There was another letter, sitting there on her desk. She felt
her heart skip a beat as heat pooled low in her belly. Glancing around, she made
sure nobody else had seen it. More instinctive than anything, since she was
usually one of the first ones in the office.
Slowly, her hands shaking, she reached out. A poem this time? Another short story
that would have her quivering and ready to beg for climax?
Nope.
Not this time.
This time it just read, Soon.
Holy shit, he had meant it.
Whoever it was that called her late at night—whoever it was that left these
dirty little stories, or romantic poems—was going to finally come out and meet
her. Face to face.
The first letter had come nearly four months earlier, on Valentine’s Day, with a
basket that held some interesting little items. A pair of cloth restraints— like
handcuffs—but made of soft material that wouldn’t cause pain. A feather. A
bottle of massage oil.
A can of whipped cream.
And a magnet.
The magnet had read
You.
Me.
Handcuffs.
Whipped Cream.
Any questions?
Since then, only the stiff ivory envelopes made of a heavy bond paper that had
linen in it. The writing was all handwritten and looked familiar, but she
couldn’t place it. Sweeping, rather elegant looking, especially for a man.
A month after the letters had started, the phone calls had begun.
She rubbed her left hand nervously against her pants, the ring on her finger
flashing at her mockingly.
The letters had started less than a week after Tyson had proposed. And when she
told, rather reluctantly, the mystery man—who refused to give his name when he
called her—he had only responded, “The man isn’t right for you.”
She suspected the letters had started because of the proposal. And she also
suspected her mystery man was right. Just reading his letter left her more
turned on than foreplay with Tyson. Very tepid foreplay, at that.
If just his letters, his voice were enough to make her cleft wet and aching,
what would touching him, him touching her, be like?
She was going to find out.
But maybe she should tell Tyson.
* * * * *
The cool eyed blond sitting across from her started to tap his fingers steadily
on the white tablecloth. He lifted his water glass and sipped from it before
setting it back down and staring her like she was a lab specimen under a
microscope.
He was angry.
She had rarely seen Tyson James angry, but the tic throbbing in his chin was a
pretty good give away. “Why haven’t you called the police?” he finally asked.
The police? Why on earth would she call the police? The thought must have been
written all over her face because Tyson leaned forward and said, “You have
somebody stalking you, leaving you threatening presents and notes, calling you
at home, and you haven’t called the police, you little idiot. This isn’t like
you, Tessa.”
Her eyes narrowed as she said slowly, carefully, “I am not idiot. He doesn’t
want to hurt me, Ty.”
“Handcuffs? You don’t think that’s threatening?” Tyson drawled, shaking his
head.
No. She thought it was exciting.
Handcuffed to a bed, maybe even blindfolded, while a man ran knowing hands over
her body? While he fucked her from behind, slapping at her ass…Tessa felt her
nipples tighten, and through the silk of her shirt, she knew Tyson could see it
as well. Her cleft was aching again, and dripping. She could feel the cream
soaking through her panties and had an image of the mystery man sitting beside
her, sliding his hand high up her thigh, dragging his fingers through her wet
folds, caressing her clit while carrying on a conversation.
“Tessa.”
She shook her head and opened smoky eyes to stare into Tyson’s face. His face
was tight and grim. Slowly, he stood, tossing some bills down on the table. “I
need to get back to the office,” he said quietly, the rage throbbing in his
voice. “And I think you need to figure out what you want in life. If it’s me,
then you’re going to go home like a good little girl, gather up all those
letters and take them to the police.”
He came closer and lowered his head to whisper in her ear, “And for God’s sake,
have some dignity. You look like you’re ready to get fucked right here.”
Her face flamed as he walked away. She was certain everybody was staring at her,
but when she glanced around, no one seemed to be watching her. She waited until
her breathing slowed and then she stood up, leaving a few extra ones on the
table.
Tyson was one of the area’s most respected physicians, a gifted cardiologist who
repaired the damage done to the human heart with his own surgical skills and the
help of modern medicine.
But when it came to understanding the human heart, the man was clueless.
Silk Scarves & Seduction
His hands were sweating.
A pulse was throbbing
viciously in his temple and his throat was tight.
Marc hadn’t ever been so
damned turned on in his entire life. And all he was
doing was looking at pictures.
More pictures.
