Beautiful Girl

by Shiloh Walker

  Her hips moved in desperate circles and Blake rested his hands on her thighs, feeling the softness and the strength there. The heat of her sex was a silken, sweet promise and his hips surged upward to meet that frenzied rocking. Sliding his hands up her skirt, he worked his hands under her panties and tried to tug them off. She arched back to help him and ending up honking the horn.

  They stilled and then looked at each other and laughed. Del glanced over his shoulder and murmured, “You think we’d get arrested if we did it in the back of the cruiser?”

  Grinning, he pulled her mouth down to meet his. “Maybe. But my girlfriend’s loaded. She can bail us out.”

  Laughing, they fought their way out of the car, tripping over each other, tangled up and so focused on the other, the entire sheriff’s department could have surrounded them and they probably wouldn’t have noticed. He grasped the handle of the back door and jerked on it, fumbled it open and fell into the back, pulling her with him. The back door was wide open, but neither of them cared enough to notice.

  Sliding his hands under the hem of her skirt, Blake shoved it to her waist. Del dipped her head and kissed his throat above the starched collar of the pale gray Armani shirt, licking at him like a kitten.

  He growled and grabbed her underwear, jerking. The fragile silk gave under his hands and fell away in scraps. While her fingers busily worked to loosen his tie, he fumbled between them for his belt and zipper. Finally, he freed himself and a harsh breath hissed out of him as she rubbed against him, cuddling her silky wet heat against him.

  Laughter faded as she straightened on top of him and stared down at him. Blake cupped her face in his hand, rubbed his thumb across her lower lip. “I love you,” he whispered.

  Turning her head, she kissed his hand. “I love you, too.” Her lids drooped low and she rocked against him again. The silken friction had him arching off the back seat of the car. Grasping her hip with his free hand, he held her steady as he pressed close to her. “I’m a mess, though, Blake,” she whispered as he urged her down.

  Wrapping his arm around her waist, he pushed inside her. “Who isn’t?” He bit down on her chin. “Marry me.”

  Tears came to her eyes. Her spine bowed as he forged on, relentless. He didn’t stop until he was buried hilt-deep in her pussy and then he cupped her face in his hands. Circling his hips, he thrust inside her slow and steady. “Marry me, Del.”

  She gasped, lids fluttering over her eyes as he stroked deep. “You sure you want to take a chance on me, Blake? I still don’t always know which way is up.”

  Pushing her hair back, he tugged her mouth down until he could cover it with his. “Don’t worry. I’m good with directions. Just say you’ll marry me.”

  Del whimpered and rocked against him. Straightening slowly, she watched him and started to move, lazy movements that set his blood to simmering. She tightened around him, satin slick, and sweet. Blake stared at her from under his lashes. She hadn’t answered him but he was content to wait, for now. Her skirt was shoved up to her waist, baring long, strong thighs, sleekly curved and smooth. The muscles flexed as her knees tightened around his hips, riding him. The short-waisted, black suit jacket matched the skirt perfectly. It was prim and demure and hid too damn much of her body.

  He freed the buttons carefully, not tearing at them the way he wanted. When the last button was freed, he pushed it open but left it hanging on her shoulders. There was a strand of creamy pearls around her throat and they gleamed. A black bra cupped her breasts and under the sheer lace, he could see the pink of her nipples.

  “You’re so fucking pretty,” he muttered. “So damn beautiful…”

  As soon as he said it, he wished he could yank it back. He saw her eyes darken, watched as the heat was replaced by ice. But he couldn’t take it back, couldn’t turn back the clock. But he also couldn’t let go of her as she shoved against him. Easing up, he wrapped a hand around her waist, held her close. “Beautiful isn’t an ugly word, Del. You don’t want to let him win, then you can’t keep letting things like this pull you back,” he whispered, cupping her face and forcing her to look at him.

  Her eyes open wide, she stared at him. Her entire body trembled, like a leaf blowing in the wind. Soothingly, he kissed her lips, her cheek, nuzzled her neck. “You are beautiful. You’re soft, you’re sexy…you’re the woman I’ve loved my entire life.”

