A_Taste_of_Decadence_ARE

by Blake_Harte_Quinn_Ryan_Rylon

  “Damn right.” He snapped his hips, and he brushed something tingly inside her. “You have to say yes.”

  “Yes, yes.”

  His laughter faded into a groan when she squeezed him inside her.

  She gripped his neck and threaded her fingers through his soft hair. “God, I’m coming again.”

  “Good, because I can’t stop. Touch yourself, baby. Come with me.”

  She moved a hand between them and rubbed herself, and in seconds, they both crested another wave of pleasure. Together.

  Chapter Twenty

  A month later, November had turned the skies gray and the weather colder than a witch’s tit. George used the phrase around his family whenever he could, making sure to include Shelby in his antics.

  She rolled her eyes at him and met Shane’s pained expression, aware they looked goofy. They’d dressed as matching ice cream cones at Vanzant Interior’s quarterly gala. Since Shelby had been depressed over Shane during Halloween—her favorite holiday—Ron had suggested they make their party a costume bash, and not a week from Thanksgiving. But Shelby didn’t mind.

  Her Halloween had been spent lamenting the loss of a wonderful man. So tonight she planned to make up for her lost celebration. It was a perfect night for them to give each other treats. Chocolate syrup they could lick off each other, and maybe some hot wax for fun. She’d never been so happy, and everyone she knew commented on it.

  She had a feeling Shane was gearing up to ask her something special. Not an engagement, but they’d been talking a lot about moving in together. In her mind, a true step toward commitment. She still had instances of panic, waiting for the other shoe to drop on her relationship, but Shane talked her down off the ledge. And on those occasions when he started talking babies and 401Ks for their grandkids, she reined him in without breaking a sweat.

  Shelby had no doubt Shane was it for her. They promised to keep each other honest, and to never lose that spark that had brought them together in the first place. Lots of bodywork in and out of the massage clinic, and plenty of non-vanilla dates.

  “I can’t believe you came as ice cream cones. That is so revoltingly couple-like.” Maggie sneered at her costume.

  “Please. I’m cute. You’re… What are you, exactly?”

  Maggie opened her large beige overcoat. Instead of a sexy teddy or vampy vixen costume, Maggie wore a flowered frock that looked like something her Aunt May might have worn, loose knee-highs pooling around her ankles, and Mary Janes. She also had stuffed animals strapped to her arms and legs. “I’m now officially the cat lady.”

  Shelby burst out laughing, and Shane ambled closer to her, Mac hard on his heels. Wherever Maggie went, Mac seemed to be near. Shelby had a feeling her friend was due to get run over by big bad Mac Jameson. And that pleased her, because she happened to like him. A gruff, teddy bear of a guy who looked like he ate small children for breakfast, Mac might be exactly what Maggie needed, someone who wouldn’t cater to her every whim. And he wasn’t a loser. From what Shane had said, his friend wasn’t even playing around with random women anymore.

  Shane attributed the loss of Mac’s harem to “one smart-mouthed blonde who looks like God’s personal hooker in pink aerobic tights.” That Mac. He really had a way with compliments. He’d come as a biker, and he wore his jeans and leather vest very well. Shelby had noticed Maggie keeping a wary eye on him throughout the night.

  Interesting things were heating up in Seattle, that was for sure.

  “What the hell is strapped to your thigh?” Mac asked Maggie, his eyes the size of quarters.

  “One of my many cats. I’m the neighborhood cat lady.”

  “You are not.” Shelby sighed. Maggie and her dire predictions about being an old maid.

  Mac choked on laughter and whispered something to Shane, who broke down in tears.

  “What’s so funny?” Shelby had to know.

  Maggie planted her hands on her hips, clearly annoyed. “Yeah. What are you idiots laughing at?” Shelby liked that her best friend and boyfriend got along so well. Maggie treated him like her brother, and he teased her the way he did George.

  Mac wiped his eyes and had a hard time explaining through more laughter. “You have a pussy right near your, um, your, ah…”

  “For God’s sake.” Maggie yanked free the velcroed cat nestled almost between her thighs and threw it at Mac’s head. Then she stalked off to join Shelby’s mother, Ron, and Ron’s new boyfriend—Justin Harmon. Shane’s boss.

  “You have to admit that’s funny as hell.” Shane chuckled and watched Mac trying to placate the temperamental blonde by giving her back the stuffed cat.

  Shelby bit back a grin, but Shane saw it. “Okay, it’s funny. You know what’s also funny?”

  “What?” He pulled her as close as their puffy cone costumes would allow.

  “You realize Mac now has his hand on Maggie’s pussy.”

  Shane died laughing again, and Shelby joined him. They had so much fun together, and their humor meshed. Hell, everything about them meshed. She spent so much time at his place and he at hers that they were all but living together. She tolerated his neat tendencies, and he allowed her to stack piles of crap everywhere, so long as it remained organized.

  As Shelby glanced around at her friends and family, she couldn’t wait for the holidays. This year was special. She longed to share festivities with Shane, to see what he thought of the Christmas present she’d already bought for them.

