Twenty Times Tempted: A Sexy Contemporary Romance Collection

by Petrova, Em

  “About us?”

  She shook her head. “I had a dream about Connor last night. He told me to be happy.” She sniffled and more tears spilled.

  Nicholas pulled her into his arms and held her tight. “You know he’d want you to find love again, have a family and live your life. That’s what the dream was telling you. He was giving you his blessing.” Nicholas eased her out of his embrace, took the handkerchief from his top pocket and dried her tears.

  “Yes, I know.” She gazed around. “You’ve done an amazing job of finishing the house, Nick. It’s exactly as I envisioned it.”

  Nicholas took her hand and led her down the stairs. “I used the original plans. For you, Prue. I know you can be happy here.”

  She sighed. “I want to believe that.”

  He walked her into the living room and sat her in an armchair. “Then believe it, darling, because this is where you belong. It’s your home.”

  She ran her eyes over the well-designed room then gazed up at him. “It’s our home.”

  Nicholas took her in his arms and pressed his mouth to hers in a long kiss. When they parted, he looked into her eyes and said, “Let’s go get married.”

  Prue nodded and smiled. “Yes, let’s.”

  Chapter Forty Eight

  Their honeymoon destination was perfect. Prue sighed with happiness as she walked along the boardwalk hand in hand with her new husband and stepped inside the luxurious, over-water, double-story bungalow. A bottle of champagne and two glass flutes awaited them in the living room and upstairs their four post bed was adorned with palm leaves, apricot hibiscus flowers and white frangipani. Nicholas tipped the attendant, walked him out and thanked him before returning to his beautiful bride.

  He wrapped his arms around her and breathed in the scent of her hair. “Like it?”

  She slid her arms around his neck and smiled up at him. “I love it! Thank you, darling, it’s amazing!”

  Nicholas leaned in and planted a soft kiss on her lips. “You’re welcome, Mrs. Colton.”

  Prue loved the sound of that. Mrs. Colton. Her smile widened. “It sounds so nice being called Mrs. Colton. I could get used to it.”

  “Well you’d better. We’ve got a long life ahead of us, you know.” He smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. “Want some champagne?” He walked over to the lavish dark wood and glass coffee table, plucked the bottle from the ice bucket and loosened the cork without a pop. He poured two glasses, brought them out to their private patio and passed one to her. He raised his in a toast. “To a long and happy life together.” She repeated his heartfelt declaration. It was all she could hope for. They clinked glasses and sipped the bubbly.

  Prue gazed out at the crystal clear, azure water and spectacular view. “Just heavenly.”

  Nicholas came up behind her and slid an arm around her waist. “Yes, heavenly,” he said, his tone seductive. He wasn’t referring to their surroundings.

  She turned around. “Why Mr. Colton are you flirting with me?” She reached across and sat her glass on the breakfast table. “What would my husband say?”

  “It is your honeymoon, after all, Mrs. Colton. What could he say?” Nicholas winked, set his champagne flute down, held her face between his hands and pressed his lips to hers, their tongues entwined. He moved his mouth to the side of her throat and nuzzled her ear. “Want to go upstairs?”

  Prue moaned with pleasure as he continued to nibble her ear and she unbuttoned his casual, blue and white checked shirt. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Nicholas lifted her into his arms, wandered back through the living room, up the stairs and eased her onto the white bed cover. He shrugged out of his shirt and threw it into a chair, then pulled his board shorts off and tossed them across the room. He walked over, took hold of Prue’s hands and pulled her to her feet.

  Prue’s heart thrummed as he spun her around and unzipped her cotton sun dress, slid the straps from her shoulders and allowed the floral garment to fall to the floor. She stepped out of it, turned to him and slid her arms around his neck, pressing her wanting lips to his. Nicholas groaned as he unclipped her white lace bra, eased it off her shoulders and threw it onto the chair. She was almost naked and he couldn’t wait to make love to her.

