The Best Man

by Morgan Lee

  “Stay with me tonight.” The whisper barely filtered through the haze.

  Justin turned his head to look at Rhys through half closed eyes.

  Rhys rolled toward Justin and brushed the hair from his forehead. “Don’t go back to your hotel. Stay with me.”

  Stay with me. He hadn’t thought his heart could beat any faster, but the request was more than he’d expected. A quick brush off, yes. To spend the night... “Okay.”

  Rhys smiled as if he’d been given a great prize. Which made Justin smile. He could get used to making Rhys happy. Giving him whatever he wanted. Especially if Rhys wanted him.

  Teasing fingers trailed down Justin’s back, tracing indefinable patterns on his skin. “How long are you in town?”

  “Like I said, my schedule is flexible.”

  “Can you stay the rest of the weekend?”

  “I have to check out of the hotel by noon and I was going to fly out around two.” The light in Rhys’s blue eyes dimmed and his smile slipped. Justin shifted onto his side and raised his mouth to Rhys’s. “But if you’re serious, I’d really like to take you up.”

  “I’m already up.”

  Justin chuckled as Rhys scooted off the bed and headed for the bathroom. He flipped to his back and rose to his elbows. “I meant flying.”

  Water ran for a moment then shut off. Rhys stood in the doorway, drying his hands. “Can we join the mile high club?”

  “Not unless you’re into crash landings.”

  “Is that a challenge?” He tossed the towel behind him and sauntered toward the bed.

  “We’d both lose.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.” Rhys climbed onto the bed and stretched out on his side, one leg slung across Justin’s, a hand on his chest. He nuzzled Justin’s ear and yawned. “But I reserve the right to reissue the challenge at a later date.”

  Another ripple of surprise jolted through Justin and stirred his hopes. If only he could believe it wasn’t just talk. That Rhys wanted what he did, what he’d wanted four years ago. Then life would be perfect. He’d have the best job. And the best man.

  Justin closed his eyes and smiled. “Give me a minute and I’ll take you for a ride in my cockpit.”

  The End

  Demanding

  Romance

  www.DemandingRomance.com

  If you enjoyed The Best Man by Morgan Lee, we suggest:

  The

  Business

  of

  Pleasure

  By

  Morgan Lee

  COPYRIGHT 2010 by Morgan Lee

  www.DemandingRomance.com

  Drake Pendleton was as cutthroat as they came in the world of high finance. And Kyle Beckett could feel the prick of Drake’s blade at his throat.

  The first thing Kyle realized when hired at Pendleton International four months ago was, no one expressed an opinion that didn’t agree with the boss’s. Granted, the man was brilliant and Kyle hadn’t seen any reason to argue with him. Until tonight.

  The last minute meeting to head off a glitch in the overseas market strategy beckoned Kyle and a few others to Drake’s personal apartment, the penthouse on the top floor of the downtown Dallas corporate building. Drake was due to leave on a six-thirty a.m. flight to Tokyo.

  When Drake asked Kyle what he thought of the alteration, he’d blurted out the obvious flaw in the plan without tempering his words and raised more than a few eyebrows, including Drake’s. It wasn’t the first time Kyle had been distracted, unfocused, and living a fucking fantasy in his twisted mind.

  But who could blame him? Kyle found intelligence sexually arousing in and of itself, and Pendleton wasn’t just smart. He was a goddamn genius. Every word that came out of his mouth was an aphrodisiac to Kyle. Add that to the tall, toned frame and the dark, brooding good looks and Kyle might as well have been a drooling idiot. An idiot with a hard-on he could hammer nails with.

  The shocked expressions of Kyle’s co-workers had turned to knowing ones when Drake concluded the meeting and asked Kyle to remain. Yeah, he was fucked. And not the way he wanted to be.

  “Drink?”

  Lifting his gaze from Drake’s Armani-covered ass, Kyle stared at the glossy black curls that brushed the edge of Drake’s collar. “No thanks. If I’m getting fired, I’ll need a clear head to negotiate a severance package.”

  Drake paused, tongs hovering over the ice bucket at the end of the bar, and twisted at the waist to look at Kyle. His crisp white shirt pulled taut across broad shoulders. “Fired?”

  “Isn’t that why I’m still here?”

  “What makes you think I’m going to fire you?” Drake turned back, grabbed a decanter of bourbon and poured his drink. “You’re the only one with the balls to tell me I’d overlooked a problem that could potentially cost me millions over the next five years.”

