Seven Books for Seven Lovers

by Molly Harper, Stephanie Haefner, Liora Blake, Gabra Zackman, Andrea Laurence, Colette Auclair

  “Jesus, Amanda. You’re so . . . ,” he said, his voice gruff. He turned his attention to her black lace panties and skimmed his finger along the waistband for a good long time, then slid his hand down between her legs, taunting her. She helped him remove the panties, and his boxer briefs went, too.

  He knelt by her feet and kissed the insides of her knees. He stroked, kissed, licked, and nibbled his way up one thigh. Then he started at the other knee and kissed and nibbled his way up the silky inside of the other thigh. He acted like he had all the time in the world, purely to make her crazy. From the sounds she was making, it was working.

  Finally he positioned his mouth just above her curls. He had to taste her. He gently parted her with his fingers, then touched the tip of his tongue to her. She gasped, then groaned, pushing up to meet his mouth. He went into a trance as he teased and tasted, his senses filling with her. He wanted to give her more pleasure than any man ever had. He wanted to make up for that bastard who had dumped her. He wanted her to lose herself and heal from her trauma and know she could trust him with her life.

  He slid a finger inside her. Even as she squirmed and scraped her heels on the rug—which increased the challenge—he kept at her. He wanted to drive her mad. He wanted to make her scream. He wanted to give her the hardest, deepest orgasm any woman had ever had. He felt her begin to shake, sensed she was sliding over the edge, and gave her one last push as he slid three fingers inside of her.

  She exploded. Grady pressed his hand hard between her legs to anchor her as he watched her face. She cried out, her hips convulsing as wave after wave swept through her, her body bucking and jerking. It was the most arousing thing he’d ever seen.

  As she quieted, she looked at him with glassy eyes. Between gasps, she said, “God. You should warn a person before you do that. I think I ruptured something.”

  He laughed and kissed her mouth softly, not a little turned on by the knowledge that she could taste herself on his lips and tongue.

  “So you liked that?”

  “Geez!” She was still struggling for air, and it wasn’t because they were eight thousand feet above sea level. “Yes.”

  He grinned. “Good. Because I’m not nearly finished with you.”

  She shivered, which pleased him.

  He stroked her cheek with his fingertips. “You still okay with this? Because in a minute I won’t be able to stop.”

  “Please. I want you inside me.”

  He almost came right then. It wasn’t what she said—past partners had uttered far more outrageous things. It was that she said it, which meant this woman he loved wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  “Hang on.” He lurched to his feet and grabbed a condom from the bedside table drawer. He wrenched open the packet and rolled it on.

  Returning to a flushed and sexily gorgeous Amanda, he gently explored the inside of her mouth with his tongue as he nestled between her thighs. She took his thick, heavy erection in her hands to guide him. He entered her slowly. Now it was his turn to moan as she closed around him in a slick, hot embrace.

  He knew she’d feel good, but he wasn’t prepared for just how good. He didn’t move for a few moments, wanting her to get used to him. Several excruciating seconds later, he was buried in her. He felt her tighten, and he expelled the breath he’d been holding. He withdrew until he was almost out of her, then slowly pushed back in. He did this several more times—pulling out and pushing in, each time faster, kissing her with the same growing need. Jolts of pleasure shot through him.

  Amanda stared at him, her lust-glazed eyes fastened on his in abject desire. He quickened his rhythm. Both of them were breathing like marathon runners, and he swallowed her moans as he kissed her mouth, needing to cover her, greedily connecting with her at this other warm, sweet, sensitive juncture.

  Then it was down to two more thrusts.

  One.

  Two.

  His nerve endings were firing on all cylinders as he plunged deep, rocketing into her. He was simultaneously lost and found—he lost himself in the delirium of sensation, but knew he had found himself, that he had found . . . home.

  When the storm subsided, he settled on top of her. He needed to stay connected to her. They were both slick with sweat and breathing hard. She looked at him dreamily, and as he returned her gaze, a tsunami of feeling overcame him that dwarfed even the mind-blowing orgasm.

