The Reluctant Nude

by Meg Maguire

  “Fatherhood is so dignified on you.”

  He smiled deeply, lowering his eyes. He grabbed her bag and carried it to the back room. Fallon followed.

  “It’s been lonely at night without you,” he said.

  “I’ll bet.” She eyed the bed, predictably unmade in her absence.

  “July evenings with the windows open and no one to enjoy the breeze with.” He flopped the suitcase onto the mattress and pulled her close. His deep kiss tasted of coffee and that familiar, perfect Max flavor.

  He broke away, rubbing his palms over her arms. “Let me put dinner in the oven.”

  Fallon watched him prep the meal through the breakfast bar. He poured her a glass of cabernet then leaned against the fridge, arms crossed, expression content.

  She took a sip, savoring the wine and the smile aimed in her direction. “What?”

  Max came forward and propped his elbows on the tile near hers. He took her lips with his, a long, sweet kiss that hummed with the soft growl in his throat.

  “It’s good to have you home.”

  About the Author

  Before becoming a writer, Meg worked as a record store bitch, a lousy barista, a decent designer, and an over-enthusiastic penguin handler. She loves writing sexy, character-driven stories about strong-willed men and women who keep each other on their toes…and bring one another to their knees.

  Meg now writes full-time and lives north of Boston with her extremely good-natured and permissive husband. When she’s not trapped in her own head, she can usually be found in the kitchen, the coffee shop, or jogging around the nearest duck-filled pond.

  Meg welcomes reader feedback. E-mail her at meg@megmaguire.com, follow her on Twitter @megguire, or visit her website at www.megmaguire.com.

  She wants it. He’s got it…and a whole lot more.

  Turn It Up

  © 2011 Vivian Arend

  The Turner Twins, Book 2

  Maxwell Turner considers his stubborn and resourceful attitude a plus. After all, it usually gets him what he wants—except for Natasha Bellingham. The long-time family friend may be ten years older than he, but so what? He’s plenty old enough to know they belong together. Now all he has to do is convince her.

  Over the past few years Natasha’s love life has degenerated into a series of bad clichés. Her biological clock is ticking—loudly. As a proven architect with her own house-design company, she’s financially ready for a baby. Who says she needs a permanent man in her life for that? She just needs a “donation”.

  When Max discovers Natasha’s future plans include artificial insemination, he’s outraged. She wants to get pregnant? No problem. He’s more than willing to volunteer—no turkey basters involved.

  But there’s one non-negotiable clause: He wants forever. And he intends to do everything in his power—fair and unfair—to make it happen.

  This title contains one younger man ready, aimed and hell bent on giving one woman everything she wants. Includes interludes against the wall, in a Jacuzzi, on a car hood and even—shockingly enough—on a bed or two. Oh, and about that porch swing? Yup…

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Turn It Up:

  He stepped closer, not giving her time to continue her protests. Last night he’d shown more control than any man should ever have to. Today his ability to manage the urges driving him grew a little shakier. “My family thinks the world of you and would be thrilled to be involved with your child—again meaning more love and attention. That’s not the biggest reason to marry me, but it’s a bonus.”

  “Like a prize in the cereal box?”

  Max laughed out loud, the expression on her face driving him crazy. Sarcastic wench. “God, you are so freaking cocky. I love that. And that’s the real reason this makes sense. I would definitely choose to be in a long-term relationship with you.”

  She opened her mouth to speak then swung her hands in frustration, pacing away to stand in front of an empty window opening. Fists planted on her hips, she stared out at the backyard.

  He waited patiently.

  Tasha turned and shook her head. “You can’t know that. You’re too young to—”

  “Don’t.” That was the one argument he would not accept. It made his blood boil. He rapidly crossed the room to her side. “Don’t you dare say something trite like ‘You’re too young to know your own mind.’ This is me, not some random person off the street. We’ve spent tons of time together over the years.”

  “Not one-on-one, not in a sexual relationship.”