  He threw the covers back, scooped her into his arms and laid her on the cool white sheets, then climbed over her and stared lovingly into her eyes. “I love you, Mrs. Colton.”

  Prue reached up and pulled him down onto her, wrapping her arms around him. “I love you, too, Mr. Colton.”

  Nicholas pressed his eager lips to hers in a long, firm kiss. He caressed the skin of her arms, her stomach, her thighs, then trailed kisses down to her breasts. Tonight he would make love to his wife for the first time. He sucked her right nipple into his mouth and rolled his tongue around the dusky pink mound. Prue gave a soft moan and grabbed his hair. He sucked, nibbled and swirled his tongue around both nipples until Prue was breathless, then continued kissing a trail down to her white lace panties.

  She shivered in expectation of the pleasurable things to come.

  His eyes moved to hers and he stared into them for a long time. “You make me the happiest man alive, darling. I hope you know that.” He slipped a finger beneath the delicate fabric of her thong and slid it from her body.

  Prue nodded and smiled, the love in her heart reflecting in her eyes. “Make love to me, Nick.”

  Nicholas tugged his snug, Calvin Klein boxers down his legs and dropped them on the floor, his firm length ready and willing to oblige his lovely bride. He moved up the bed and nuzzled her ear again, then kissed a trail to her mouth and pressed his lips to hers. His hand wandered her body until his fingers found the warm wetness between her thighs. He slid a finger into her and stroked the sensitive node.

  Prue gripped the sheet and moaned.

  Nicholas trailed kisses down her stomach, his mouth hovering above the place of ecstasy awaiting him. He loved tasting and tantalizing her and feeling her explode in his mouth.

  She spread her legs in anticipation and he slipped the tip of his tongue into the soft pink folds of flesh and circled the taut nub.

  Prue sucked in a sharp breath. “I… love it when you do… that.”

  Nicholas’ erection tightened. He wanted to fill those soft folds with his rock hard flesh. He lapped the firm little mound with his tongue, adding more pressure each time and feeling the tension building. At any moment she would erupt into a frenzy of pleasure and he’d slide into her moist heat and feel her warmth wrap around his throbbing shaft.

  Prue arched her back, her breath caught in her throat and she let out a continuous moan as the molten wave of orgasm washed over her.

  Nicholas sprang from between her legs and pressed his eager body to hers. He kissed her hard on the mouth and Prue wrapped her arms and her legs around him and held tight. “I want you inside me,” she said, her voice quivering with desire.

  He pulled back and stared into her eyes. They were filled with lust and love. “Want to make a baby brother or sister for Nikki?”

  Prue smiled up at him, reached between them and held his pulsing length in her hand. She guided him inside her and pressed her legs tighter around his hips. “What a wonderful idea.”

  Nicholas pumped and pumped, the pressure of his release mounting as he slid in and out of his wife’s moist, soft folds, relishing every stroke. They were a perfect fit.

  Prue held her husband close, loving his hardness inside her, awaiting that final explosion of ecstasy.

  They came together with throaty moans and he collapsed on top of her, his heart hammering.

  Prue ran her fingers through his damp hair and kissed his forehead. “I love making love with you. You’re an incredible lover, you know that?”

  “Why thank you, my darling. I’ll always aim to please my beautiful wife. I adore making love to you too.”

  “Do you suppose we could do it again?” she asked, giving him a mischievous grin.

  His eyes wid
ened. “Again! Now?”

  She nodded. “Well if we’re going to make a baby brother or sister for Nikki we have to practice until we get it right, don’t we?”

  Nicholas grinned. “That’s true. How about after dinner? I could muster up the energy for dessert.”

  “Dessert sounds delicious. I can’t wait.” She pulled him to her and kissed him long and hard.

  After their one night together all those years ago it was extraordinary that they had found each other again. Had the tragedy of losing the love of their lives been the reason they had met that night? Had fate played a hand in bringing two broken hearts together? Prue believed anything was possible, how could she not after everything that had happened.

