Intoxicated

by Monica Murphy

  My chest swells with pride. “I like hearing you say that,” I admit. “I feel the same way about you.”

  “You think I’m a good husband and father? Gee, thanks.” She punches me in the arm, making me laugh.

  “You know what I mean.” I kiss Jackson’s forehead, then his cheeks. I can’t stop kissing my baby. Matt and Gage make fun of my ass, but I don’t care. “You’re a good wife and mother. You amaze me every day, what you do for me and for Jackson.”

  “Aw.” She leans in and goes to kiss my cheek, but I turn my head at the last minute so she kisses my lips instead. “You are too sweet. And speaking of doing something for someone else . . . did you make that donation yet?”

  “Yeah.” Gage and I finally conceded that Matt won the million dollar bet. Arrogant fucker really rubbed it in our faces too. But then he came up with the brilliant idea that we donate our share to a charity of our choice. “I received the official letter of thanks from the organization in the mail a few days ago.” I contributed to a local charity that assists pregnant women in need. Gage chose a local low income housing project.

  “That’s wonderful, honey.” She kisses me again on the lips, this time on purpose. “I’m so proud of you for turning your stupid bet into something for good.”

  I laugh. Leave it to my wife to put it so succinctly. “Yeah well, Matt showed us both up and looks like a total hero.”

  “How?”

  “He made donations too. Two hundred fifty thousand to each of the charities Gage and I chose.” Smug asshole. I think this jokingly because while he made us look like chumps and himself look like a hero, yeah, I’ve gotta give it to him.

  Matt did the right thing. He has a good heart, my friend.

  “Matt is so amazing.” Ivy shakes her head, a dreamy expression on her face. Not good. I want to be the only one who puts that look on her. “I just adore him.”

  “As much as you adore me?” I ask like a jealous idiot.

  “I adore you so much, it’s kind of ridiculous.” Another kiss, this one longer, a little sweeter, a lot hotter. “But you already know this,” she murmurs against my lips.

  Jackson struggles between us, giving a single cry like he’s saying “pay attention to me” in baby language. I withdraw from Ivy reluctantly and stand, holding Jackson to my chest. “Want me to put him down? He’s due for a nap, right?”

  “Right.” She stands and flashes me a sultry smile. “You should meet me in our bedroom.” Taking a step closer to me, she presses her hands against my chest, her fingers caressing lightly. Her gaze is full of intent. “I miss my husband.”

  Hope lights up inside of me, but I tamp it down. “Aren’t you still recovering?”

  “I feel good. Perfect, in fact.” Her fingers curl into my T-shirt and give it a little tug. “Don’t you want to rendezvous with your wife in the bedroom?”

  Her choice of words makes me laugh—and sweat. “I’d love nothing more but aren’t we supposed to wait at least six weeks?”

  “It’s up to you; do you trust your wife or a doctor who has no idea how she’s feeling physically?” She releases her hold on my T-shirt and backs up a little. “See you in a bit?”

  Hell. “Okay,” I say lightly, feeling like a jackass.

  But not so much of one that I’d miss out on the opportunity my wife is presenting me.

  Ivy

  I’M WAITING FOR my husband in our bed, naked. He’s taking an extraordinarily long time putting Jackson in his crib, and I’m starting to think he’s stalling.

  Silly man. He’s worried I’m not recovered enough for any physical contact. The doctor informed me I could engage in sexual activity approximately four to six weeks after childbirth. I’m focused on four.

  Extremely focused, considering Jackson is exactly a month old as of yesterday.

  Besides, I feel like my body has bounced back from childbirth pretty quickly.

  Parenting, however, was a difficult adjustment at first—always having to get up every few hours to feed the baby. After a while, I felt like a baby-feeding machine and that was it. I was tired, I was cranky, and I felt decidedly unsexy. As in, I felt like a mama. That’s it.

