Lovers Unmasked

by Katee Robert

  Just loving her, the way he’d always been meant to.

  She slid her hands up his chest to encircle his neck, her nails skimming through his hair and razing his scalp. The bite of pain made him growl as she tempted him with slippery little flicks of her tongue. He shoved down his boxers without removing his mouth from hers, earning a breathless giggle. The instant he kicked them aside, he filled his hands with the silken globes of her ass and tugged her forward so that she straddled his lap when he landed on the padded chair.

  Her surprised gasp turned into a moan under his renewed onslaught of kisses, and she wriggled alluringly on his lap, encouraging his eager cock to rear up between her parted thighs. This time they both moaned at the indescribably erotic sensation of her bare, wet flesh sliding over his rigid length. He wanted in her. Nothing between them. But he wouldn’t put her at risk, not even for a second. Not until they’d made that decision together.

  Blurred blue eyes locked on his, silently questioning. Before she could say anything to weaken his resolve, he nudged her aside and told her he’d be right back. She nodded, the worry wrinkle between her brows easing when he returned with a condom, rolled it on, and drew her back into place. Then he coasted his hands up her torso, cupping her breasts so that the tight brown crests poked between his fingers. Leaning in, he nipped first one, then the other, while caging the straining flesh in his unyielding grip.

  Crying out, she dropped back her head. The angle bathed her face in a lovely pale glow and he slid his hands away to allow the sunlight to stream over her pale curves.

  “So fucking gorgeous,” he murmured, tonguing his way down the center of her abdomen. He had one target—the damp, flushed seam between her legs that practically begged for his mouth. Soon. Very soon.

  He parted her with his thumbs, lifting his head to capture one peak between his teeth as he caressed her wet folds. She shuddered, the movement jiggling her against his cock. “Fuck. Don’t move.” She giggled and repeated the move, extending his torment. He bit her again and added a sweep of his thumb over her clit. She bucked so hard that she nearly fell to the floor.

  His lips curved around her nipple. “Not so funny now, huh, Price?”

  A moan was her only response.

  Landon slipped two fingers inside her, pushing deep. She tightened around him immediately, her swollen walls massaging him, and he gritted his teeth. Goddamn, she felt good. In a minute, maybe less, she’d be around his dick. He fumbled for one of her nipples again, drawing strongly while he learned the rhythm she liked best. A little pain on her breasts, slow and hard below. She clutched at him, her nails on his shoulders, her slick pussy around his fingers. Every part of her yielding to his touch and forging the sort of connection he’d never believed was in the cards for him. That he’d never been certain he even wanted.

  Now, with her, he did.

  Her sharp cry made him increase the pressure, adding a twist at the end to give her as much pleasure as he could. He leaned up to seize her mouth with mindless ferocity, biting and sucking on her lips, her tongue. Her spasms only caused him to drive into her harder, consumed as he was by the flickers of agony and ecstasy on her face revealed by the morning light. Craving more of those gasps that rippled over his skin like currents of electricity. Her wet heat bathed his knuckles and still he pumped harder, his own arousal forgotten in his quest to satisfy hers.

  She fell forward at the second orgasm, their lips clashing and grappling so that her endless moans poured like honey into his mouth. The wild need in her eyes sent white-hot shivers over his slick skin, and suddenly he couldn’t wait anymore.

  Before she’d even come down from her high, he slipped his hand away and fitted his cock at her soaked entrance, thrusting deep. A wordless moan left her and she let her head loll back so that once again her pale, bouncing breasts stole his attention. He sucked her nipple gently as he dug his fingers into her hips and began to work his cock in and out. The sight fascinated him—his darker skin contrasting with hers, his hardness disappearing into all that wet, swollen flesh. But he couldn’t focus there when her breasts were so irresistibly close, the tips bobbing with her rapid movements.

  And then there was her face, caught at the apex of ecstasy once again. She climbed so quickly, and he fought to give her more, go deeper, make it last longer. To give her the best damn experience she’d ever had, so he could top it every night for the rest of their lives.

