Men Made in America Mega-Bundle

by Gayle Wilson, Marie Ferrarella, Jennifer Greene, Annette Broadrick, Judith Arnold, Rita Herron, Anne Stuart, Diana Palmer, Elizabeth Bevarly, Patricia Rosemoor, Emilie Richards

  Miriam murmured something incoherent—but incredibly arousing—against his mouth, and Rory moved his fingers sideways, tucking them beneath the opening of his jacket, to trace them along the graceful line of her collarbone. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth he drew his hand, her skin growing hotter and hotter beneath his touch, her breathing growing more and more rapid, more and more ragged, with each pass he made.

  The soft fabric of her dress skimmed along his wrist as he completed each movement, creating a surprisingly erotic friction. Without even thinking about what he was doing, Rory moved his hand down over that soft fabric, so that he might explore more of it. Once there, though, he realized that what lay beneath the dress was infinitely more interesting than the garment itself. Because his hand was suddenly cupped over one full, soft breast, a breast that fit perfectly in his earnest grasp.

  Without thinking, acting purely on instinct, he reached for the top of the dress and urged the fabric lower, until, much to his delighted amazement, that soft, perfect globe lay bared to him. Miriam gasped in surprise when he placed his palm over her warm, naked breast, and he took advantage of her reaction by thrusting his tongue into her mouth and tasting her more deeply still. She melted into him with a sigh, and even as he located the tantalizing, and quite aroused, peak of her breast beneath the pad of his thumb, he told himself he should remove his hand immediately, that he shouldn’t be taking such liberties with Miriam, because she was far too nice a girl.

  Really, though, removing his hand was the last thing Rory wanted to do. So he hesitated, rolling the tight bud beneath his thumb again. Miriam arched her body toward him, pushing that part of herself more completely into his possession, and that was when all thoughts of stopping anything fled his brain completely. Instead he flexed his fingers tighter, and he rotated his palm so that he could grasp her yielding flesh more flagrantly. In response she curled her fingers over his biceps and squeezed hard.

  And in a very rough, very aroused voice she said, “Oh, Rory. Oh, please…”

  And then, before he realized what was happening—and although he truly didn’t know which one of them released the lever this time—the driver’s seat was reclining at a 180-degree angle, with Rory flat on his back and Miriam flat on top of him. Their legs got tangled beneath the steering column, so he adjusted their bodies as well as he could until they lay slantways, though still awkwardly, with their legs in the passenger seat. The press of Miriam’s body along his then was…oh. Simply too delicious. And she in no way discouraged their position, either, because she fairly crawled on top of him once the seat was fully back, her body touching his now from chest to knee.

  For a moment all Rory could do was gaze up at her face, noting the way her breathing was as ragged as his was, and how she seemed to be gazing back at him with a hunger that only mirrored his own. Her hair cascaded down over them, creating a silky privacy curtain—not that either of them seemed to be particularly concerned with privacy at the moment—and he wrapped a great fistful of it around one hand before cupping that hand over her nape. Then he urged her head lower, down to his own, and kissed her once again. Thoroughly. Completely. Utterly.

  This time, though, Miriam was the one to seize control of the kiss, parting Rory’s lips with her tongue and plunging inside, to taste him as deeply as he’d ever been tasted before. He looped his other arm around her waist, opening his hand at the small of her back, urging his fingers lower, over the soft swell of her derriere. Miriam gasped at the liberty, and when she did, Rory reclaimed the kiss as his own. This time he was the one to taste her, cupping his free hand now over the crown of her head to facilitate his penetrating exploration.

  She uttered a wild little sound at the contact, opening one hand over his chest before moving it down over his rib cage and his torso, to his hip and back up again. He felt her fingers skimming along the length of his belt, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, in much the same way he had caressed her collarbone only moments before. And, just as he had done moments before, she dipped her fingers lower, then lower still, until she, too, had claimed with her hand an intimate part of his anatomy.