  The last week and half though, something has changed. I’ve got a routine going on, and Jackson is doing well. I’ve slowly started exercising, and it’s reenergized me. My body’s not in perfect shape, but I think Archer will ignore any imperfections. It’s been too long since we’ve had sex. His horniness will most likely outweigh any notice of my lingering flab or stretch marks.

  “There you are,” I say when Archer magically appears in the doorway of our bedroom. But suddenly it’s like he can’t even cross the threshold. “What took you so long?”

  His expression is uneasy. “I . . . Babe, are you really okay to do this?”

  “Do what?” I blink up at him innocently as he moves into the room, stopping at the foot of the bed.

  He shoots me a skeptical glance. “I can tell you’re naked under that sheet, Ivy. You brought me in here to seduce me.”

  “You’re so perceptive. Don’t tell me you’re protesting?” Because if he is I’m calling bullshit. The guy usually can’t keep his hands off me. Now he’s all Mr. Shy. He needs to get over it.

  “I’m not.” He steps closer, reaching out to grab at my foot beneath the sheet. “But I don’t want to hurt you if you’re not up to this.”

  “Oh, my God.” I reach out and snag his hand, pulling him until he’s practically collapsing on top of me. With a strength I didn’t even know I had, I push him onto his back and straddle him, completely naked. “Stop being such a weenie and just do me.”

  He stares up at me with a frown, looking startled. “You just had a baby. You’re exhausted. You might have postpartum or whatever.”

  I rest my hands on my hips. “Do I act like a woman who has postpartum?”

  “No.” His gaze falls to my chest and heats to a sexy smolder. “Your boobs are huge.”

  Rolling my eyes, I shove at his shoulder. “So romantic. Glad to see you haven’t lost your touch.”

  “Damn woman, you’re full of it,” he mutters, his hands settling on my waist, his fingers light as they skim my skin. A shiver moves through me, and I’m seriously glad my husband hasn’t lost his touch.

  “It’s called sexual frustration,” I murmur as I bend over him, my lips right in front of his. “As in, I want my husband. And I’m going to be really sad if he rejects me.”

  “Sad?” One of his hands goes to the back of my head and brings me closer, our mouths brushing against each other as we speak. “I can’t have you sad, Ivy.”

  “I know. So why don’t you have me screaming your name in, say, ten minutes?”

  Chuckling, he kisses me, his tongue darting out for a lick. “You sure?”

  “Definitely,” I assure him. “Let me control it though. I don’t want you to make a wrong move and then it’s over.”

  He kisses me, his tongue thrusting deep, one hand holding my hip to him, his other hand in my hair, fingers pulling tight. I whimper against his hungry mouth, moan when his hand slides over my backside, his fingers dipping gently between my legs from behind.

  “You’re wet,” he murmurs, sounding shocked as he slowly strokes me.

  I release a shuddering breath. My entire body feels strung tight as a wire. “I want you, Archer. I’ve wanted you for days. Weeks.”

  “Hmm.” He hums against my lips, inserting just the tip of his finger inside me. “Does that hurt?”

  I move against him, flexing my hips. “No. It feels good,” I whisper.

  He flips me over, and I’m sprawled on the bed, Archer’s mouth pressed hard against mine. Then I’m left shocked when he leaps away from me, and quickly strips off his clothes. He’s erect and just seeing him like that sends sparks of heat scattering through me. My nipples tighten and an incessant ache begins to throb between my legs.

  “Come here,” I whisper, holding my arms out. “Hurry.”

  Grinning, he re
joins me in bed, positioning himself above me, his mouth on my neck, nipping and tasting my skin. “If I’m on top then I can control how deep I go,” he whispers just before he licks my ear.

  I shiver. “But I like being on top.”

  “Next time,” he promises. “I just want to feel you beneath me, wrapped around me.”

  His words touch my heart. I curl my legs around his hips, anchoring myself to him as he moves downward, blazing a hot, damp, path along my skin with his lips and tongue. He lashes at my nipples before sucking first one, then the other inside his mouth, and I cling to him, crying out when he sucks one particularly hard. “Careful,” I murmur. “I’m sensitive there.”