  There it was again. He loved her. With soul-deep certainty, he knew he loved her.

  He rested his forehead on the rug next to her cheek and whispered, “Oh, Amanda. I can’t find words for you.” They lay there, torsos pressed together. He could feel her heart beating inches from his own. He felt her fingers drift up and down his back, like sea grass in a lazy current. He closed his eyes and thought—absurdly—that if he ever needed a sense memory for perfection in a scene, this was it.

  Their breathing almost back to normal, Grady levered himself up and gave her a lingering, petal-light kiss. “You are a miracle.”

  She smiled slowly. “Even miracles have to use the bathroom.” She kissed him, got to her feet, and crossed to the bathroom.

  He poured himself some water. “Do you want anything to drink? Or eat? Can I get you anything at all?”

  “No thanks. I’m good,” she called from behind the door.

  “Honey, you’re a helluva lot better than good.”

  She laughed as she joined him next to the bed, her body pink and perfect and lovely. “Flattery will get you everywhere.” She kissed him, then slid between the sheets.

  He grinned. “I certainly hope so. Don’t go anywhere.” And he used the bathroom.

  “So . . . ” He strolled to her a minute later. He used the same gravelly tone that had sent Nicole Kidman into his character’s bed in one of his films. “Exactly how far will flattery get me?”

  “You’ll have to wait and see.” She smiled as she lifted the comforter and he got into bed and pulled her into his arms. She laid her head on his chest and slid her arm around him.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Mm-hm. Better than okay.”

  “Good. Me, too. Much better than okay.” He took in a breath. “As a matter of fact, I’m better than fantastic. You were—you are—amazing.”

  “There were two of us there, you know.”

  “Oh, right. I seem to recall that. But I think our incredible, fantastic, stupendous sex has a lot to do with all those strings attached. As long as it’s with you, I’m a huge fan of bondage.”

  She laughed and nestled her head against his chest. She was quiet for a time, and he didn’t speak either, not wanting to bruise the mood. She smelled so good. It felt so good to lie there with her, his body spent and warm.

  He whispered, “Good night, Amanda.”

  “’Night.” She paused. “Um, I’m never going to fall asleep like this. How do you feel about spooning?”

  “My favorite flatware.” She turned over and he put his arm around her. He scattered kisses across the firm curve of her shoulder. “Mmm. Good night, Mortified. Sleep tight.”

  He wasn’t sure how he was going to sleep, not with this wonderful, naked woman tucked against him. Not with the images from the night whirling in his head. Not when his love for her had been reinforced with emotional rebar.

  But somehow he did.

  23

  Stirring in the bazillion-thread-count sheets on Grady’s California king, Amanda awoke. Outside the huge windows, the sun peeked above massive crests. Grady, next to her, hit a button on a remote, and sheer blinds slid down the windows. She blinked sleepily and attempted to focus.

  “Good morning.” His voice was roughened with sleep. Geez, the man was even sexy before dawn. If he drooled during the night, he probably looked incredible doing that, too.

  “Mmm, hi.” She closed her eyes, smiled, and stretched her arms over her head. Her body felt all sinuous and lithe. He was on his side, up on an elbow to look at her. He stroked her tousled hair, pushing a strand tha
t had fallen across her nose behind her ear. He looked beautiful in the shafts of golden sunlight, with his hair mussed and stubble on his chin.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  He contorted his body to see the clock on the nightstand. “Six forty.”

  “The horses!” She bolted upright.

  “They’re fine. Beth and the girls replaced you today.” He clasped her wrist, and his touch warmed her whole arm. “It’s all taken care of.”

  She bit her lip and pretended to glare at him. “I guess you’re right.”

  Still, she needed to go to the bathroom. She thought about wrapping the huge comforter around her, then considered asking for a robe. She finally just walked across the room naked and tried to look as though this was old hat, walking across bedrooms naked the morning after making love for the first time with an international film star. To her surprise, her self-consciousness evaporated. She knew he wouldn’t care about her too-bony chest and hint of cellulite. She felt . . . safe, which boggled her sleep-addled mind.