  Rory sprang to life at her touch, his member swelling and stretching against his suddenly too-tight trousers. He curved his fingers more resolutely over her bottom and pushed her hard against himself, bringing her pelvis into more intimate contact with his own as he arched his body upward to meet her. She cried out at the contact, pushing her upper body away from his, far enough to move her hand to his belt buckle. And then, almost ferociously, she began to tug the length of leather free.

  As she wrestled with his belt, Rory dipped his head a bit and captured her breast again with his mouth, tantalizing the taut nipple with the tip of his tongue. Her fingers faltered in their quest for a moment, then, when he drew her more fully into his mouth, sucking her hard, she moaned, a long lusty sound, and went studiously back to work. As she loosed the length of leather from its buckle and began to unfasten his pants, Rory pushed the fabric of her dress up over her thighs, her hips, her fanny. And he was shocked—truly, shocked—to discover that, beneath her dress, Miriam was wearing skimpy little panties over an even skimpier little garter belt to hold up her stockings.

  Oh, Miss Thornbury, he thought as he dipped his fingers beneath the silky panties to cup his palm over the sweet curve of her bare bottom beneath. The things I never knew about you…

  Her fingers fell to the zipper of his trousers then, and she clumsily tugged it down as their bodies continued to bump each other in the restricted boundaries of the car. Before Rory could say a word—not that he necessarily had any idea what to say at that moment—she, too, tucked her fingers inside the garment, curling them intimately over his hard shaft. Rory closed his eyes at the sharpness of the sensation that shot through him. Really, it had been much too long since he’d indulged in this sort of thing. And something about indulging in it with Miriam just made the whole experience…

  Oh, God, he thought as she squeezed him briefly in her hand. Extraordinary. That was what the experience was. That was what the woman was, too, he couldn’t help thinking further. Extraordinary.

  And then he couldn’t think at all, because Miriam moved her hand upward, curving her palm over the ripe head of his shaft, rolling it beneath the heel of her hand before steering her fingers lower again. The hand he had placed on her derriere dipped lower, too, scooting her panties along with it. Miriam must have known what he had in mind, because she arched her bottom higher, so that he could move the garment down over her hips and thighs. Then she lowered herself again, bending one knee this time, in a silent bid for Rory to remove her panties completely.

  And although he couldn’t quite manage that, thanks to their restricted position, he did manage to free one of her legs, thereby granting him enough access to…Well. Thereby granting him enough access, he thought dazedly. His hands skimmed upward again, over the backs of her knees and thighs, to crease the elegant cleft in her firm bottom with one long finger.

  “Ohhh…Rory,” she said again. But her voice was thicker now, and the words were slower than they had been before.

  By now, she had opened his trousers and urged down the waistband of his briefs in front, far enough to free him completely. She wrapped her fingers possessively around him, claiming him manually again and again, trailing her fingers up along his heavy length, circling the firm head before moving oh, so leisurely back down again, until he was nearly insensate with wanting her.

  Oh, things really had gone much, much too far, he thought. If they didn’t stop this immediately, they were going to…

  “Make love to me, Rory.”

  Too late.

  The realization occurred to him vaguely, through a red haze of very urgent desire. And although his rational, thinking mind told him he absolutely must cease and desist now, his irrational, unthinking mind—which he would have sworn was not nearly as powerful as it currently seemed to be—insisted he follow her instructions to the le
tter. Rory was about to do exactly that when his thinking mind interceded again, this time with a very good argument as to why he must put a stop to things now.

  “I don’t have any…” he began roughly. “I mean, I’m not prepared for…That is, I haven’t a, um…”

  “Check my purse,” she told him breathlessly.

  “I—I—I beg your pardon?” he replied.

  And vaguely it occurred to him that he would be begging for something soon if she didn’t stop doing that thing she was doing with her hand.

  He knew he must sound like the most inane human being on the planet, begging her pardon—of all things—at the moment, but truly, Rory had no idea what else to say. How could she have possibly known? he wondered. Not just what he’d been talking about when he was making absolutely no sense, but that there would even be a need tonight for that thing he was making no sense about?