  Matching wedding bands and a save-the-date invitation for August 2nd, the anniversary of the day Shane had run into her and turned her world, and her coffee, upside-down.

  About Marie Harte

  Marie Harte is an avid reader who loves all things romantic. Reading romances since she was twelve, she fell in love with happy endings and knew writing was her calling. Over twenty years later, the Marine Corps, a foray through Information Technology, and children, her dream has finally come true. Marie lives in Oregon with her family and loves hearing from readers.

  To read more about Marie, visit http://www.marieharte.com

  And don’t miss Mac and Maggie’s story in Working Out, the next in The Works series.

  Working Out

  December in Seattle

  He’d known it was coming to this. For four long-ass months, he’d been doing his best to handle the situation, and for four months he’d been fooling himself.

  Mac Jameson gripped the neck of his beer bottle and glared across the bar at the bane of his existence. He could no longer ignore those big blue eyes, that killer rack, or the platinum blond hair that framed a face that haunted his dreams. She worked for him, but it didn’t stop her from sniping, scowling, or blatantly ignoring him when she didn’t like what he had to say. A smarter man would have taken her signals as uninterested and run the other way.

  But not Mac. He thrived on challenge, and Maggie Doran had dare written all over her. Aside from her smart mouth and incredible looks, she had a work ethic he truly respected. To make matters worse, she was far from perfect, which he would have found boring. No woman could look like she did without carrying some massive baggage.

  He hadn’t yet figured out how to unload her issues long enough to sleep with her and put himself out of his misery.

  A solid clap to his back reminded himself he wasn’t drinking alone.

  “So what’s your excuse this time?” his best friend asked as he joined Mac at the bar. “The redhead not hot enough? The brunette who wanted your number too clingy?”

  Mac refused to pay attention to the end of the bar where two sexy women continued to glance at him in between high-pitched laughter and cocktails. “I don’t date women who giggle. Christ, I’m thirty-six, too old for games.”

  “Since when?” Shane, as usual, ignored the scowl Mac shot him and continued to talk. “The Mac I know has no problem serial dating. What was it you said to me not so long ago? To indulge in the holy trinity and forget my problems? Tits, ass and an orgasm. There you go, b
uddy. You have two more-than-willing candidates still making eyes at you.” Shane discreetly nodded toward Mac’s new groupies.

  “No fault with the trinity. You have me there.” Mac had to smile. His grin faded when he noticed his recent obsession now sandwiched between two guys pointing fingers at one another.

  Shane followed Mac’s attention and sighed. “Figures. That woman is trouble.” And Shane would know. Now dating Shelby, Maggie’s best friend, Shane spent more time with Maggie than Mac did—a fact that annoyed the crap out of him, not that he’d ever admit it out loud.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I like her a lot,” Shane continued, “but that stupid vow of celibacy is like a neon sign on her forehead. It’s like Maggie’s secretly calling out to anyone with a dick to help end her plight.”

  Mac blinked. “What did you say?”

  “Oh, sorry. Plight means problem. As in, she has something troubling her.”

  “Dickhead. No, what you said about her vow of celibacy.”

  “Oh that. Maggie is off men, or so Shelby told me. I’m sworn to secrecy, so don’t say anything.” Shane shrugged and drank his beer. “Oh hell. Looks like I’m going to have to help her out. Those guys don’t look like they’re playing.”

  Mac wanted to get back to Maggie’s issue about not having sex, but Shane was right. “You stay here in case I need someone to bail me out of jail. I’ll handle those guys.”

  Shane stared at him a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. Just flex a few times and they’ll scatter like mice.”

  Mac shot him a not-so-nice grin.

  “And do that. The smile that’s more a grimace. Great intimidation factor, there.”

  In a mood to crack some skulls together, Mac muscled through the crowding bar and reached Maggie in time to hear her telling both guys off.

  “… if you’d even bothered to ask, you’d know I never drink tequila. And I don’t like grabby men. Period.”

  When Maggie grew angry, her voice turned huskier, sexier. It put Mac in mind of satin sheets and naked limbs entangled with his. Unfortunately, her voice seemed to have the same effect on the morons fighting over her. Morons that looked somehow familiar.

  The redhead poked the dark-haired guy in the belly. Both appeared of equal weight and height, yet neither had the same mass as Mac. Of the two, the dark-haired man looked meaner, so Mac kept an eye on him.

  Maggie turned to the redhead. “Brent, it’s okay—”

  Brent cut her off. “She’s with me, Wilson.”

  “Yeah, right.” Wilson made a face. “Why would she want you when she could have me? I can buy and sell you twice over, and you…what? You own a nice little home in Green Lake and bench press twenty more pounds in the gym? Please.”

  Brent had patience, because he took a deep breath and let it out without slugging the guy. “Wilson, don’t be such a dick. Maggie and I were talking before you interrupted.”

  “Talking? Brent, she was backing away and trying to be polite about it.” Wilson huffed. “Poor thing just doesn’t know how to reject you without hurting your feelings.”

