by Stacia Wolf
"No. It's probably safer at my house.” Okay, a stupid argument, but even he could not explain the surge of protectiveness threatening to black out any of the good intentions he had. She wrinkled her nose at the stupid suggestion. Okay, so even she knew it didn't ring true. Maybe she would take pity on him, and let it pass.
"You mean your house, across the street from mine, is safer?"
No luck. He had no luck when it came to fooling women.
"Your house was broken into yesterday. You have to admit that."
That cute little crease formed between her eyebrows like every time she was thinking. Before he knew what he was doing, he leaned over and kissed the little wrinkle. Surprised, she looked up. Then, her lips curved into a smile full of warmth and sex that shot right down to his gut. Electricity crackled between them. Her lips parted as if waiting for a kiss. Craving but not taking her had been driving him insane. He wanted her with a need that bordered on sexual obsession. He was in serious trouble, but there was nothing he could do.
His hand slid to the nape of her neck, and tangled in those amber curls as he drew the two of them close. The minute his lips touched hers, he knew he'd lost the battle. Her lips were cool and dry, but this time he hadn't surprised her. She had seen the kiss coming, and returned it with enthusiasm. His tongue tickled the line of her sealed lips, and she opened them without hesitation, moaning in appreciation.
His other hand found her breast, and as he plundered her mouth, he massaged and kneaded. The fabric of her jacket hindered his exploration. Without breaking the kiss, his hand slid down the front, unbuttoning it. Once undone, his hand stole inside her jacket and he realized she wore nothing beneath but a bra, one of those lacy half-cup ones that pushed up her breasts. His finger traced the edge, while lightly skimming her flesh that pressed against it. He ignored the fact that his hand shook when he touched her. He teased her by sliding his finger into the cup and gliding it over her nipple. His balls tightened as he moved his finger to the strap, and pulled it down off her shoulder. One extra little tug, and her breast sprang free.
She broke off the kiss, allowing her head to tip back, her eyes still closed. His lips traveled down her exposed throat, flicking his tongue against her hot flesh while his finger began to trace a circle around her nipple. She moaned, an earthy, sensual sound that slid into his stomach and down his spine. Completely genuine, that one little moan was one of the most erotic sounds he'd ever heard.
He continued the descent down her neck to her chest and was within centimeters of devouring her nipple. There wasn't much light inside his truck, but he could make out the puckered bud in the weak glow from one of the nearby streetlights. Blood rushed to his cock. He groaned, and took the nipple into his mouth. He suckled and licked, and her moans increased.
A different beam of light shone through the back window of the truck. Grace let out a groan that skittered through his system. He decided to ignore it.
"Grace,” a soft female voice said. “Are you in there?"
Somewhere in his hormone-soaked mind, he recognized that voice. He lifted his head and looked at Grace. Her jacket was undone, her bra half off, and her beautiful rosy-brown nipple glistened from his kiss.
Reason warred with hormones. Reason finished a distant second. He bent his head to take the nipple in his mouth again, when he heard the voice again, only much closer this time.
Then it clicked. That soft, southern voice belonged to the woman he'd rented his house from: Adrienne Michaels, with whom he'd spoken on the phone frequently enough to recognize by voice. He abruptly lifted his head.
"Grace, honey, your mother is standing at the rear of the truck with a flashlight,” he said as he pulled the bra strap back up on Grace's shoulder, and had to work the cup back up over that beautiful puckered nipple. He couldn't help himself, and brushed the back of his knuckles over it, happy to see a rush of goose bumps across her chest. Hastily he buttoned her jacket, and looked at her.
"My mother?” she asked, her voice was still husky with passion. The implication of what he said registered and her eyes widened. “My mother?” Her voice raised in worry. Her smile disappeared. “What the hell is my mother doing here?” The last question came out in a whisper, and she crouched down in her seat, trying to hide.
"I have no idea."
As he reached for the door handle, her mother said, “Grace Beatrice Michaels, get out of there right now!"
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Shy girls need to talk dirty, too...
Talk Dirty to Me
(C) 2006 Michelle Miles
In this, the first in the Coffee House Chronicles, commitment-shy Claudia has found the perfect man. He never leaves his dirty socks in the living room floor, eats all the cookies, or leaves the toilet seat up. In fact, he's just a voice on the other end of the phone. And, as Trixie, she's been talking dirty to him every night for the last week.
"Jack” calls the Talk Dirty To Me phone sex line nightly just to talk to Trixie. She loves his silky voice and he has a way with words that lights her fire, leaving her hungry for more.
