by Livia Quinn
“Well, it worked, so I guess the Calloway magic I’ve been hearing about from your Grandma Roberta must have been right. She told me ‘that ol’ black magic had nothin’ on the Calloways’.”
Her hand had been skimming over the muscled planes of his chest, memorizing the swirls of hair and the way it formed a narrow trail to his groin. She followed it to where he appeared to be experiencing a resurgence of interest. She raised her head to look at him.
“You might be able to entice it into action, if you know what I mean,” but he didn’t pull off the innocent look.
She flicked her tongue across his nipples and while she worked her way down his body, discovering his sensitive areas, he moved further onto the bed against the pillows where he could watch. When she surrounded him with her lips and slid down over his length with the wet heat of her mouth, he panted, “That’s good, but…ahh…”
His hips did a little upward rock as she took him deep in her throat, but his large hands reached down and he rasped, “Sweetheart, come here.”
She rose and crawled up his body. He coaxed her to turn around and straddle his waist facing the mirror. The Buffy she saw was flushed, her skin pink and glowing, her nipples rosy and hard. “I want to watch you watch us. Now, sit down on it,” he lifted her, spreading her cheeks. “Those pouty sweet lips are going to feel so good around my cock. And you’ll have complete control this way.”
He moved his hands and let her slide down his length until he was deep inside her.
“That’s good.” She squeezed, lifted, and relaxed, hearing his breathing pick up. Feeling him grow harder inside, she repeated the movement finding a rhythm until she was riding him, slow and steady. She saw him in the mirror watching over her shoulder. His hands eased her shoulders back so that she was lying on his chest.
She studied the contrasts, his dark hair and skin, against her fair. His hips rocked and the long hard length was cupped and sheathed. Leaning back she let him take over, watching how he fit so perfectly, one hand rubbing the swollen nub just north of where their bodies were joined, the other fondling her breast, squeezing her nipple, his lips nibbling at her ear.
“Come for me, sweetheart. Watch how perfect we are together.” His hips took on more urgency and she felt the tension build inside her. Her body quivered and then the flames and sensations became a kaleidoscope of color and light as if he poured his love into her. His hands tightened on her when he came, and her head fell back next to his, both of them breathing hard.
She mumbled, “I’ll move as soon as I can…”
His chest rumbled from below through her back. “As long as you’re around, under, on top, or next to me, Buffy, my love… we’re okay.” He stroked her hair away from her face and planted a tender kiss on her temple, then easing her aside, he got up and blew the candles out, washed them both off and climbed into bed beside her.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The air was still warm for November and the leaves just starting to turn. Ridge walked outside where Buffy had gone to catch some sunrise pictures with the barn as a backdrop, and the early arrival of some Canadian geese, which warned of a cold front on their doorstep.
She wore a pair of skinny jeans and a long sweatshirt. With morning sun glinting off her hair and her focus on her work, she was more beautiful than any of the professional photos he’d seen of Lana Maisel.
She loved him! It hit with such a punch, he wanted to shake himself to prove he wasn’t dreaming. And then she sensed him watching her, smiled and walked toward him.
“Morning,” she said with a voice that sounded like a sweet song. She stood on tiptoes winding her wrist around his neck and gave him a warm lingering kiss.
“Promise me we’ll always remember this… magic, even when you’re mad at me for doing something stupid, and especially after we’ve been married for sixty years.”
She studied his face, solemnly. “You don’t really think I’ll ever be mad at you, do you?”
He chuckled, “I’ve been warned about a certain redheaded temperament when you don’t get your way.”
“Hmm. Well, if you believe that, then I guess we’ll just have to make sure I get my way, starting with the discussion we were having last night before you distracted me. About being the face of Calloway Studios.”
“I said we could negotiate.” He took her hand and led her to the back porch where he sat in the swing and pulled her onto his lap.
