muscle. Big, shiny, I want to lick it, muscle.”
Didn’t they all? Tiffany patted the side pocket of her Dolce & Gabbana tote, reassured by the feel of her notebook in the side pocket. Daddy always made sure she had the best of the best.
“A Princess always looks the part.”
She hit redial with one hand and grabbed the bottle of body oil with the other. God, she’d stroked more abs than any girl could fantasize about. Pretty much her only job perk. Six models each with a six-pack, did that make it thirty-six abs or eighteen? It would depend on whether you considered one ridge of muscle as consisting of two separate …
“Lower,” Franco purred in her ear.
“Oh, puh-lease.” Tyrone grabbed the bottle from her and oiled himself. “There’s nothing down there, sister.” He rolled his eyes at Tiffany dramatically. “And, believe me, I’ve looked. Now, if you really want to—”
She slapped a handful of oil onto the nearest corrugated stomach. Her gaze drifted to the hot-pink corner of her book peeking over the edge of the tote, the abs calculation forming in her head. She needed to write it down before she forgot. A tiny moment of sanity hovered, right there between those special pages. Later.
“Time?” Piers shouted.
Tiffany checked her phone. Shit. “Two forty,” she called back and braced for impact.
“Christ on a stick, Tiffany.” Piers started his meltdown. Tiffany counted slowly backward. Five, four, three, two, one and—“Fucking twenty to fucking two. Shit. Fuck. Bum. Bugger. Willy. Dick.”
The models suppressed a snicker or two. They couldn’t help it. With his British accent, it never sounded that bad when Piers swore. It sounded sort of cute. The cuteness wore off fast, and after seven years of working for Piers it wasn’t even mildly amusing.
“Get that silly cunt from casting on the motherfucking phone and ask her
where my fucking white boy is. Tell her to get his pale arse down here or he will never work in this motherfucking cesspit of a fucking, fuck nose shitting town again.”
“Impressive,” one of the models murmured beneath his breath. This must be his first Piers shoot.
“He’s just getting started.” Tiffany grabbed the oil and smeared. The waves of rage emanating from Piers almost made her hands shake. She tried the casting agent again. Shit, she had only booked the studio for another two hours and fifty minutes. Her schedule was sliding straight into the toilet.
“Adjust the package on …” Piers clicked his fingers as he came up blank on the name. “Um … number two.”
“Tyrone,” number two helpfully supplied.
Heat crawled over Tiffany’s face. Her gaze dropped automatically to the bulge of Tyrone’s crotch. Tyrone spread his arms out and grinned. “Go ahead.”
Sinfully beautiful, and Tyrone knew it. She couldn’t resist grinning right back. Such a pity he was gay. And she was in a steady relationship with the most wonderful man. In. The. World. Everybody said so. Ryan was perfect. Maybe not exciting, but she’d had exciting and look how that had ended up? Disaster. No, Ryan was the one for her. No more wild, crazy rides. Her phone buzzed in her hand. “Is that the casting agent?” Piers demanded.
“No.” Tiffany glared as Lola’s name lit up her screen. The woman’s timing couldn’t suck more. As much as she needed to speak to Lola—and she really, really needed to speak to her—she didn’t want to answer the call now. Five days she’d waited for Lola to call back. Of course, Lola pretty much ignored every call she didn’t feel like taking. Conversely, when Lola wanted to speak to you, she wanted it now and would blow up your phone until she got hold of you.
She hit IGNORE and slipped the phone into her pocket. Why today of all days? It must be some kind of cosmic joke. Could you calculate coincidence? You must be able to. Nearly everything broke down to numbers in the end. Her gaze strayed toward the tote again. Her book seemed to shimmer and pulse for attention. Perhaps she could just quickly …