Miranda's Rights

by KyAnn Waters

  Liquid heat flowed over Miranda’s flesh. She didn’t speak, afraid to break the intimate spell weaving between them.

  “There isn’t a question of whether or not I can be the master you need. I am.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. “Are you sure?”

  He approached and dropped to his haunches in front of her, resting his hands on her knees. “Are you? I don’t want an arranged encounter at Club Creed. If you submit to me, I want it all.”

  The warmth of his palm seeped into her flesh. Her body instantly responded. Nipples tightened. Pulses fluttered in her pussy and her clit tingled.

  “Yes, Sir.” Two simple words. She wanted him.

  His forehead dropped to her knees. She ran her fingers through his silken curls, cupping his head, then trailed her fingertips to his neck. His flesh was hot. Leaning over him, she detailed the hard curves of his strong back. Her master was on his knees. Lust unfurled low in her belly.

  “I’m sorry I left the way I did. I know you needed me to care for you. I just couldn’t stay there.”

  “I know. I don’t belong there, either.” She lifted his head. “I belong to you.”

  He clutched her hand in his and pressed lingering kisses to her knuckles. Kissed her fingertips one by one.

  His mouth was wonderful, yet his smile promised wicked delights.

  “I do have one complaint,” she said.

  He chuckled as he stood. “I don’t believe I’m inclined to hear it. I’d rather have you breathless and panting from making love.”

  “Hmmm. I like the sound of that, but I must insist, Sir.”

  He held her hand and led her across the living room and down the hall toward his bedroom. “Since you only have one, I suppose I can be persuaded.”

  “In regard to my Miranda Rights.”

  “Yes?”

  “I have the right to my spankings.”

  He chuckled, pulled her into his arms and kissed her on the mouth. Parting her lips, he slipped into her warmth. Opening wider, she rolled her tongue over his and moaned low in her throat. His cabled arm banded around her shoulders and his other hand curved over her buttocks and pressed her pelvis into the hard ridge of his erection. “Miranda, you have the right to be loved…in the way you need loved…by me.”

  Smack.

  About the Author

  KyAnn Waters lives in Utah with her husband, two children, and two dogs. She spends her days writing and her evenings with her family. She enjoys sporting events on the television, thrillers on the big screen, and hot scenes between the pages of her books. Visit her at www.KyAnnWaters.com and email her at kyannwaters@hotmail.com. Her newsletter group is www.groups.yahoo.com/group/KyAnnWaters and chat with her at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/eroticcravings.

  Look for these titles by KyAnn Waters

  Now Available:

  With or Without You

  Wanderlust

  The best mistake she ever made…

  With or Without You

  © 2008 KyAnn Waters

  Tessa Brooks is dated. Not dated as in going out with men—having dinner and light conversation in poorly lit restaurants in hopes of finding someone with whom she can get naked. No, Tessa is dated. And the year she seems stuck in is 1988. The year her life changed.

  With her twenty-year high school reunion coming up, Tessa’s daughter has surprised her with a makeover on the Jade Star television talk show. However, that’s not the only surprise. Enter Matt Toler, the best mistake she ever made. Tessa might not feel a ribbon of panic tightening around her neck if Matt had spoken to her again after their one-night sexual encounter…and if knew he had a daughter.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for With or Without You:

  Tessa sat on the loveseat next to Matt. Her left knee jiggled a nervous tempo and, of course, he noticed. He covered her knee with his palm. The weight and warmth of his hand seared her flesh. Butterflies flitted about in her stomach. Her eyes locked on his hand.

  He had long fingers with dark whorls of hair over the knuckles. They were hands of a man. Not the boy who had given her one night of teenage passion twenty years before, but hands she imagined drifting higher on her smooth thigh, slipping beneath her dress and seeking her heated folds.

  Wetness dampened her panties. She squeezed her thighs together and shifted her knees.