“First of all, I don’t see myself as a cover model… wait, darling… but you proved how much an image can mean when it’s ‘the face’ of whatever. You made me ‘the face’ of the Vote. I was mad at first, because I thought you’d made it about me, but then I realized why you’d done it. The perfect image has the power to move people.”
“Your image in front of that fire moved me…” she said, running her hands through his hair and stroking it away from his face so she could admire those great cheekbones and expressive eyes.
“I had a lot of authors ask me to pose for covers for their books. So, I get that. If you think it will truly help to get the business started on the right foot, then shoot me. I’m yours.” He smiled.
Buffy said, “I know you still have to travel and work…”
“Actually, phase one is complete, so my schedule won’t be as hectic. But I was hoping you’d consider an idea…” His look turned serious and he ran his hand through his hair, which she was coming to recognize as a stress response. He’d given up even his occasional cigarette.
“What idea?”
“The soldiers, all of them, men and women…humble me.”
“You’re one of them, Ridge…” she pointed out.
He shook his head as if he was nothing in comparison. “I never had to overcome what so many of our veterans have.” He pursed his lips then took the plunge. “I was wondering if you would consider naming the business something besides ‘Hunks on the Cover’.” He made air quotes but pressed on, “And how about a mission statement that includes hiring vets whenever we can?”
“That’s a great idea. Did you have a name in mind? My attempts haven’t been that inspired.”
“I hadn’t thought that far. Something… with heroes?” he asked.
Buffy tapped his knee, her mind searching for something suitable. “Heroes. Hmm, champions, defenders, knights. Champion Studios—No. What do you think of Knights Production, for the heroes who have put their lives on the line like the knights of old?”
He nodded. “Knights Production, Inc. Heroes on the cover. I like it. And it fits, since we might be using veterans, former military, even law enforcement, people of strong character and integrity. Real heroes on the cover.”
She said, “So you’re my first Knight.”
He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “I’m still pinching myself that this is all real. That… I’m about to ask you, on the back porch of your house… Buffy Lana Maisel Calloway, to marry me. Make me part of your happily ever after.”
He’d just done what he’d said he couldn’t do, put it “out there”. Her heart skipped and she had to touch him, to stroke his beautiful face. “Yes! Oh, God, I’m so happy. I love you, Ridge.”
He kissed her as slow as a lazy summer day, then held her face between his hands, his eyes full of wonder. “And to think it all started on a whim. Why did I follow you off the elevator? Why was I drawn to you on those covers?” He dug into the pocket of his jeans and produced a lacy red garter and a postcard of her Highland cover. “Yeah. I picked this up from the swag room before I ever climbed on that stage. It’s like fate. You’re the only woman I ever had fantasies about, much less bought a fashion magazine for. I thought maybe it was some kind of fluke.”
“No, sir, Mr. Romano. The Calloways are firm believers in magic.”
Thank you for reading Her First Knight
Our involvement and commitment to veterans’ issues should extend beyond the sentimental jumbo-tron moments we see in professional sports. It is not a cliché that we owe our ve
terans our very freedom.
My research and interviews into veterans’ issues in 2014 brought Ridge’s passion home to me, and while this is a work of fiction and Ridge’s ideas for a consortium are just an idea, there are many companies that do get involved with veterans. However, more commitment, and private involvement is important to how successful our troops will be at reentering society, having ‘normal’ lives with their families, employment and good mental and physical health.
Far too many of our soldiers come home with Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome (PTSD), Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI), debilitating injuries and illnesses.
Trauma affects the entire family. If you, or a family member suffers from PTSD, TBI, Military Sexual Trauma or from depression, contact someone who can help.
Suicide: www.MISSION22.com “We’re in a war against veteran suicide and we’re losing.” Share #mission22 to encourage and support our vets. Be a friend. Keep it going.