  Mac suddenly realized where he’d seen the men before. They were members of Jameson’s Gym—his uncle’s pride and joy, and his current employer. It should have made him reconsider his need to pound both of them into tomorrow. Brent had been a member for a few months and wasn’t a bad guy, but Wilson was new. He also appeared to be a conceited jerk.

  Maggie opened her mouth, no doubt to say something snarky. She might be little, but she didn’t tolerate fools well at all. Then she spotted Mac and snapped her mouth closed. The fire in her blue eyes went straight to his gut. Damn, she was pretty, especially when riled.

  “Maggie.” He smiled through his teeth.

  “Oh hell.” She groaned.

  To return to the table of contents, click here.

  Jingle Ball

  by Cari Quinn

  http://www.cariquinn.com

  Jingle Ball

  Copyright 2012 Cari Quinn

  Cover by Valerie Tibbs

  EBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First electronic edition: November 2012

  Jingle Ball

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Epilogue

  About Cari Quinn

  Chapter One

  Wendy Stanton picked up a length of multi-colored garland and sighed. Red, blue and green garland wasn’t classy enough for Martin & Warner Real Estate’s annual Jingle Ball. The event was the biggest schmoozer they held all year and lots of rich, important guests would attend. They’d already decided the color scheme would be silver and blue, so the decoration she’d picked up on a whim would just have to go.

  She wrapped the garland around her neck and turned toward the full wall of glass behind her boss Des’s desk. She thrust out a hip and grabbed a long, narrow notepad, using it as a microphone. Then she rocked out, dirty Christmas style. She didn’t remember the lyrics to the song on the radio so she fudged them, making them up as she went along. Her husky voice wouldn’t win any awards, but she vamped it up, pushing a hand behind her head and wiggling her butt.

  Behind her, someone cleared their throat. Wendy spun around and dropped the notebook, her eyes going wide at her boss lounging in the doorway. His hands were tucked in the pockets of his snug, faded jeans, and he wore a gray silk shirt and striped tie that offset his golden skin.

  And he was smirking.

  “Didn’t mean to interrupt your concert, Ms. Stanton.” His voice was as warm and rich as the java he walked over to dispense from his personal coffeemaker. He preferred an expensive Costa Rican blend, the best of the best. Just as he preferred top of the line in everything in his life, from clothes, to office space, to girlfriends. She still wondered how she’d slunk into his office almost a year ago when his secretary had quit on short notice.

  Des desperate was a mouth-watering sight to behold.

  Fine, he was mouth-watering regardless. He had the kind of spiky dark hair that always stuck up in all directions and his eyes were a bright blue-green she’d only ever seen in the waters of the Caribbean. And his body?

  Not. Going. There.

  “Song’s over,” she said with a shrug, picking up the notebook she’d dropped. Feigning calm around him wasn’t anything new, considering she’d had a crush on him pretty much since the first moment she’d stepped into his swanky office. He’d asked her what she considered her strongest skill and she’d been tempted to say sucking cock, just to see if she’d get a chance at his.

  Instead she’d gone with the safe answer of her one hundred words per minute typing speed.

  That she’d inquired about the job advertised in the window wearing a pair of yoga pants and a tank top, with her hair held back by an assortment of bobby pins and paper clips—hey, she’d been out grocery shopping before she’d wandered past the office—hadn’t ruined her chances as she’d feared. He’d called to hire her the next day.

  They’d had a cordial, utterly frustrating relationship since.

  “So it is. But as it’s a radio station,” Des gestured with his coffee cup at the sleek wall unit currently playing another Christmas classic, “they keep playing them. Keep singing.”

  If she w
as anyone else, she’d probably hurry to obey the command in his tone. Though they were both barely thirty, Des and his best friend Cole Warner had one of the most successful real estate businesses in Eugene, New York, a decent-sized city just outside the one that never slept. They’d climbed far and fast, and that meant they weren’t strangers to making demands and ensuring they were met.

  She suspected that was true in the bedroom too. Not that she knew firsthand. Both men were nothing but professional to their secretaries. Unfortunately.

  It wasn’t as if she could tell Des she wasn’t a lawsuit waiting to happen. Nor was she trying to climb the corporate ladder, unless it led straight up to the eye-popping bulge in his pants. But that was just her fantasies talking. She wasn’t that girl.

  Those jewel-like blue-green eyes stared her down, and like a fool, she began to sing into the notebook. She had to look ridiculous with her garland and her steno microphone, but he leaned back against the wall and watched her, seemingly riveted.

  Yet again she didn’t know the words to the song, so she improvised. A smile began at the corners of his mouth, creeping inward until it turned into a full-blown grin. He set aside the coffee and clapped, the width of his hands catching her attention for the umpteenth time before her gaze skipped to his face.

  His smirk returned. Did he know what she was thinking?

  Forget that, did she know what she was thinking? He was her boss. He signed her paycheck and ponied up for the fancy health benefits that even allowed her to cover her ailing mom too. The extra expense was significant, but Des hadn’t blinked when she’d explained her mom’s heart condition and her search for affordable health care since her mom wasn’t old enough for Medicare. He shelled out a ton of extra dough each month, and she couldn’t afford to fuck that up just to…