  “Blake…” Her voice was thick with tears and he eased back, staring into her eyes.

  “Shhh…” he whispered. “Close your eyes…listen to me, to my voice…feel my hands. You’re beautiful, Del. You make my heart hurt just to look at you…” Gently, he slid his hand down the center of her body, pausing to cup her breast, then circle his index finger around her navel.

  When she didn’t pull away, he went lower and continued to whisper to her. “You’re beautiful…” Her lids lifted up and he forced himself to smile, although he ached with fury, ached with need, ached with love. “It’s not a dirty word, Del. It’s just a word…you decide how to take it.”

  “Beautiful,” he repeated, stroking lower, lower, lower so he could comb through the blonde curls that covered her pussy. As he touched her clit, he stared at her, watching her eyes widen, her pupils flare. A ragged moan escaped her and her sex went tight around his cock. Blake wondered that he just didn’t explode under the heat and silk.

  “Beautiful…” This time it was forced out through gritted teeth as he held his climax back by a thread. Jaw clenched, eyes closed so the sexy sight of her half-clothed and riding him didn’t send him over. With quick, sure strokes, he caressed her clit and she keened, screaming out his name. Her nails dug into his shirt as she fisted her hands.

  She started to come. Desperate for her, he fisted a hand in her hair and pulled her down to meet his mouth. She screamed and he swallowed the sound down, growling in triumph.

  “Beautiful,” he growled, tearing his mouth from hers to say it once. The second time, he shouted it as his orgasm slammed into him. Mine, he thought. Mine again, and this time, I won’t let you go.

  Blake didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud until after the storm passed and she sagged against him. “You won’t have to, Blake. I’m done running and I’m not going anywhere.”

  About the Author

  To learn more about Shiloh Walker, please visit http://shilohwalker.com or http://shilohwalker.wordpress.com. Send an email to Shiloh Walker at Shiloh_@shilohwalker.com or join her Yahoo! group to join in the fun with other readers as well as Shiloh http://groups.yahoo.com/group/xxx

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  For the Love of Jazz

  © 2007 Shiloh Walker

  Since waking up in a hospital at age eighteen, accused of driving the car that killed his best friend, Jazz McNeil has lived with a guilty heart. Now, more than a decade later, he has returned to his hometown to raise his daughter and to uncover the truth about what happened that fateful summer. And gaze into the eyes of the girl whose life he shattered.

  Though Anne-Marie Kincaid was told that Jazz was responsible for her brother’s death all those years ago, she has never quite believed it. The facts don’t quite fit; they never did. All she knows is, she still feels loved and safe when she’s with Jazz, and that he misses her brother just as much as she.

  And since he returned home, people have started dying.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for: For the Love of Jazz

  “We were never friends, angel. I was friends with your rich brother and you were the nosy, little brat who had a crush on me,” he snapped. “Go home to Daddy, Annie. You want to talk to somebody, go talk to him.”

  In the fa
ding light, he saw the delicate color wash out of her cheeks and hurt bloom in those green eyes. And then she blinked, and as easily as that, a mask fell. She shrugged, carelessly. “Your loss, Jasper,” she told him, turning on her heel and heading for her car. The denim drew tight across her hips as she dug into the hip pocket for her keys.

  Before Anne-Marie could reach for the handle, hard hands closed over her elbows, twirled her, pinned her against a heavy, male body. Against her back, she felt the cool, smooth glass of the window and the heat of the metal door against her legs. She raised her head, looked into those deep brown eyes that had haunted her dreams for years on end.

  “I don’t wanna talk to you,” he whispered as he lowered his head to hers.

  Oh.

  Oh, my.

  There really could be thunder and lightning bolts…

  The ground seemed to open up beneath her feet, leaving her clinging to Jazz for balance. He nipped her lip and when her mouth opened, his tongue swept inside, tasting her, savoring, diving deep for more. His hands slid down the length of her body, plastering her against him. Against her belly, she could feel the thick, hard length of his erection. The feel of it did something to her insides, turning her all molten and soft—empty. Too damned empty.