If you or a loved one has contemplated suicide, please call or go online www.stopsoldiersuicide.org
Veterans Crisis Line www.veteranscrisisline.net/
800-273-8255 #1
Visit or Donate to The Wounded Warrior Project – “to Honor and Empower Wounded Warriors” Sign up for a monthly gift to join the WWP Advance Guard JoinWWP.org 888-284-0200
About Face http://www.ptsd.va.gov/apps/AboutFace
See the real faces of soldiers and family members with PTSD and how you can get help.
How to get involved in your local veterans organizations. Be a friend. Donate to a proven charity. View ratings of veterans’ charities at the Charity Navigator, under ‘support troops’ https://charitynavigator.org
Blood Opal series
Undone
The Storm Lake Books
Destiny Paramortals
Storm Crazy
Cry Me a River
Eve of Chaos
Under Cover Knights
Hard Days Knight
Her First Knight: The Beginning
Coming in 2015
Thunder Point, Storm Warning, bk 1
Destiny Paramortals, Blame it on the Moon, bk 4
Under-Cover Knights, Knight in Tarnished Armor, bk3
Excerpts:
Undone (Blood Opal)
The setting - New Orleans and Pernambuco, Brazil
One year ago, antiquities dealer Charpentier
lost the rarest opal she’d ever almost owned,
and the only man she’d ever loved.
Now he’s back.
Aussie gem hunter Cass McKay spent the last year
searching for Elektra’s Blood opal
and a way back into her life, and her heart.
Now he has it.
And he doesn’t intend to lose her again,
because without her, he’s
U n d o n e
A low animal growl sounded from deep in his chest as he halted, still deep within her, his chest heaving in agonizing uneven breaths. In a single fluid motion, he levered himself off of her to sit on the edge of the bed.
Oh my God, what was happening to them? Agony clamped down on her heart. How could she make this right? Shoulders slumped, he held his shaking hands in front of his face as if he didn’t recognize them as his own. “I’m sorry,” he whispered raggedly.
“Cass—”
Cass held up an unsteady hand. He only had a few words left and he wanted to get them said. He wiped his hand over his face, disgusted. Looking down he saw the rose petals crushed and broken beneath his feet. Like his heart.
He’d done it again; he’d given up his self-respect to this woman who only wanted him for sex and a piece of glorified rock. And this time he’d forced himself on her in an act not entirely of love.
It was over.
He placed his fingers on her chin and waited until she returned his gaze. “When are you going to figure out that you became the successful, intelligent, creative woman you are, despite that sonofabitch of a father? You might flash the Blood in your father’s face, but you’ll only be disappointed if you think it will make him respect you.”
“No, I—”
He pulled his pants on, his shoulders hunched, shook his head. When he turned to her, she ached at the pain and defeat in his eyes.
“You’re terrified of relying on someone, on me— trusting me.”
She couldn’t speak because what he said was true. At least it had been— once.
He stroked her cheek, a slight tremor in his fingers then his hand dropped to his side, “You’re breaking my heart, sheila.”
He walked to the door, said quietly, “Whatever it takes, I’ll get your opal. Then maybe I can move on.”
“But—” he’d tuned her out.
“I won’t touch you again.” As if all his energy had been drained, he rested his forehead against the hard wood. “I have to try to move on.”
Then he was gone.
~
~Storm Lake Series~
Under-Cover Knights
Hard Days Knight
“If that’s good then this will be better,” he said as he nudged the cup below her breast and took it into his warm mouth, paying it the utmost attention. She moaned again.
“Sshh,” he said, “someone might hear you.”
Of course his intention with that had been to get her to fantasize about their being caught. She pictured the sight as he pushed the hem of her skirt up high on her thighs, exposing her damp center to the breeze. She crooked an eyebrow at him glancing pointedly at the empty parking lot.
“You’re just making my point, that you need to chill. Now lay back and let me love you…”
Lay back and let me love you. His words made her feel protected and precious. An alien feeling since she was usually the one doing the protecting. She relaxed and let him explore, his fingers trailing down her body, easing her shirt aside so he could play between her thighs where the dampness had gathered. Her hips flexed when his hand covered her core, rubbing the sensitive flesh and while he was doing that, he covered her mouth with his, his tongue sliding across hers.