  “Because you’ve never let us go there. I’ve been your friend. I’ve helped you move and fixed your car. We’ve played games together and watched bad movies. When I make a decision I stick to it. If I say I want to be involved with you, trust me, I’ve given it a ton of thought. I’ll not only keep my commitment, but be the best damn father possible.”

  Her face grew redder as she waved her hands in the air and shouted at him, “You can’t propose to me just because I want to get pregnant.”

  It was his turn to stare in disbelief. “This from a woman who plans on making a baby and having to deal with wet diapers and colic and all the rest of it alone for the next twenty years? Don’t talk to me like I’m the only crazy person in the room.”

  They locked glares, neither one blinking or willing to back down. The wind picked up and blew in the open window, ruffling her hair around her face and something inside him tightened. Was he in love with her? Hell, yeah. He’d admired her forever, her body and her character, and love seemed to have snuck in as a natural progression, but that’s not what she needed to hear, not yet. She’d spent too long keeping him at arm’s length. He’d have to start somewhere they could agree. Max took a step closer, dropping his gaze to her lips. She licked them nervously, crossing her arms in front.

  “What are you doing?” She shuffled backward, coming to a sudden stop against the raw wood of a two-by-six wall stud, flinging her hands out to catch her balance.

  “Proving we’ve got a physical attraction between us.” One more pace put him in her personal space, their feet alternating on the floor, torsos brushing, hips close enough the heat of her body bled against his.

  She leaned harder against the wood at her back, her breasts heaving beneath her T-shirt as she tried to widen the space between them, and he refused to give way. “What does that have to do— I mean, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

  Max sank his fingers into her thick mane of dark hair and let his satisfaction escape in a low moan. God, he’d wanted to do that forever, and last night refusing her sexual advances had taken him to the breaking point. He needed this so badly he felt raw inside, aching with need for a taste of her. He tugged until her face tilted toward him, the smooth curve of her cheek shining in the midmorning sunlight. “Just in case you get some screwy idea of accepting only part of my terms. I don’t want you to imagine for even a moment we’re going to use any kind of turkey-baster method to get you pregnant.”

  Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth, probably to lambaste him. He took advantage of the opportunity and clamped their mouths together.

  Stone cold sober.

  Suddenly, that’s what she was—the blood pounding through her carrying more than enough oxygen to reinvigorate her dusty brain cells. He was kissing her. No, that was wrong. A kiss was something your granny gave you, something innocent and calm that made you slightly sleepy. This was a different beast altogether, like a flash fire rolling through and consuming everything in its path, and before she realized what she was doing, Tasha had wholeheartedly joined in.

  Maxwell Turner wasn’t only kissing her, he had his body so tight against hers there was no doubt remaining that various parts of his anatomy had increased in girth, and she wasn’t talking about his pecs anymore. His tongue swept into her mouth, the lingering hint of coffee vanishing as her taste buds switched to take him in. Clean, warm, and oh my God, the boy could kiss. Heat flushed from her core outward, her breasts grew hot and heavy
, and damn if she remembered why she’d turned him away all these years. Strong fingers curled around her neck as he deepened their contact. She responded, her tongue brushing his, lips and teeth getting into the act. She grabbed his shoulders for support, digging into the firm muscles under her fingertips. He ate greedily at her mouth until her head spun, senses shifting to overload.

  He snuck a hand around her torso, fingers spread wide as he slid under her shirt to caress the bare skin of her lower back. Warm palm in full contact with her body, he pulled her even tighter against his groin, and his rigid erection dug into her belly. Her breasts were crushed between them, nipples tight and aching. Max fastened onto her tongue and sucked it into his mouth, a flash of ecstasy shooting through her core and setting her on fire. How long had it been since she’d felt like this from simply kissing? She scraped her fingernails down his back and he dragged his lips from hers, groaning loudly. Air rushed back into her lungs, and she shoved her fingers into his back pockets and yanked him forward. The leg between hers nudged her knees farther apart before sliding closer to connect with her sex.