  The bathroom was a modern, expansive affair, with charcoal-slate floors, an open shower, whirlpool tub, a toilet in its own closet—complete with a phone and tiny flat-screen TV—and two sinks, all hewn from what she knew was Colorado stone. It was masculine and earthy and suited Grady, and this morning she liked anything that suited Grady.

  As she washed her hands, she nodded at the huge shower. “So this is where they misplaced the wash stall for the barn.”

  He grinned and laughed.

  She asked, “Is there a toothbrush closet?”

  “Please,” he scoffed. “Toothbrush wing. And a toothbrush concierge, who has the morning off.” He walked toward her. She caught her breath at the sight of him naked, muscles flexing. He opened a drawer and presented her with a new, expensive-looking toothbrush. “Madame.”

  She took it. “I only brush with Gucci, but I suppose I’ll make do.” He smiled as he slid his arms around her and looked into her eyes.

  “Mmm, you feel good,” he said.

  “You, too.” He smelled good, too. She loved his scent, that clean smell of laundry and sage and soap. He lowered his head and she turned away. “I have to brush my teeth!”

  “Not on my account.”

  “You don’t understand, I have terrible—” But he merely smiled, grasped her chin between his fingers, and kissed her. His tongue made seductive forays, obliterating all thoughts of dental hygiene. They held each other, not moving, just kissing, kissing, kissing. Finally Grady pulled her toward the bed, holding her close, continuing the kiss. After a few steps she stiffened and stopped.

  “I really need to brush my teeth.”

  “Of course.” If he was disappointed, he hid it. He set toothpaste on the counter. Amanda felt a little too exposed, so she slipped his shirt off of the bedpost and put it on, fastening one button at her breasts.

  She squeezed toothpaste onto the brush and began to vigorously scrub her teeth. He was staring at her with dark, denim-blue eyes. She stopped brushing and, mouth half-full of foam, asked, “What?”

  “It’s just . . . Jesus, you look so fucking hot in my shirt. Hurry so I can ravish you.”

  She resumed brushing and felt certain parts of her body start to simmer. This summer had provided quite the workout for her hormones, culminating in last night’s rigorous boot camp. For a moment she forgot what came next in tooth brushing, then somehow remembered to spit. As she filled the cup on the sink with water, he came up next to her and kissed her mouth, toothpaste and all. She looked at him, surprised, his lips speckled with minty foam. Who kisses someone when they’re brushing their teeth? But she had to admit, it was unexpected, mischievous—and hellaciously sexy.

  He winked, crossed the room, poured a glass of water from the wet bar, and set it on her nightstand. “Would you like anything else to drink?”

  “Water’s great, thanks.”

  Suddenly he was behind her, gliding his hands around her waist, kissing her hair. She lightly grasped his forearms. His erection pressed against the small of her back and she felt a replying flutter in her center. He looked at their reflections and said, “Mm, look at you.”

  “Look at you.” For, truth be told, he had the body of an Olympic swimmer.

  “I’d rather look at you. And hold you.” He squeezed her gently. “And kiss you.” He kissed the skin just behind her right ear and kept kissing her neck between words. “And touch you.” He slid his hand under the shirt and hardened her nipple with his thumb. “And excite you.” He slid his fingers between her legs, making her gasp. “I love making you do that,” he said as he slowly stroked her.

  “What makes . . . you think . . . you . . . excite me?” she asked between gasps.

  He laughed. “Do you have any idea how irresistible you are? Sexy and funny?”

  She twisted her head around and he kissed her.

  He said, “That can’t be comfortable—you look like Linda Blair in The Exorcist. Here.” He picked her up with no apparent effort, placed her on the bed, and then lay next to her.

  She sat up almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. “What about Edelweiss?” Way to break the mood, but she couldn’t help it. Plus, she was the tiniest bit nervous about making love again. She was starting to feel . . . committed.

  He sighed loudly. “What about her?”

  “Do they know what to feed her?”

  Grady sat up. “Honey, please stop worrying. The girls are so happy they get to take care of the horses.” His expression softened. “And I’m so happy that I get to have you. Here. With me.”