He drew back briefly, collecting the wet dewy moisture on his fingers, his eyes alight with passion. “Open for me, baby,” he said and waited until his words made it through the sensual haze he was creating with his hand and his lips. He put one muscular thigh across her body and pressed her legs further apart, baring her to the night air and giving him full access to her.
It was erotic, and exciting, and a little naughty, this making love in a public place, where they might be seen. A smile curved her lips when she thought about a law officer’s response to such a scene. Her smile widened then turned to a sigh as two fingers entered her. She arched up crying out, the sound cut off by his mouth coming down on hers. Her hand went to his chest; she ripped at the buttons of his shirt, “Luc, your shirt. I want—” he stroked her steady and deep, helping her divest him of his shirt except on the one arm.
His broad muscular chest was magnificent in the light of the moon, like a charcoal image done by a master. “Stop,” she said. His breaths were audible as he paused. She rose to her knees facing him. “I want to feel your skin under my hands.” He knelt there and allowed her hands to drink him in, as a blind person would, reading the shape and texture, the silent surface to the steely muscles underneath. She placed a kiss on one oh-so-marvelous pec then the tip of her tongue trailed across his nipple. Hearing the hiss of his breath, her lips curved against the nub and tugged it gently.
“Woman, just wait…” She tweaked his other nipple and enjoyed the male sound of pleasure that rumbled up from his chest. Her fingernails meanwhile lightly scraped down his torso, between to fine sets of abs. Her tongue followed and she decided it was like a sensual roller coaster, the way her hands and tongue traveled the slopes and dips of the taut sinew. She chuckled.
He said, “You won’t be laughing in about ten seconds.” But then she freed him from his pants and used her tongue to show him how wrong he was. She knew how to get the
last word.
Storm Crazy
Destiny Paramortals book 1
Storm Lake—is it Mayberry or Middle Earth?
He was all lean sculpted muscles and tanned skin above and below the white cutoff sweats. His ripped calves and abs spoke of hours of conditioning. The tendon in his thigh twitched and my eyes jumped to his face—to a broad smile, framed by a thick layer of fragrant white shaving cream.
“Mornin’.” His deep voice reverberated, and I expected the vibrations to send the cream on his face sloughing off like an avalanche.
I regrouped, reading the name off the package, “…um, Jordan Lang?”
His light silver eyes crinkled and the moist heated scent of his skin stormed through my blood like whitewater rushing through a narrow canyon. A glistening droplet escaped the snowy cream on his cheeks and glided gracefully down the tanned column of his throat. Zigging and zagging like an X-games snowboarder on the bronze diamond slope, it plunged off his chest gleefully, moguled over finely chiseled abs, and disappeared into the snowy white material at his waist.
Those little water elementals…they have all the fun.
“… sign something?”
Another dollop of white fluff landed on the package I was holding and brought me screeching back to the present.
“The package…” His lips quirked and the crinkled lines around his eyes deepened. He rubbed a white towel over his wet hair, and my eyes went to his biceps which bunched and enticed with each rub. My favorite part of a man’s body. “Do I need to sign for it?” he asked once again.
Zeus’ bolts! I’d felt a mysterious pull when I looked into his eyes, like nothing I’d felt before, and I’d probably been staring at him like some star struck fan-girl. My face heated, but since I couldn’t do like my brother—make a wish and disappear—I relied on routine, handing him the E-pad. “Print your name on the top line, please, and sign underneath.”
“Who is it?” a female voice called from the interior of the house. The Missus? A flush of embarrassment hit. I grit my teeth to keep from rolling my eyes. I’d been about to flirt with a man who was taken. Get me out of here.
“Just the mail, sweetheart. I’ve got it.”