  Anne-Marie rose on her toes, pressed against him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Desperate to get closer, she arched up against him, feeling the heat and power of his body against the softness of her own.

  “Damn it, Annie. We shouldn’t do this.” Dragging his mouth away, Jazz stared down at her. What in the hell am I doing? he thought, dazed. He jerked his arms away from her, staring down at her. She raised one hand to her lips, touched them lightly. When her tongue darted out, slid over first her lower lip and then her upper, Jazz groaned.

  What in the hell was he doing?

  Alex would have killed him for even thinking what he was thinking, much less putting his thoughts into action. Desmond would have laid into him with a dull scalpel. By touching her, he betrayed both of them more than he already had.

  Awkwardly, he opened his mouth to apologize but then the words froze when she took a single step toward him. And then another, and one more until she was close enough for him to see the wild pulse beating a tattoo under the thin skin of her neck. She pressed one finger to his lips, wrapped the arm around his neck, and leaned forward, pressing her mouth to the vee of skin bared by his simple, cotton button-down.

  His eyes closed and his hands came up to cup the back of her neck, holding her against him. Sweet Anne-Marie. God, I love you. He had dreamed of her over the years, dreamed of a woman who had been just a child when he had left. Dreams that had kept him company at night, even after he’d married Sheri. Guilty dreams that he had denied having, dreams that felt so real, waking from them was almost painful.

  Some people didn’t believe in love at first sight, but Jazz always had. He’d fallen for her as a boy and those feelings had only strengthened in their years apart. Now, she stood in his arms, pressing herself against him. Totally and completely willing—and eager. He could see an answering hunger in her eyes, feel it in the way she leaned into him when he touched her. It was every dream he had ever had, and every nightmare. Because finally he could have her, but only for a while.

  Jazz would never be able to hold her. He would never deserve her. But damned if he wouldn’t take whatever he could get before she walked away. He held her pressed tightly against him as she trailed a line of butterfly kisses up his neck.

  “Why shouldn’t we do this, Jazz?” she asked, reveling in his taste. He tasted hot, erotic, forbidden. Like whiskey and chocolate. Her hands itched to touch him until with a sigh, she gave in, running her hands down his arms, up his sides, learning the long, lean body by touch.

  She hadn’t come out here for this. Not intentionally.

  But Anne-Marie had fallen in love with Jazz McNeil the first time she laid eyes on him at the tender age of ten. And she had always known there would be no other for her. The one time she had tried to use another man to forget about Jazz had ended in miserable failure and she never once again tried.

  Nothing had changed that, not the sixteen years of separation, not the knowledge that he had been driving the night Alex had died. Jazz was it for her and he always had been.

  Rigidly, Jazz stood in her arms and tried to think of the reasons they shouldn’t do this. There were reasons. He just couldn’t, for the life of him, think of them as she pressed another kiss to his collarbone, going up on her toes and pressing another whisper-soft kiss to his jawbone. It was torture, the satin soft feel of her mouth on his skin. He wanted to cradle her head between his hands and kiss her again, taste her, hold her open while he gorged on her.

  Then he wanted to lean back and watch as she used that pretty rosebud mouth in other ways. Even the thought was enough to make him go cross-eyed with lust and when he lifted his hands to her waist, they were shaking.

  She’s so tiny, Jazz thought. Her waist was slender, so narrow he could nearly span it with his hands. Slender, almost delicate, like some kind of fairy princess and yet so strong. He could feel the strength in her hands as she clasped his shoulders, reaching up against him.

  “Take me inside,” she whispered, lifting her head so she could stare at him.

  “Anne-Marie…”

  “Don’t tell me we shouldn’t do this. Don’t tell me anything. Just take me inside, Jazz. This is what I want.”

  All small towns have secrets. This one could be deadly

  The Seduction of Shamus O’Rourke

  © 2007 N.J. Walters

  Book 4 of Jamesville.