  He stroked into her again and again, his body going into autopilot mode. Nothing else existed but the two of them, and the way they were together. He ached to tell her how good this was, how he’d never felt like this before, but the words came out as fragmented whispers against the damp skin between her breasts. Even as the urgency inside him rose, he resisted, trying to push her back a little, to clear the fog of lust enough to slow this down and make it last forever.

  Not that she intended to let him.

  She dragged her nails down his arms, again reminding of that night at the party, and breathed into his ear, “Fuck me. And don’t stop until you scream.”

  That was all it took. Panting, he thrust into her, helpless to stave off the urgency crashing through his system. His spine tingled, his balls grew so full and tight that he hissed from the friction of her pussy sliding up and down his cock. He knew she was close again, but holding on was impossible. He had to come, had to let go at last.

  Absolutely nothing held back.

  He surged into her a final time, holding her shivering body still while he found his release. Sounds left his lips, incomprehensible noises that coalesced into a single meaning.

  Steff. Just Steff.

  Eventually she palmed his cheeks and drew his lips to hers. He was still shaking, still lost. For a moment, she didn’t speak. Neither did he. Even breathing strained his current capabilities.

  “I never got to tell you happy Halloween.” At her husky voice, his eyes flickered open and locked on her simmering blue ones. The love he saw there, and the trust, staggered him. He’d work until his dying day to earn it.

  “Happy Halloween, baby.” He kissed her again. And again. Kissing her seemed to be his new favorite thing. “Sorry last night wasn’t exactly magical.”

  She grinned and looked down at their still-connected bodies. “I think we’ve found our own magic.”

  About the Author

  USA TODAY bestselling author Cari Quinn wrote her first story—a bible parable—in 2nd grade, much to the delight of the nuns at her Catholic school. Once she saw the warm reception that first tale garnered, she was hooked. Now she gets to pen sexy romances for a living and routinely counts her lucky stars. When she’s not scribbling furiously, she can usually be found watching men’s college basketball, playing her music way too loud or causing trouble. Sometimes simultaneously.

  www.cariquinn.com

  Join the Word Wenches!

  Grab the first book in Cari Quinn’s

  USA TODAY bestselling Love Required series!

  NO DRESS REQUIRED

  He’ll make her forget about the dress…

  After years of ho-hum dating, Noelle Gregory is tired of fooling around. There’s only ever been one guy for her—Jake Conroy, her best friend’s older brother. Now that Jake’s back in town, she’s headed to his sister’s New Year’s Eve party to make her move. Purse full of condoms? Check. Sparkly dress guaranteed to show Jake the sexy woman she’s become? Check.

  Carjacker that makes off with both two hours before the party? Check.

  When Jake finds Noelle stranded on the side of the road—looking sexier than ever in her striped socks and silly holiday shirt, damn it—he’s glad for the snowstorm that cancels his sister’s party. His and Noelle’s friendship has tormented him for years, and now, Jake wonders if he should dare to sample what he’s always wanted…and if he’ll be able to walk away when it’s over.

  Amazon | B&N | Kobo | iTunes

  The story continues in…

  NO FLOWERS REQUIRED

  the s
econd book in the

  Love Required series by Cari Quinn

  He’ll give her everything she desires…except his identity.

  Flower shop owner Alexa Conroy had it all before the recession hit and her customers fled to cheaper shopping grounds. Desperate to make ends meet, she sells her dream home and moves into the rundown apartments above her shop. When she spots six feet of sexy distraction—complete with muscles, piercings, and tattoos—ripping up flooring, Alexa knows the karmic windfall she’s due just landed on her doorstep.

  And the attraction’s definitely not one-sided.

  Dillon James, reluctant heir to the corporation about to foreclose on Alexa’s shop, is not about to jeopardize their scorching chemistry by admitting he’s not the building’s handyman. But with only weeks until her business goes under and his identity is revealed, Dillon must find a way to convince Alexa cooperation isn’t a dirty word, help her save the shop from his brother’s greed, and persuade her that he’s not the enemy…or risk losing the only woman who’s seen the real him.