  His assault on her senses continued as he worked his way along her jaw to press kisses and nips to the tender skin below her ear. The need inside escalated to the point she was ready to peel off her clothes and go for it right there. She was empty, and aching. Their combined breathing carried loud on the air, echoing in the hollow spaces of the unfinished room.

  Max returned to her lips, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, mimicking the rocking motion of his hips, and she whimpered. It was too much and not nearly enough. He released his grip on her hair and cupped her ass instead, dragging her up his body until she rode the solid ridge of his erection. Tingling, flashes of heat, pleasure—all of it washed over her in waves and she clutched him tighter. Good Lord, she was going to climax like this, rubbing him like a cat.

  He lifted her left leg higher and looped her knee over his elbow, forcing her back hard to the wall. Spread wide open, she was defenseless as he ground against her, the seam line of her jeans making contact with her clit through the thin layer of her thong and she panted hard. So close.

  A future with the woman of his dreams is within his grasp…if the past will stay that way.

  Long Time Gone

  © 2010 Meg Benjamin

  Konigsburg, Texas, Book 4

  Erik Toleffson wasn’t looking to become Chief of Police. He’s got enough trouble trying to rebuild his relationship with his three brothers who, until just recently, ran the other way when he approached. He’s not the bully they grew up with, but bad memories are tough to overcome.

  Morgan Barrett is as worn out as a vat full of crushed grape skins. She never planned to run Cedar Creek Winery, but there’s no one else to shoulder the load as her father recovers from an injury. All she needs is a little sleep. Just a five-minute nap in the booth at the Dew Drop Inn…if that guy across the bar would stop staring at her as if putting her head down on the table is a crime.

  After Morgan yawns in Erik’s face, there’s nowhere to go but up. With time, though, their relationship warms like a perfectly blended Bordeaux. Until the shady mayor digs into Erik’s past and dredges up information that could drive a permanent wedge between him and his brothers—and sour any chance of a future with Morgan.

  Warning: Contains hot sex with mango sherbet, crooked politicians, yuppy bikers, Bored Ducks, and a Maine Coon Cat with attitude.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Long Time Gone:

  Technically, he was still on duty, assuming that the call forward worked on his cell, of course. A new way to get around not having enough people for night duty since it was Peavey’s day off. “I just wanted to check on you. To tell you the truth, I didn’t expect you to be awake.”

  He’d hoped she would be, though. Bingo.

  Morgan walked behind the bar and opened the refrigerator. “Water? Soda? Fruit salad? I’ve got a little of everything.”

  “Soda. Thanks.”

  He watched her reach into the refrigerator. She had on jeans and a white tank top that showed a lot of her chest and did interesting things to his solar plexus. When she turned to set the can down in front of him, he saw the clear outline of her nipples against the white ribbing.

  No bra. His lungs contracted. Down boy!

  “Actually, I slept most of the afternoon.” She pushed a hand through her hair, sending short curls tumbling around her ears.

  The shadowy disks of her nipples peaked against the thin cotton. He wondered if the feeling in his chest was heart palpitations.

  “So now I’m wide awake.” She grinned in his general direction.

  He tried to remember what she was talking about. Oh yeah, sleeping.

  He pulled up a bar stool on the other side of the counter. Better than standing there with his pulse thundering in his ears. “Nice place. How long has it been open?”

  “The winery? Dad started off in a Quonset hut around 1994. He and Ciro finished this building a few years ago.” She looked up at the vaulted ceiling over her head, smiling. “I’ve always liked it.”

  “How long have you lived here?”

  Her smile faded slightly. “I moved in after my dad got hurt. Before that I just came down on weekends. But I needed to be on-site so I could help Ciro.”

  “Does your mom come down to help you out sometimes?”

  Her smile disappeared entirely. “My mom doesn’t like wine.”

  “Must have made for interesting dinner conversation.” He picked up his soda.