  “Ah, right.” He smiles and adjusts himself above me, his erection nudging my belly. “You sensitive here?” He grabs hold of his cock and gently pushes just the tip inside.

  I suck in a sharp breath, holding it as he slowly enters me. “Yes,” I whisper in encouragement, but which only makes him stop.

  “I’m hurting you?” He sounds pained, his expression tight, his gaze dark. He’s waited a long time for this too, and I immediately feel bad for him.

  “No. I’m fine.” I kiss him hungrily, wanting him to realize that I’m all for this. “Just . . . go slow. No abrupt thrusts okay?”

  “Okay.” He nods almost frantically. “I’ll go slow, I promise.”

  We move cautiously in unison, me because I’m trying to get used to his size again and he because he’s afraid to hurt me. There’s something so sweet about it though, how gently he’s making love to me. His touch is featherlight, his kisses deep and delicious and so incredibly soft.

  I feel like I’m in a dream. Everything is hazy and blurred, my skin tingles when he touches me, my body trembling as he moves inside of me, and I feel so protected, so loved.

  Within minutes Archer increases his pace, his breathing heavier, and I can tell he’s already close. I’m close too, and I whisper it in his ear, wanting him to push me right over that delicious edge so I can fall into oblivion along with him. “Touch me,” I encourage and he does, his hand going straight between us, his fingers playing nimbly with my clit.

  I bite my lip and arch into his touch, sending him deeper which makes him groan. The pace becomes frantic, and he’s not being as careful any longer, but it doesn’t matter. I’m caught up completely, seeking my orgasm just as ferociously as he is. Until we’re both tumbling over the brink and falling headfirst into climax, our bodies shuddering and shaking together.

  He falls atop me, his heavy weight a comfort. I breathe into his neck, rubbing my hands up and down the wide expanse of his back, as he tries to gather himself after such an amazing orgasm, no doubt.

  Oops. Realization dawns, and I shove at him so he has no choice but to roll over on his side next to me.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, sounding put out.

  “We didn’t use a condom.” I slap my hand against my forehead, feeling like an idiot. “God, I’m so stupid.”

  “What’s the big deal? You won’t get pregnant this quick,” he says, sounding pleased with himself. Looking pleased with himself too, like he always does right after he comes. His hair is a mess and his eyes have a satisfied gleam to them, but I sort of want to slug him.

  “There are horror stories out there, Archer. I’ve met women who after having a baby, get knocked up again within months. Sometimes weeks.” I shudder in horror. “That sounds awful.”

  “What, having another Jackson? That kid is the best.” He slings his arms behind his head, that smug curl to his lips both attractive and irritating. “He’s amazing. Don’t tell me all you want is one.”

  “Oh, I want more,” I tell him, walking my fingers across his sweat-dampened chest. “But I don’t want babies ten months apart. What a nightmare.” I tug on his nipple a little too hard, making him yelp.

  “I’d help you,” he says, leaning in to kiss me.

  I dodge his lips. “I’d need two nannies at least.”

  “You don’t even have a nanny now,” he points out. “You refused when I offered you one.”

  “I can do this on my own.” I’ve taken a temporary leave of absence from work so I can concentrate on taking care of Jackson.

  “Right. And you could take care of two babies too if you had to,” he says, pulling me close so I can lay my head on his chest. “You can do anything. That’s why I admire you so much.”

  “Aw, you’re just sucking up to me because you might’ve knocked me up.” I gaze up at him. “You’re so romantic.”

  “You’re the romantic one.” He drops a kiss on the tip of my nose. “Don’t sweat it, babe. Whatever hand we’re dealt, we’ll make it.”

  I snuggle close and close my eyes, my arm slung over his middle. “You’re right. With you by my side, we can do no wrong. Even if that means having three babies in two years.”

  “Three?” His voice sounds strangled and he clears his throat. “Uh, what do you mean, three babies?”

  “What if we have twins next time? They run in my family,” I say.

  “They do? Huh. Wish you would’ve told me this before. I might’ve reconsidered our marriage knowing that.”