  Matt lifted questioning brown eyes and her breath caught in her throat, making swallowing difficult. She’d seen those same eyes often over the years. Matt had been starring in her nighttime fantasies since their magical encounter on that warm spring night.

  “I’m sorry about all this. I thought it was a makeover show.” She clasped her hands in her lap. If only the couch could open up and swallow her whole. Mortification heated her cheeks. “I’m surprised too.”

  She’d forgotten the lopsided smile that disarmed and could disrobe a girl in thirty seconds flat.

  “Surprised is a good word. Tessa, it’s not an unpleasant surprise…just unexpected.”

  He leaned back and settled more comfortably in the loveseat. His hip still rested against hers, sending alarming heat into her core. She hoped he couldn’t feel her temperature because she felt like a nuclear reactor with the red warning lights blazing and emitting dangerous levels of sexual radiation. Overexposure could lead to fried brain cells. Clearly hers had already been damaged. Had it been that damn long since a man had heated her to the point of meltdown from innocent skin contact? Well, okay, there was one memory, most likely distorted with age, supplying the fuel.

  Damn, why did he have to look so good?

  Dark hair, cut neat and clean around the ears, was left longer on top, enough so that the bit of natural curl tempted a woman’s fingers. Tessa clasped her hands in her lap before she reached up to comb a stray lock from his forehead with her fingertips.

  Awkward silence stretched between them. Pressure built behind her eyes and her heart pounded hard and heavy. God, she felt like a fool. Her daughter had brought her one and only one-night stand to daytime talk.

  “So where are you living these days?” Not that she needed to ask. He lived in Chicago. At least he had the last time she Googled his name.

  “Chicago.”

  More silence.

  “Matt.” She adjusted her position so that she faced him directly. “This is awkward. Let’s just make the best of the situation. This has to be over soon. Exactly how many hours of footage do they need for a one-hour show?” She smoothed her dress, trying to inch it down her thighs. Had she known she’d be sitting with the one who had gotten away, she’d have chosen something more conservative.

  The hot Hollywood starlet needed to go back to wardrobe. The sexy clothes were pickling her brain. Sexy clothes, sexy new look—however, she was too scared to play sexy kitten. She needed out of the situation. Rehashing the past would raise certain questions she wasn’t ready to answer…would never be ready to answer.

  “Relax, Tessa.”

  She hated the way he said her name. Okay, so she loved it. His voice was deep and smooth like fine brandy. She wanted to savor a sip. More than a sip, she wanted to get drunk. All of which posed a huge problem.

  Mentally beating her libido into submission, she focused on the priority, getting through the show.

  “We’re supposed to be getting reacquainted. I assume you aren’t married. At least, I hope the show wouldn’t try to set me up with a married woman.”

  He smiled and her stomach swooped. Just as he had in high school, he turned her knees to jelly. Matt Toler had been her ideal for a boyfriend—too bad he’d always had another girl on his arm. Even if he hadn’t been the guy all the girls lusted after, they didn’t belong to the same cliques. Matt had been Mr. Popular and she’d just been…Tessa.

  She laughed nervously. “I’m not married.”

  “Divorced?”

  She shook her head. “I never married.” She realized he might wonder about Brianna. Anyone could tell they were mother and daughter. But that’s not all th
ey’d notice. Brianna was a perfect blend of her mother and her father. Tessa groaned.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Tessa snapped her eyes to his. “Oh nothing.” Just that she intended to keep as much distance between Brianna and Matt as possible. With her luck, Jade would notice the family resemblance and Tessa’s entire world would collapse around her.

  As if she’d conjured the woman, Jade approached. Her smile widened. “Looks like our high school sweethearts are getting along.” She spoke into her microphone, at the same time keeping eye contact with the camera. “We have another surprise.”

  Tessa didn’t think she could handle another surprise. All she’d wanted out of the show was a new haircut. If this day taught her anything it was to never procrastinate. If she’d taken the time to update her look, her daughter wouldn’t have had a reason to call the show. Lesson number two: never go on a talk show.