  She was thankful to have the man she’d loved for so long in her life and grateful he was still in love with her. She was also grateful for the gift of their beautiful little girl. Her life was complete. They were a family at last and it was all Prue could ever have wished for.

  THE END

  Maggie Anderson is a dark fantasy, paranormal romance, and contemporary romance writer. Dark Legacy was the first book in her Urban Fantasy series, with book two, Once Bitten, released in February 2015 and a third (but not the last), Soul Chaser, to follow in 2016.

  Find Maggie on Amazon.

  Follow her on Facebook.

  POINTS ON A CURVE

  Nya Rawlyns

  DEDICATION

  To the lovely women in my life.

  You make my heart sing.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  To Poppet: you light my fire with your command of the language and the passion in your soul. You taught me to feel.

  To Sessha: you share my vision, my pain and my hopes. You taught me to believe.

  To Greta: you create worlds of wonder in Universes far, far away. You taught me that friendships have no borders.

  One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.

  ~~Virginia Woolf

  Chapter One

  Rob

  The maître d looked down his nose at me, which wasn’t really too hard seeing’s how I was on the height challenged side of six foot.

  “Do you have a reservation?” Pause. Heartbeat. Cue insolent sneer. “Sir.”

  “Uh.”

  Yes and no. My sister and her current husband made arrangements for us to meet here, at Che Snoot, for drinks, a light dinner and then off to see what the next Bob Fosse clone had thrown together for this year’s Tony Awards best musical.

  I’d had courtside at the Garden, a solo gig complements of the team manager and an old friend.

  There was the temptation to feign a fast acting flu but since hubby number four was a medical professional my darling sister would be sure to mention needles and a bracing elixir with Vicks or some other ungodly concoction and the jig would be up.

  Needles I could take. I wore big boy loafers.

  It was the Vicks … did it every time.

  They were also in town just for the weekend, a second honeymoon. I knew better than to ask why they wanted to spend it with me, a sports journalist with Guinness in his veins, instead of on a round bed and a mirrored ceiling over in Pennsy. It was a nice time of year, just coming fall.

  If it had been me, I’d have opted for getting laid.

  Apparently Cordie had other priorities. I couldn’t speak to the neurosurgeon’s plans, having never met the man. Basically all I knew about him was he ran a lucrative fiefdom at Pittsburgh General and kept Cordie in a manner the first three hadn’t even come close to.

  “Sir?” The man actually looked a little frazzled. There was a line behind me, albeit it was still polite and non-committal. They had to be tourists. New Yorkers would have thrown me out on the sidewalk without a thought.

  Pre-show dinners required running a pretty tight ship. I wasn’t helping the cause.

  “I’m meeting a couple for dinner.”

  “Ah.” The magical pen appeared, conjured from an inner pocket. It was a nice Montblanc knockoff. I recognized it because I’d picked one up off a street vendor near the Post building last week.

  It leaked until it was dry and the cleaners said whatever they say in Chinese to mean you’re SOL. I still had it.

  “Is the reservation under their name?” He’d slowed down enough for me to realize he thought I was thick, you know, in that be kind to animals and retards way. I didn’t take offense. The truth was, it was like a trick question.

  He wanted a name. Geez, the pressure.

  Number one had been so far back in memory I’d been just a kid in short pants; hubby number two was Chaim, Cosmo, C-something; three … now, him I remembered. Arnie, Arnie Clarkson. We’d gone to see Snakes on a Plane three times together, chanting—along with everyone else in the theater—“Enough is enough! I have had it with these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane!”

  Cordie blamed me for that divorce.

  Squirming like I needed the little boys’ room, my eyes wandered to the ceiling, praying for inspiration. The man was going to pony up for a huge bar and dinner tab so it behooved me to do him the respect of fucking remembering his effing name.

  Oops. An intake of breath. A titter. A maître d on the edge of a coronary.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have thought that out loud.

  “Fec— Um, oh yeah, Finkelstein. Doctor. M.D.”

  You could cut the relief with a butter knife.