  “You don’t usually welcome opposing opinions.”

  “That’s only when the opinion is wrong.” He topped the bottle, and leaned back against the bar. “I can’t abide stupid people.”

  Kyle breathed in deep and exhaled slowly, feeling the tension drain from his muscles. Finding another job wouldn’t have been difficult, not with his credentials, but he liked this job, loved a challenge. Liked his boss...and the weekly meetings when Drake was in town.

  Don’t go there.

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “So, why am I here?”

  Dark piercing eyes met his over the tumbler resting on full firm lips. “Sex.”

  Pumping Iron

  by

  AJ Hardcourt

  COPYRIGHT 2010 by AJ Hardcourt

  www.DemandingRomance.com

  Pumping Iron

  Ren Vale had watched him for weeks, noted the hour he arrived at the gym, how long he stayed and what he drove when he left. Ren had even scheduled his workouts so that he could be a voyeur from across the room. He had to have his fix of sweat, flesh, muscle and man.

  Did that make him a stalker?

  Ren wasn’t a threat. They weren’t even in the same class of athletes. The man of his obsession was power, raw and primal. Ren was strong, cut and driven, but didn’t lift weights as the walking wet dream did. Cycling, swimming and running kept Ren primed for the next triathlon. Ren couldn’t come close to benching two-fifty or squatting four-hundred, but he could run twenty-six miles and just be reaching his stride.

  But bodybuilders were his weakness. His compulsion. His obsession. Bulging biceps, rippled backs, thick and heavy thighs and corded abdominals weakened his knees and hardened his cock. The object of his attention laughed with his training partner. A wide smile broke his face and Ren melted. Ren tried to look away, but the draw was too great, the need to feed his lust too intense.

  A weighted barbell rested on the floor in front of the man. Ren ran on a treadmill behind him, a perfect position to see the sculpted, masculine perfection of Mr. Olympia’s face in the mirror and still ogle his ass. An ass Ren wanted. The hard curves of his rounded glutes were encased in tight black shorts. Saliva moistened Ren’s mouth. That ass was so fucking fuckable. His cock tensed, like a slow stretch, swelling within his running shorts.

  Always the same reaction. The same lust, but the fantasy changed with the days. Sometimes he imagined himself on the receiving end, held immobile by those bulging ripped muscles. His ass clenched with an unquenched ache. Oh yeah, he wanted to be held down and fucked.

  Raking his gaze higher, he memorized every detail. A weight belt circled the man’s thick, but solid muscled waist and a clingy sweat-soaked tank top hugged his torso. He bent forward, wrapped his gloved hands around the metal barbell—Ren nearly groaned at the way he rubbed the bar, stroking it, caressing as he might hold Ren’s cock. Then he braced for the pressure of the dead lift.

  With a growl that seeped straight into Ren’s balls, the man heaved the weight to his chest and bent his knees into a deep squat. Ren nearly lost his balance on the treadmill. With super strength, the man
stood with the weight. Veins bulged in high relief on his arms, legs, and his reddening forehead. Lips pulled back in a snarl and his jaw clenched.

  And in the mirror’s reflection, his eyes locked on Ren. Heat rushed into Ren’s face and into his groin. Sweat dripped from his brow and stung his eyes. Yeah, he’d been running hard, but the fire in his body had more to do with the fantasy playing out in his head.

  Shit. For the second day in a row, Ren had been caught staring. Hell, his mouth was probably hanging open and drool dribbling from his chin. The man was sex, a fucking walking wet dream…and probably had Barbie blondes waiting on their knees.

  I’m blond.

  He shook off the fantasy. As much a Ren wanted to stay, finish his run, and continue to stare, he jumped to the side rails and shut down the treadmill. After a final glimpse of his dream man, he climbed off. Ren grabbed his towel and water bottle and headed for the showers.

  Once he’d rinsed off he slipped into the sauna. This early in the afternoon, the small windowless room was usually empty. Wrapping a towel around his hips, he set the timer and entered the room. Steam billowed from the vents and filled the enclosed space with moist hot air. Ren sat on the slatted wooden bench, sighed, and closed his eyes. He rested his head against the wall and let the moist blanket of air surround him. With another sigh, he allowed his body to relax.

  A moment later, the heavy door cracked open and a sliver of bright light slashed across the wood plank floor. Cool air swirled into the dimly lit room and Ren shivered. The door closed and Ren wasn’t alone any longer. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

  “Hey.”

  Holy fuck, the voice was as dark and decadent as the body promised.