  Matt stood and held a hand out to help Tessa. She slipped her hand into his. Warm strong fingers closed around hers. The heat moved up her arm. Tingles tightened her nipples beneath the silk of her dress. “Thank you,” she said, a bit breathless. High heels didn’t help the wobble in her knees.

  Matt wrapped an arm around her waist and supported her against his side. He leaned in close, his breath tickling her ear, and whispered, “Let’s have some fun and make it good for the cameras.”

  Make it good for the cameras, what’s that supposed to mean? “Matt—” He stopped any further words by dragging her close. She caught sight of his devious grin a moment before he captured her lips. His mouth covered hers and her heart fluttered. Firm lips confidently moved against hers. This was nothing like she remembered.

  This was better. A perfect kiss, lips to lips, tantalizing textures to tempt and to hint at the promise of passion given a more private setting. He didn’t try to part her lips, deepen the kiss, although she ached for a taste of his tongue.

  Cheers of approval penetrated through the mind-numbing fog. Tessa slipped her hands between their bodies and pressed her palms to his chest. With a slight push she broke the kiss.

  Hit the erotic jackpot.

  Sin City

  © 2010 Lacey Alexander

  Hot in the City, Book 2

  Diana Marsh is trying to change her wicked ways. She’s even dating a guy everyone agrees is prime husband material—conservative and boring, everything her family could wish for. There’s only one secret vice left to eliminate: Marc Davenport, the super sexy co-worker she’s been flirting with online. A business trip to Las Vegas is her opportunity to do just that, to sow the last of her wild oats with Marc before retiring behind the white picket fence. And where better than the ultra-erotic playground of Sin City?

  A new job awaits Marc in France, and a casual fling with Diana is the perfect send-off—together they indulge in every conceivable hot and scintillating fantasy the town has to offer. Even if her resolve to turn off her sensual nature bothers Marc, he reminds himself that their naughty games are only temporary and she’s a determined woman with a plan.

  However, when the two are ripped apart without warning, all bets are off. To Marc, Diana’s wild side is too beautiful to be contained. Too beautiful, he suddenly realizes, to let him walk away without playing to win.

  Warning: Contains a full deck of erotic delights and a heroine who’s holding all the cards—three of a kind and everything’s wild. Who says the house always wins?

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Sin City:

  Diana Marsh had just switched off the light next to her bed when the phone rang. She reached out in the darkness and put the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s me.” Marc Davenport, her work associate and long-distance friend. Or was he more than a friend?

  Their office-to-office work calls had gotten longer and more flirtatious recently, and hearing his voice made her smile in the dark. “Hey.”

  “You sound sleepy—were you asleep? Damn, what time is it there? I totally forgot about the time difference.”

  “It’s—” she switched on the light and sought out her bedside clock, “—just after eleven, but that’s okay. I only went to bed a few minutes ago.” In fact, she’d decided to turn in after she’d given up on him calling, thinking maybe he’d decided it was a bad idea.

  “Are you sure, sweetheart?”

  So simple, one little word—sweetheart. Despite herself, just the sound of the endearment, delivered in his rich baritone, made her breasts ache a little, her pussy tingle with a hint of awareness. “Yeah, I’m sure. I want to talk.”

  It was a first for them—a call outside the office. But the workload had been light today and a phone call to ask her opinion on the wording of an entry in the fall catalog had turned into a phone call about a hundred other things: movies they’d seen lately, music they listened to, Marc’s hopes of moving to Europe for a while, and even the guy Diana was currently seeing—although she’d tried to steer away from that topic quickly. Before they’d finally hung up, Marc had said, “Hey, why don’t I call you later tonight? We can talk some more.”

  She’d agreed, thinking it was safe, harmless. Just a little fun, just talking with a friend—a friend that sent frissons of heat echoing through her veins more and more lately.

  But she couldn’t think about that—in fact, she had to stop those feelings before they got out of control.