  Amanda looked at him intently. Was it the light? Or were there tears in his eyes? “What’s wrong?” Her hand flew to his face and she brushed a tear with her thumb. He took her hand and closed his eyes as he kissed her knuckle.

  “Nothing’s wrong. In fact, for the first time in a long time, everything’s very, very right.” He took both of her hands in his and rested them on the bed. “But I have to tell you something and I want you to promise not to run out screaming.”

  That knot that sometimes materialized in Amanda’s belly took up residence.

  “Promise?” he repeated.

  “Yes. Besides, I’m practically naked—I can’t run anywhere.”

  “I don’t know exactly how to say this—I’m better with a script—so I’m just going to say it.” He looked as though he were about to jump out of an airplane without a parachute. The knot in her stomach settled in and ordered a pizza.

  He looked into her eyes with such purpose, she felt he could see her soul. “Amanda. I love you.”

  Relief and awe flooded her from stem to stern and her stomach knot fled. For the umpteenth time in the past twenty-four hours, a surge of raw emotion welled up and her throat tightened. No man had ever wept for her before. No man had ever said those words to her with such feeling behind them. No man had ever meant them—truly meant them—ever.

  He continued more quickly, as though the words had fast-approaching expiration dates. “I’m hopelessly in love with you and it might not be the best time to tell you, but I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I’m crazy about you. I’m deeply, passionately, head over heels in love with you.”

  She stared at him and breathed for a few seconds. Her ears roared. Her mouth went dry. She loved him. As inconvenient as it was, she did.

  But saying it? Out loud? No. Fear was a cutting horse in her throat, herding those three little words away, determined to keep her heart safe. Because she was petrified that somewhere down the road, he would realize he didn’t love her because she wasn’t Hollywood enough. She was fine for secluded, bucolic Aspen, but LA? No way.

  And she had to consider his feelings. If she told him she loved him, how could she go to Georgia? She couldn’t hurt this man, this wonderful man, as callously as that. She would keep her feelings to herself and he’d get over her. Her dream was the Olympics, not love, she reminded herself. She had made sacrifices for her dream before; she could do it again.
<
br />   It’s just that this sacrifice felt so big.

  “Oh, Grady,” she said, miserable. “I can’t . . . yet.”

  “I know.” He took her into his arms. “I didn’t tell you so you’d say it back to me. And it’s the first time I’ve said it to anyone since Annie, but . . . what I feel for you . . . I’ve never felt this with anyone. I never thought anything like this was even possible.”

  Her eyes filled. “I’m not saying I won’t. I’m not . . . I just . . . can’t. Right now.”

  He hugged her close and her head rested on his chest. “I know. I’m just glad you didn’t break down the door to get away.”

  Amanda relaxed to the sound of his heartbeat. She was warm and content and loved.

  Loved.

  Now there was a new one. Even though she’d only known him for three months, and had been intimate with him for what—a few hours?—she knew he’d look out for her, worry about her, even fight for her. She mattered to him. She had never wanted to matter to a man—she thought it would rob her of her freedom and mess up her career—but she liked how it felt.

  They dozed, then woke and made love again, this time lazily and leisurely. It was time-consuming, thorough, and transporting. She felt as though, as promised, he’d finally kissed every square inch of her and memorized all her body’s reactions. Ever the actor, she knew he was assessing his audience, noticing responses to craft future performances.

  Amanda let Grady convince her to stay for the rest of the week, mostly because she couldn’t imagine leaving him yet, especially if she ended up going to Georgia. Later that day they drove Beth to the Denver airport, then spent the night at Denver’s historic Hotel Teatro, where they dined at Restaurant Kevin Taylor and made love several times that night and the following morning.

  As for the equine residents of Aspen Creek, a rancher friend of Luke’s drove Titanium, Rainy, and Bramble to Los Angeles in Grady’s trailer. Commercial shippers took Vern and Smooch, and Edelweiss stayed in the barn—with a borrowed horse-loving goat for company—while Amanda figured out her life.