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  Pick up Cari’s highly-anticipated new release…

  NO ROMANCE REQUIRED

  the third book in the Love Required series

  Faking it never felt so good…

  Cory Santangelo is used to getting his way, both in the boardroom and the bedroom. Lately he hasn’t had much opportunity to do anything but work, but one unexpectedly sexy night in a gazebo with Victoria, his gorgeous and feisty interior designer, changes all that—especially when they’re caught on camera. Suddenly Cory’s sterling reputation is no longer above reproach. Since his impromptu encounter coincides nicely with his need for a girlfriend to get his well-meaning, meddling parents off his back, he decides to ask his lifelong frenemy for a favor.

  To pretend to be his girlfriend for a month. No strings attached.

  The only problem? Vicky Townsend wants those strings tied all around her. She’s battled a long-suppressed crush on Cory, and their combative work relationship has only fanned the flames. When he suggests his needs are more than she can handle, she’s ready to up the ante. And her bargaining chip is lots of delicious, inventive sex.

  Until they discover nothing feels as good as making it real…

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  Wicked Games

  a McCade Brothers novella

  Samanthe Beck

  Other books by Samanthe Beck

  Private Practice

  Lover Undercover

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 by Samanthe Beck. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Edited by Heather Howland and Sue Winegardner

  Cover design by Heather Howland

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition September 2013

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Lycra; Academy Award; Cinderella; Christian Louboutin; Leave it to Beaver; Continental; Smith & Wesson M&P; Velcro; Dallas Cowboys; Flo Rida; “Whistle”; Old Spice; G.I. Joe; Gatorade; Mylar; YouTube; Clark Kent; BlackBerry; Tilt-A-Whirl; Listerine; Bambi.

  To Heather and Sue.

  Chapter One

  Stacy Roberts tucked a condom into the cleavage-boosting bustier she wore beneath her wispy, white angel costume, and eyed her reflection in her vanity mirror. Nice. The Lycra miracle pushed her breasts together and created the kind of view that guaranteed no man would have the first clue what color her eyes were tonight, and—bonus points—not a trace of the little foil square showed through. She considered adding a wingman to the other side when a voice interrupted her musings.

  “‘I’m out of patience, Stacy,’” Kylie read. “‘Resign from Vegas Vixens and leave Hollywood, or you will be sorry. This is your last chance to exit gracefully. Do as you’re told, your show’s producers, sponsors, and fans will learn you’re nothing but a delinquent from Two Trout, Tennessee? A slutty ex-stripper who worked her way from pole dancing at Deuces to a starring role on America’s favorite guilty pleasure? It’s going to get ugly. Sincerely, Your Worst Nightmare.’ What the hell, Stace? Please tell me you’ve shown this to someone?”

  Stacy winced inwardly and turned from the mirror. Her twin sister stood in the bedroom doorway wearing a low-cut, skintight red catsuit, lace-up red leather boots, and an anxious expression. She held a devil-horn headband in one hand and a nondescript piece of notebook paper in the other.

  Angel or not, Stacy didn’t need divine omniscience to know how Kylie had found the latest letter from her Worst Nightmare. Her assistant, Mandy, must have left it on the desk in the guest room/office where Kylie had gotten dressed for tonight’s party. What Ky didn’t know, thank God, was that Stacy had received a dozen others along the same theme, though progressively more threatening. All were presumably from the same not-so-big fan who always signed off as “Your Worst Nightmare.”