  “Oh, it did that.” Her lips stayed flat. “Like I told you, my folks are separated. Not legally, but practically.”

  “Where do they live?”

  “Austin. My mom’s there full-time. My dad was there in a rehab facility, getting his leg back in shape. My mom let him move back in when they released him, so maybe some good came out of the whole wretched mess. Maybe they’ll work out their differences. What about your folks?”

  Erik frowned, not sure what she was asking. “They’re still in Iowa.”

  “Are they thinking of moving down since all of you are here?”

  “They threaten to every once in a while. We might be able to lure them down for the winter, but my mom’s not big on heat.”

  A moment of silence stretched between them. He tried to think of something to fill it. “Remembered anything else about what happened on the hill?”

  She gave him a dry smile. “No. In fact, I’m looking forward to forgetting the whole thing.”

  Not as great a smile as before, but he’d take what he could get. He mentally told his nether regions to cool it. “I’ll try to get back up there tomorrow to see if I can find the tracks you talked about.”

  “Good idea. At least I’ll know I didn’t imagine them.” She leaned on the counter next to him, letting the scoop neck of her tank slide down a little more. “So what were you doing up on that ridge this afternoon when you so kindly saved my butt?”

  Erik gave up trying to calm his unruly body. As long as she was leaning against the counter like that it was a lost cause. “I was looking at the stock tank. Rancher who owns the land had some sick goats. Claimed it was because somebody poisoned his tank. We need to have the water tested.”

  Her head snapped up. “Oh shit.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think the situation was good, but I didn’t think it was that bad.”

  “It is if we’re thinking of planting a vineyard there.” Morgan rubbed her hand across her forehead. She looked like her headache was back. “Ciro is going to freak. And I told him I’d pitch the vineyard to Dad.”

  “Take it easy. We don’t know what’s wrong up there yet. The water could be bad, but it could just be something that was dumped in the stock tank. Particularly since somebody also pushed you down that hill.”

  He put his hand on her shoulder, reassuringly. At least he thought it was reassuring. A moment later, he wasn’t so sure. His hand rested on smooth bare skin, silky and warm. He smelled
lavender and rose and hints of wine. And she was watching him with those eyes—rich, dark brown, like chocolate kisses.

  All of a sudden, he felt a little dizzy. He leaned forward, almost without thinking. She rose slightly to meet him.

  Her lips were soft, warm. He inhaled her sigh, tasting wine, then angled his mouth against hers. Her mouth opened beneath his lips, but he wasn’t going to do anything about it. This was just a quick kiss, an intro as it were. Nothing serious yet.

  And then it was.

  Morgan’s mouth opened wider and his tongue plunged deep, tasting, sensing. Warmth and smooth deep wetness. Without thinking, he raised his hand to her breast and felt the hard pebble of her nipple against his palm. Heat flashed again at his groin.

  Somewhere his brain went on red alert. Danger, danger, Will Robinson. His body surged right ahead, hardening almost instantly. The warm weight of her breast filled one hand and he rubbed his palm against the other, her faint moan raising prickles on his scalp.

  She held her hands at the sides of his chest, then smoothed them around his body, pulling herself tight against him. Erik heard a melodic chirping and wondered if it was him or her.

  Until he realized it was his cell phone.

  He stepped back, eyes closed, trying to catch his breath. His face was damp with sweat. “Sorry,” he whispered, clicking open the cell with one hand.

  A routine traffic call, fender bender on Highway 16. But by then he knew he had to go anyway. He turned back to her, tucking his cell in his pocket, trying not to think about what had just happened.

  And what had almost happened.

  Her eyes were huge, her mouth a thin line. “I didn’t…” she stuttered, then stopped.

  “I’m sorry about the call,” he said quietly. “I’m not sorry about the kiss. Not hardly.”

  She still watched him, as if she were trying to make up her mind about something. Then the corners of her mouth edged up, slowly. “Drive carefully.”