  After her father’s death, Cyndi Marks returns to Jamesville, determined to settle here and lay the ghosts of years ago to rest once and for all. But the past has a way of catching up—and hanging on.

  When her car breaks down outside of town, a handsome stranger stops to help. He intrigues and attracts her, but then she discovers who he is.

  Shamus O’Rourke enjoys his job, his family and small town living. What he’s missing is someone with whom to share it. Immediately drawn to Cyndi, he is determined to get closer to her, even as he senses her pulling away.

  But not everyone in Jamesville is happy to see Cyndi. People are hiding secrets. Secrets they would kill to protect. When violence erupts in her home, Cyndi turns to the only person in town she can trust—Shamus.

  In a situation where family loyalties are strained, Cyndi’s life is threatened and everyone is a suspect, will their emerging love survive?

  Enjoy the following excerpt for: The Seduction of Shamus O’Rourke

  Jamesville, Maine. It looked so peaceful nestled down in the valley below, but Cyndi knew that even a small town had dirty little secrets. Turning her back on the picturesque scene, she strode to the trunk of her car. She needed to keep focused on the task at hand and right now that included getting her car back on the road so she could reach her destination before dark.

  The sun was low in the afternoon sky, but she had an hour or so until it finally sank. Lots of time to change a flat tire and get to the lawyer’s office before it closed for the day. Unlocking her trunk, she pocketed her keys and hauled out her two suitcases, setting them beside the car. Next came her laptop, which she tucked into the backseat for safekeeping. Two boxes containing her pillows and comforter, specialty teas, and her favorite snacks were next. She figured she’d need all the comforts she could get. She was under no illusion that the task ahead of her would be easy.

  Cyndi ignored the small voice in the back of her head that whispered she didn’t have to stay. She’d made her decision and she wasn’t about to back down now. It was time for her to face down the demons of her past and put them to rest once and for all. The only way to do that was to settle in Jamesville. She’d put all her belongings in storage, let the lease on her apartment lapse, and quit her job as manager of an upscale bed and breakfast. For better or worse, she was here to stay.

  Dragging out the jack and
the spare tire, she carried them one at a time to the front of the car. The left-hand tire was as flat as a pancake. She must have picked up a nail or something. As soon as she hit town, she’d have to go to a garage and get it seen to.

  As she was shoving the jack beneath the car, she heard another vehicle rumbling up behind her. She scooted in front of her car, not wanting to be out in the road as the other vehicle passed. She’d pulled her car as far off the road as she could, but the shoulder wasn’t that wide and part of the vehicle was still on the pavement. A dusty, blue truck passed her, but the brake lights flashed almost immediately, and the vehicle rolled to a stop several yards up the road.

  Cyndi climbed back into the driver’s seat and locked all the doors. Maybe she was overreacting, but a woman on her own, on a fairly deserted stretch of road, couldn’t be too careful. She knew what Jamesville used to be like, but that was a long time ago. The whole world seemed to have changed in the intervening years.

  The truck door opened and a long, jean-clad leg came into view, quickly followed by another. The man who got out of the vehicle was huge, standing at least several inches over six feet. His shoulders were wide, straining the seams of his dirty, white T-shirt. The short sleeves of the shirt did nothing to hide his thick biceps and muscular forearms. His jeans were faded white at the knees and crotch area. Cyndi forced herself to look away. A stranger was coming toward her, and she was staring at his crotch. It had to be the stress she’d been under making her so loopy. Still, she did enjoy the view.

  His large, booted feet quickly ate up the distance between them. Cyndi reached into her purse and yanked out her phone, ready to call for help if necessary.

  The man stopped beside her door, leaned down and tapped on the window. “Didn’t mean to frighten you, ma’am.”

  Cyndi got her first, really good look at his face and it started her heart pounding, but not from fear. The man was gorgeous, in a rough sort of way. His thick, molasses-brown hair was tied back at the nape, falling just below his shoulders. His face was all sharp angles and planes; his nose was large, but somehow suited his face. Eyebrows the same color as his hair were straight slashes above a pair of concerned, blue-gray eyes, eyes the same color as the sky just before a storm.