  “It’s nothing, Ky, just the price of starring in a hit TV show. Along with all the fan mail, I have to expect a few nasty-grams.” She turned back to the mirror and forced an unconcerned shrug—she was an actress, for Christ’s sake, and a decent one for a girl whose only prior Hollywood credits consisted of stripping at Deuces. An eyeliner sat on the vanity top. She grabbed it and leaned toward the mirror. Distract and divert. “The she-devil look totally works for you, by the way. Aren’t you glad you let me pick our costumes?” She drew a smoky line across her upper eyelid. “No way would Trevor be content to sit home tonight and skip Deuces’ Halloween Hedonism party if he could see you now.”

  There. That ought to do the trick. The mere mention of hot, handsome, and adorably whipped Trevor McCade typically sent Kylie into an excited monologue about the latest development in Big-White-Weddingville. Too bad the mere mention of Trevor made her think of Ian—

  Kylie ignored her diversion tactics. “This isn’t a nasty-gram.”

  Stacy silently thanked her sister for unknowingly forcing her thoughts off the dead-end path of Trevor’s aggravatingly arrogant partner, and onto the comparatively safer path of her mail-stalker.

  “Well, it sure as hell isn’t a love note. Are you going to wear your hair down?”

  “It’s a threat.” Her twin frowned at the letter and came into the room.

  Epic fail on switching topics, Stacy thought, and applied eyeliner to her lower lash line with an expert hand.

  Kylie stopped beside Stacy’s chair and pinned troubled blue eyes on her sister. “Whoever this is, this so-called ‘Worst Nightmare,’ he’s collected information about you. He knows where you’re from. He knows you used to dance at Deuces, and he knows how to get a letter to you. He could be someone with access. He could be dangerous.”

  Stacy focused on her reflection in the mirror and lined her other eye. “Lots of people know I used to work at Deuces, including the producers and my agent. That fascinating fact isn’t exactly classified information. And contrary to what this guy seems to think, breaking the news wouldn’t get me fired. My publicist already has a plan in place. On top of that, thousands of people know where I’m from and how to send me a letter. It’s right there on my website, and on the show’s fan site, for that matter.” No need to mention that the letters had come to her house, and not to her agent. That little detail would only worry her sister, and Kylie was a first-class worrier.

  As the mature, responsible twin, Kylie tended to
take everything a bit more seriously. As the wild, carefree twin, Stacy prided herself on never letting worry stand in the way of a good time. Unfortunately, she hadn’t felt particularly wild or carefree lately. More like tired, depressed, and—God, how pathetic was she?—lonely. That’s where working fifteen-hour days and ending a long-term relationship she never should have started in the first place landed a girl. She deliberately rolled her shoulders, easing the tension that wanted to settle at the base of her neck, and silently vowed to reconnect with the old Stacy tonight—the fun, unpredictable, live-for-the-moment Stacy.

  “I’m worried.”

  Shit. So much for my Academy Award. She mustered up her trademark don’t-eff-with-me smile. “No need. I know exactly how I want to handle this, and my publicist cleared the plan with my agent and the show’s producers. Several reporters will be in front of Deuces tonight. I’ll stop to chat with them on the way into the party, and mention how I got my start in Hollywood dancing at Deuces. Dropping the news myself will take the wind right out of this guy’s ratty little sails. Without the big threat to lord over me, he’ll crawl back into whatever sick, sad cave he crawled out of…”

  She trailed off and straightened when she noticed Mandy hovering at the bedroom door. How long had she been there? Her quiet, unassuming assistant personified detail-oriented efficiency, but her dull brown hair, drab clothes, and aversion to makeup made her easy to overlook. Pretty enough, Stacy always found herself thinking, but in dire need of a makeover. One of these days… “Yes, Mandy?”

  “I just wanted to let you know the limo is waiting out front.”

  Her usual shy smile was missing tonight. Then again, it was Friday—and Halloween. Mandy might have some plans of her own she wanted to get to, but was too timid to speak up and say so. Stacy had no problem cutting her loose a little early.

  “Thanks. If you’re done for the day, go ahead and get your Halloween started. Just do me a favor and let the driver know we’ll be down on your way out.”

  “Okay, but first, I’ve got a few things that need your signature.” She held up a stack of paper.