  Right now, he thought further, dizzily, was probably not the time to ask her.

  Before he could say another word, anyway, Miriam shifted her body slightly on his and reached back toward the seat she had vacated—or, rather, the seat he had helped her vacate by pulling her off it and onto his lap himself—what seemed now like hours ago. And he watched with astonishment as she opened her purse and withdrew a small plastic packet from within. He watched with even more astonishment as she hastily tore the packet open and withdrew the prize from inside, holding it aloft as if it were a trophy.

  And then she said something so astonishing as to be nearly unbelievable: “I’ll help you put it on.”

  “I—I—I beg your pardon?” Rory stammered again before he could stop himself.

  “Oh, it’s all right,” she assured him. “I’ve been doing some reading.”

  As if that would explain all of this, Rory thought. Reading. Honestly. He hated to think what.

  But before he could ask, Miriam nestled her body atop his again, and, as she had just promised him she would do, she, um…helped him with it. In fact, she took matters completely into her own hands. So to speak. And no sooner had she completed her task than Rory surged to life again—not that he’d ever really fallen much—his member disagreeing quite vehemently now with his brain, insisting that what she was proposing was a very good idea indeed.

  “Now then. Where were we?” she asked.

  Immediately, though, she answered her own question, by positioning herself in exactly the same place she had been before. Now if Rory could only remember what she had been saying to him at the time…

  “Make love to me, Rory.”

  Oh, yes. It was all coming back to him now.

  “Please,” she added, her voice low and husky and tempting…and, well, demanding.

  “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked breathlessly, still feeling hazy and flustered. “This is all happening so quickly,” he pointed out.

  “Is it?” she asked him. “Funny, but it feels to me as if it’s taken forever.”

  For some reason Rory didn’t disagree with her. He only repeated, “Are you sure, Miriam?”

  “I’ve never wanted anything more than I want you right now,” she said.

  And something in her voice assured him that that was true. In spite of her utter certainty about her avowal, though, Rory could tell she was as confused and surprised by this new development as he was. Then again, he supposed it shouldn’t come as a surprise. He had been dreaming about her for months now—nearly since her arrival in Marigold—and in his dreams, the goddess gown had, on occasion, disappeared.

  And there had been that odd, sexually charged interlude in the library only days before, where she had fallen, quite literally, into his lap. And there had been those moments in the classroom when the two of them had seemed to connect on a level that went far beyond the scholarly. And there was that kiss that he had stolen from her—and which she had so freely given—earlier this evening. Even though that kiss had seemed relatively harmless at the time, Rory’s intentions behind it, he knew now, had been anything but.

  He wanted Miriam. Only now did he realize that he had wanted her for a very long time. Never had anyone so…so…so distracted him the way she did. Why, there had been times over the past six months when he hadn’t even been able to concentrate on his studies, because Miriam Thornbury had walked by his table at the library, scattering every thought he had except the ones involving her.

  So maybe he shouldn’t be surprised at all, he told himself now as he dropped his hands to her waist again and covered her mouth with his. Maybe he should have seen this coming a long, long time ago…

  And then he stopped thinking about what he should or should not have seen, what he should or should not have known, what he should or should not be doing. He bunched her dress in his hands again and shoved the garment back over her hips, then urged her body up a bit, so that he could position himself beneath her. Then he lowered her again and settled his straining shaft at the entrance to the innermost heart of her.

  There was one taut moment when he wondered if they were both having second thoughts, then Miriam grasped him in her hand and moved him toward herself. She lowered her body to his, and began to draw him inside herself, encasing him in her damp heat.

  She felt…Oh. So fine. So sweet. So perfect. So right. Rory didn’t think he had ever welcomed a sensation as eagerly as he did this one. They both sighed their satisfaction as, slowly, he parted her, opened her, entered her, going deeper and deeper, taking longer and longer, until he was buried inside her totally. For a moment they only lay still, allowing their bodies to grow accustomed to the newness of their joining. Then Rory pushed his hips upward, once, thrusting himself deeper still.