  “You pompous jackass.” I tweak his nipple again, earning another yelp from him. “You know you couldn’t survive without me.”

  “So true, babe,” he murmurs sleepily against my forehead just before he kisses it. “So very freaking true.”

  About the Author

  * * *

  New York Times and USA Today bestselling author MONICA MURPHY is a native Californian who lives in the foothills of Yosemite. A wife and mother of three, she writes new adult and contemporary romance. She also writes as USA Today bestselling author Karen Erickson. Visit her online at www.monicamurphyauthor.com or www.karenerickson.com and on Facebook at www.facebook.com/MonicaMurphyAuthor.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

  By Monica Murphy

  The Billionaire Bachelors Club Series

  Crave

  Torn

  Savor

  Intoxicated (novella)

  New Adult

  One Week Girlfriend

  Second Chance Boyfriend

  Three Broken Promises

  Four Years Later

  Give in to your impulses . . .

  Read on for a sneak peek at six brand-new

  e-book original tales of romance from Avon Books.

  Available now wherever e-books are sold.

  CATCHING CAMERON

  A LOVE AND FOOTBALL NOVEL

  By Julie Brannagh

  DARING MISS DANVERS

  THE WALLFLOWER WEDDING SERIES

  By Vivienne Lorret

  WOO’D IN HASTE

  By Sabrina Darby

  BAD GIRLS DON’T MARRY MARINES

  By Codi Gary

  VARIOUS STATES OF UNDRESS: CAROLINA

  By Laura Simcox

  WED AT LEISURE

  By Sabrina Darby

  An Excerpt from

  CATCHING CAMERON

  A Love and Football Novel

  by Julie Brannagh

  Sexy football player Zach Anderson and sports reporter Cameron Ondine find that their past has come back to haunt them—and maybe even ignite a few sparks—in the third installment of Julie Brannagh’s irresistible new series.

  Zach Anderson was in New York City again, and he wasn’t happy about it. He wasn’t big on crowds as a rule, except for the ones that spent Sunday afternoons six months a year cheering for him while he flattened yet another offensive lineman on his way to the guy’s quarterback. He also wasn’t big on having four people fussing over his hair, spraying him down with whatever it was that simulated sweat, and trying to convince him that nobody would ever know he was wearing bronzer in the resulting photos.

  Then again, he was making eight figures for a national Under Armour campaign with two days’ work; maybe he shouldn’t bitch. The worst injury he might sustai
n here would be some kind of muscle pull while running away from the multiple women hanging out at the photo shoot who had already made it clear they’d be interested in spending more time with him.

  He was all dolled up in UA’s latest. Of course, he typically didn’t wear workout clothes that were tailored and/or ironed before he pulled them on. The photo shoot was now in its second hour, and he was wondering how many damn pictures of him they actually needed. But there were worse things than being a pro football player who looked like the cover model on a workout magazine, was followed around by large numbers of hot young women, and got paid for it all.

  “Gorgeous,” the photographer shouted to him. “Okay, Zach. I need pensive. Thoughtful. Sensitive.”

  Zach shook his head briefly. “You’re shitting me.”

  Zach’s agent, Jason, shoved himself off the back wall of the room and moved into Zach’s line of vision. Jason had been with him since Zach signed his first NFL contract. He was also a few years older than Zach, which came in handy. He took the long view in his professional and personal life, and encouraged Zach to do so as well.

  “Come on, man. Think about the poor polar bears starving to death because they can’t find enough food at the North Pole. How about the NFL jumping up to eighteen games in the regular season? If that’s not enough, Sports Illustrated’s discontinuing the swimsuit issue could make a grown man cry.” Even the photographer snorted at that last one. “You can do it.”

  Eighteen games a season would piss Zach off more than anything else, but he gazed in the direction the photographer’s assistant indicated, thought about how long it would take him to get across town to his appointment when this was over, and listened to the camera’s rapid clicking once more.

  “Are you sure you want to keep playing football?” the photographer called out. “The camera loves you.”