Then Claudia meets the tall, striking Dr. Blake Marsh, a man with a familiar voice she can't quite place. After spending time with Blake (and her nightly calls suspiciously stop), she begins to suspect he is Jack.
Now that she's falling for the sexy doctor, can she prove he really is the bad boy on the other end of the phone?
Enjoy the following excerpt from Talk Dirty to Me by Michelle Miles:
After paying for her latte and a nice, thick slab of New York cheesecake with strawberry puree drizzled on top, Claudia settled into one of the oversized brown leather chairs with the latest Vogue magazine on her lap. She sipped and ate and browsed the latest in haute couture. It couldn't get much better than that.
"Well, hello there."
And with three little words, her day was ruined. Glancing up, she stared into the familiar face of Dr. Blake Marsh. He smiled broadly, his cheeks crinkling with the forced grin. Claudia's heart lurched in her chest, dropping down somewhere in the middle of her burning gut. Her stomach churned acid, the cheesecake swimming like a lump in her coffee. She blinked, trying to decide what sort of mood the man was in. From the look on his face, she was pretty sure he had read her column, too.
"Mind if I join you?"
Before she could answer, he dropped down into the chair across from her, a mere three feet away. A cherry wood coffee table separated them. He planted one ankle on his knee and leaned back into the chair. He looked rather appealing, not to mention appetizing, wearing khaki Dockers, loafers with funny looking tassels, and a black golf shirt.
Golf. She knew it.
Calmly, she took a sip of her coffee and then stabbed the last bite of her cheesecake, mopping up some of the puree with the creaminess. May as well not let it go to waste. She wished he hadn't caught her with her only meal of the day. But she was thankful she had at least showered, put on a little makeup and wore her jeans without the holes in the knees.
"Read your column,” he said without preamble.
Glancing at him, she noted the devilish gleam in his eyes and winced. “Did you now?” A feeble reply at best, but she still sounded cool. Never mind her innards jangled like a ring of a building super's keys.
"I'm flattered you wrote about me.” He gave her a sly wink.
Oh, if they weren't in public, she'd climb into that lap of his and... She shoved away the erotic images forming in her mind.
"I didn't write about you.” Her lie didn't hold up either, because a grin broke out on her mouth.
"You're a poor liar, Claudia.” He took a sip of his coffee and then set the paper cup on the table in front of him. He leaned forward, close, and dropped his voice. “By the way, I don't play golf."
"Really?” One eyebrow quirked and she tried to keep her mind focused on the conversation at hand. Not the visual of his naked body pressing against hers. Or his hands roaming over her breasts. Or his hot mouth licking her erog
enous zones. “I thought all doctors played golf. Goes with the territory, right?"
"Another stereotype.” He kept his gaze pinned on her face, his voice low and sultry. Reminding her of...someone...but she couldn't quite place it. “I'm not a stereotype."
"Then what are you?” The question bolted out of her mouth before her brain could stop it.
"Why don't you go out with me and I'll tell you?"
He suggested it so casually, she almost said yes. Almost. “No, thanks."
"Is it because of the other night?” He picked up his cup and taking another sip.
Why did his gaze never waver from her face? It left her feeling unsettled.
"No,” she quipped.
"Come on, Claude. We're both adults here—"
"Don't call me that,” she snapped, her defenses up and raring to go. No one called her that but Gayle. And, okay, Tony, too.
"Sorry.” He looked miffed and settled back into the chair once again, his coffee in his hand. “I thought it was your nickname."
"For those who are closest to me, yes."
"And I'm not?"
The verbal duel was beginning to get on her nerves. Claudia pursed her lips and glared at him. “Is there something you want from me?"
"Your phone number."
"Ha!” Her outburst startled a few afternoon customers who gave her a cursory glance. She lowered her voice. “I don't think so."
Blake cocked his head, realization dawning on his face. “You're pissed because I left the other night, aren't you?"
She huffed out a breath, tucked her magazine under her arm, and then rose. “Don't you have some heart patients to see?"
"I'm off duty.” He gave her a lopsided grin.
Rolling her eyes, Claudia stalked off, hoping to get outside before he caught up to her. To her horror, though, he followed her out into the blazing Texas heat. Squinting against the bright afternoon sun, she slipped her Oakleys over her eyes.
"So now you've decided to follow me? Are you going to start stalking me, too?” she snapped. “I'm still not giving you my number."
"Claudia, maybe I need to explain about the other night."
"No need to explain.” She approached the corner, pausing to look both directions before crossing the street. “I get it."
"You get what?"
"You're taken. Or not interested. Whatever. I totally get it."
He snagged her arm and spun her around before she could step off the curb. “I'm very interested."
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