  Motioning me away from the podium and towards the inner sanctum, he announced regally, “Arturo will show you to your table.” With that he washed his hands of me and turned to the elderly couple next in line.

  Arturo was already mincing his way through a maze of knee knocker arrangements. Round tables outfitted in enough linen to sink a battleship, floating flowers, five hundred bucks an ounce carafes of Sicilian olive oil and silverware that looked like the real deal.

  Like most of the tony joints in town, this one was long, narrow and atmospheric. The wall to my right held asymmetric wine racks themed in white, red and you can’t afford it. The left was mirrored with some kind of leafy accents and the occasional Italian ceramic serving dish. The floor was wood, stained a dark walnut but buffed to a shine. Wall sconces and demi-chandeliers poured diffuse light throughout the small space.

  Seating capacity for most restaurants in the city revolved around high turnover. This one didn’t. That meant the menus came without prices and if you tried to skimp by skipping dessert you were one layer shy of a tiramisu.

  The back wall was also mirrored. It gave the setting a sense of vast inner space. It did not deaden the kitchen sounds or the obligatory warble of tenors in heat.

  Arturo glided to a halt by a table with place settings for four. I had almost forgotten about that.

  “Sir?” He graciously held the chair, making sure my back was to the mirror and facing anything incoming. Like my sister, and the M.D. with the eff-name.

  What that did was leave me and the staff arrayed with military precision behind me. To a man, they were short, dark and handsome if you were into smarmy and five o’clock shadow. Each sported a starched white jacket, tight black pants, pointy faux Italian boots and a linen napkin draped elegantly over the right arm. Said arm was clutched to six pack abs, ready to do my bidding.

  My bidding called for a single malt scotch neat, make it a double.

  I got red wine because sister dear had called ahead. Apparently the king of the fiefdom had very particular tastes. Arturo poured. He sniffed, I sniffed, then I twirled and I tried very hard not to think about where this ritual might have originated.

  I also tried not to think too much on the little SURPRISE my sister had pulled on me. One of her old sorority sisters was doing a stint at NYU, some kind of post doc I was guessing, and she’d been conscripted as my plus one for the evening.

  God forbid. Three seats, center, upper mezzanine simply wouldn’t compute. Instead of with three you get eggroll, she sucked up an extra seat and called it a date.

 
I called it a setup and cried foul.

  Robbie, sweetie…

  Rob, it’s Rob. I’m not a kid anym—

  You need to get out. It’s been too long. We don’t like to see you…

  I’m fine, Cordie, really. I finally got my shit together. The job’s great. I don’t…

  Oh, hon, please, for me? I just know the two of you will hit it off.

  And she didn’t know anyone, I’d be doing her a favor and who knew…

  Knowing better than to ask what she looked like, I went for cagey, poking at whether or not we had the same interests…

  Like hot sweaty games of handball, ringside seats at the next welterweight smackdown, high-fiving with my boys in the Knick’s locker room.

  The trouble with saying no to Cordelia van Horn cum Finkelstein was that she came with a Greek chorus of women intent on seeing me wedded, if not bedded. My mother, my other sister—Cordies’ twin, a younger niece and assorted cousins, all married, supposedly happily, all of them vowing to bring me back into the fold. I’d been once burned. To say I was gun shy wouldn’t be putting too fine a point on it.

  They’d all won the genetic lottery for fruitful loins and killer meatloaf. Their husbands were, to a man, rotund and content, well maybe except for the Fink. That was TBD.

  Robert van Horn was the Lone Ranger, satisfied with leaving them moaning ‘who was that masked man’ and dodging bullets. I figured, so long as I didn’t lose my hair or my thirty-two waist, my use-by-date was good for another ten years, maybe more if I was lucky.

  Arturo paused to refresh my wine glass, inquired after my health, and asked if I wanted to browse the menu. I said I’d wait for my party.

  Hesitant to admit I was marginally excited by having something in a skirt or nice linen slacks sitting next to me, smelling … well, smelling better than me or anyone else I hung out with, maybe doing a little flirting … it had a certain appeal.