  Because Diana was done being the black sheep of the family, finished being the Class A Bad Girl she’d been her whole life. She was cleaning up her act, playing it safe for a change.

  Surely a late night call from a…friend wouldn’t interfere with that?

  “I thought maybe you’d forgotten,” she said, “or decided not to call.”

  “No way, sweetheart—you know I love to hear your pretty voice. I’d have called earlier, but I just got home.”

  “I hope you weren’t at the office all this time.” Marc worked at the company’s corporate headquarters in Las Vegas, where she calculated the time to be after eight.

  “No, nothing like that. I just went out with some guys after work. A long happy hour.”

  “Sounds fun.” Diana didn’t do happy hour anymore and the pleasure-seeking part of her soul experienced a small bout of envy.

  “I wouldn’t have called, though, if I’d known you’d already put on your jammies and gotten all tucked in to bed.”

  She laughed. “I’m not exactly four years old, you know. I don’t have a strict bedtime.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, I’m very aware you’re not a little girl.”

  “And just what does that mean?” she asked in a playful tone. Despite talking on the phone a couple of times a week for the past year, not to mention sending lots of e-mail—some of it work-related, some of it chatty—she and Marc had never met.

  “I’ve seen your picture on the company website, sweetheart,” he admitted. She’d seen his, too, and found him utterly hot—the best-looking thing in a suit and tie she’d ever laid eyes on.

  “And?”

  “And…” She could almost hear his playful grin. “I liked what I saw. A lot.”

  “What did you like so much?”

  “Your gorgeous brown hair with just a hint of auburn, your hazel eyes and creamy skin, and that sexy pinstripe suit you were wearing.”

  She let out a small giggle. “You can’t even see my suit below the shoulders in that picture. And besides, I didn’t know pinstripes were sexy.”

  “What can I say? Professional women get me hot.”

  Diana didn’t reply, just sat up in bed a little and let herself get hot at the knowledge that she wasn’t the only one caught up in a bit of lust here.

  “Just please tell me,” he said, “that the skirt is as short as I like to imagine it is.”

  She let her voice go a little husky. “Uh, yeah, it is. I’m a short skirt kinda girl.”

  “Mmm, I like the sound of that.”

  But I’m a good girl, too, she reminded herself. Marc had the ability to
make her forget herself, the self she intended to be from now on.

  “So what kind of pajama girl are you? What are you wearing right now?”

  She sucked in her breath—this was starting to get steamy. And was about to get even steamier, she had a feeling. “The white baby-doll tank and panty set from the catalog,” she said, unduly gratified to know he’d be able to picture the skimpy outfit with ease. They were employed by Adrianna, Inc., a maker of fine lingerie and loungewear, and Marc worked on the team that designed and produced the quarterly catalogs.

  “Damn, honey—any chance you’re on a cell phone that can send me a picture?”

  She laughed. “Even if I was, what makes you think I’d send you one of me in my little nighties?”

  His chuckle was rich and full-bodied. “Well, maybe you wouldn’t, not yet. But I bet I could talk you into it.”

  “How?”

  “That’s for me to know,” he said, then shifted the subject back to her baby-doll tank set. “So, tell me, does the ultra-soft cotton we describe in the catalog feel as good against your skin as we promise?”

  She smiled to herself. “Mmm-hmm. Very soft and silky, just like the copy says.”

  “And do your nipples show through the white?”

  Her breath caught and her cunt turned restless, tickly. “I’ll…have to check on that,” she said, aware her voice had come out more whispery than she’d intended. Getting up, she walked to her dresser and glanced in the mirror. Two dark, sexy shadows puckered against the fabric; her breasts turned heavy. Returning to the bed, she picked up the phone, bit her lip slightly, then answered. “Yes, quite clearly, in fact.”

  “Mmm, I bet you’ve got very pretty breasts.”

  She wished he could see the come-hither smile she knew she wore. “Well, if I do say so myself…”