  Miriam cried out at the extent of his penetration, and for one frantic moment he feared he was hurting her. Then she lifted her hips up a bit, allowing him to glide slowly out of her, before lowering herself over him again. Rory closed his eyes, held tight to her hips and let her set the pace. And the pace she set was slow at first, almost leisurely, a steady, repetitive parry and thrust that nearly turned him inside out.

  Gradually, though, her rhythm increased, quickened, deepened. Again and again she covered and released him, pulling him in and out, further with each motion. Rory cupped both hands over her bare bottom and pushed her harder, thrusting his own hips up to meet her. He felt a hot coil beginning to compress inside him, pulling tighter and tighter with every movement they made, until it finally exploded in a white-hot rush of relentless response. Miriam cried out her own climax at the same time, then her body went limp atop his, and, vaguely, Rory wondered if the two of them would ever be the same.

  He buried his face in the fragrant curve where her neck met her shoulder and pressed an urgent kiss to the heated flesh he encountered there. He was about to tell her something very, very important, wondering just how he should phrase the complicated sentiment that was spiraling frantically through him, when a trio of—very loud—raps rattled the driver’s side window.

  Eight

  Between the rapid raging of his heartbeat and the dizziness ricocheting around in his brain, Rory somehow realized that it had stopped hailing out side and that the rain had lessened to a mere pitter pat against the roof of the car and the windshield. He also noticed that every single window his car possessed was fogged up enough to make the glass completely opaque.

  And then he noticed that someone was rapping against the driver’s side window again.

  Miriam must have noticed that, too, because as quickly and as feverishly as the two of them had come together in the darkness, they now sprang apart. She retreated to her seat and began to hastily rearrange her clothes, while Rory fumbled to remove and discard that convenient sexual accessory that was suddenly anything but convenient.

  After a long, awkward moment—wherein another trio of raps, louder this time, came at the driver’s side window—he had managed to rearrange himself well enough to suit, his shirttail spilling over the waistband of his pants to hide the fact that they were unfastened. Miriam
, he noticed, had managed to get her dress back down over her hips and held his jacket closed tightly over her torso.

  Gingerly he lifted his arm and used his shirtsleeve to wipe away enough of the fog on the window to reveal a dark figure standing on the other side. A dark figure who was cast briefly into red light, then blue light, then red again, then blue again. Rory could only see the figure from the chest down, but he could tell it was a man wearing a raincoat, a raincoat that appeared to be part of some kind of uniform.

  Coupled with the red-and-blue-light business, Rory, scholar that he was, deduced that the figure was, most likely, a policeman.

  And for one brief, delirious moment, he wondered if the policeman had come to arrest him, because the activity in which he’d just engaged with Miriam must certainly be illegal. His response to her, after all, had felt more than a little illicit. Then he remembered that he and Miriam, in addition to being consenting adults—oh, boy, had they been consenting—were also stranded on a deserted stretch of road with a flat tire and the emergency flashers were turned on.

  Of course, Rory thought further, inevitably, the emergency flashers weren’t the only things that had been turned on over the last who-knew-how-many minutes….

  Hastily he thumbed the button on the steering column to turn the flashers off. Then shook his head once fiercely, in an effort to dislodge the confusing, confounding conflagration of thoughts that were parading through his head. Then he snatched his glasses from the dashboard and settled them on the bridge of his nose, and somehow found the presence of mind to roll down the car window. The moment the glass began to descend, the police officer tilted his body to the side a bit, to gaze into the car’s interior.

  “Is, um, is there a problem, officer?” Rory asked. Funny, though, how his voice bore absolutely no resemblance whatsoever to its usual, even timbre.

  “You tell me,” the policeman said. “You’re the one parked here on the shoulder of the road with your emergency flashers turned on.”