The scarf was red lace
this time, the open weave of the pattern showing enough
skin that Marc could tell she most likely shaved or
waxed. She had draped herself over something so that all
he could see was her thighs, her covered cleft, and her
belly, before her torso arrowed back and down, out of
sight.
Then another, with the
position reversed. And her fine, fine ass was showing,
the scarf laying diagonally, from one shoulder down
across her back to the opposite hip. But he couldn’t
even see her neck, not the color of her hair, not
anything. Just from her shoulders to her ass.
Then a profile shot and
she had used the scarf to bind her breasts.
And oh, fuck she had one
hand buried between her thighs.
Damn it, he was going to
paddle her ass for doing this to him.
One of the Guys
Damn, Jaynie.
More than an hour had passed and Brian’s husky, rough voice
still echoed through her mind. She lay naked on the guest bed. She had long
since kicked the covers away and the sheet lay in a tangle around her hips.
Shivers raced over her flesh as she recalled the look in his eyes. That heat—it
had surprised her. More, she was surprised by how she’d reacted to it. Like she
hadn’t ever seen hunger in a man’s gaze before.
She had, but for some reason Jaynie couldn’t remember it
affecting her quite like this. Dean had been her first lover, and her only one.
She liked it that way and didn’t particularly care if it seemed a little
old-fashioned.
She liked sex with him—it was hot, it was intense, or so she
had thought. Jaynie hadn’t ever worried about their sex life and it wasn’t
something they ever really talked about. At least, not since college.
The sex had always seemed good to her and he hadn’t ever
voiced any complaints. Until this past week, she hadn’t ever really doubted
herself as a woman.
Until this past week. Logically, Jaynie knew that was why
Dean had said those things. He’d wanted to hurt her, though she didn’t really
understand why. He was the one who’d screwed around. And damn, had he ever
screwed around. She had a bad feeling that this wasn’t a new thing for him so
how in hell could he act like she had betrayed him?
Not that it mattered. He had done it and his words had done
more damage than Jaynie could have imagined. She was miserable, insecure,
aching, scared and heartbroken. Under the weight of those emotions, the anger
had flickered out like a fire deprived of oxygen. She wanted the anger back.
She’d take the heat of anger over the chill of misery and loneliness any day.
But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t find that
anger. She couldn’t find that heat. Even though it was the dead of summer, she
walked through the days frozen to the core.
Then Brian had inadvertently opened the bathroom door and
the heat she’d seen in his eyes had melted some the ice inside her. But the
anger hadn’t blazed back to life inside her. Oh, there was heat, but it wasn’t
the fire of anger. It was every bit as potent as rage, and every bit of heady.
Jaynie didn’t think about what she was doing as she climbed
out of bed and wrapped the sheet around her. If she thought about what she was
getting ready to do, she would panic and run. She didn’t want to do either.
Kate was out on a date and she had waggled her fingers at
them on her way out and said, “Don’t wait up.” Moving through the house in a
daze, she paused by Kate’s bedroom at the foot of the stairs and stepped
inside. As always, the light was on, and as always, the room looked like a
tornado had swept through it. Lacy bras, panties and flirty little skirts were
tossed haphazardly here and there. On the bed was a shopping bag and Jaynie
peeked inside. The robe was nearly the same color of peach as the lipstick had
been. It still had the tags on it and Jaynie used her teeth to pull them free,
all the while staring straight ahead.
If she stopped to think about what she was doing, she’d
freeze again. Jaynie was damn tired of being cold. She paused at the mirror and
stared at her reflection. The peach silk lay against her tanned skin, clung to
the stiff peaks of her nipples. She tied the belt tightly and then slid her hands
under her hair, pulling it free from the robe. It tumbled down her back, the
thick gold-streaked strands razor straight.
For a second, she hesitated, staring at her reflection. She
closed her eyes and when she did, she saw Brian’s intense turquoise stare, hot
and focused. If she started to panic or think, all she needed was that memory
and she knew she’d feel steady enough to go through with this.
He wasn’t in his room. She turned and stared back down the
staircase, uncertain of where he might be. He hadn’t gone out. She would have
heard his truck if he’d left the house.
She headed back downstairs, made her way into the kitchen
and from there she heard the muffled sounds of his breathing, strained and
harsh. She heard metal clank as she opened the basement door. It was dim down
there. Her feet were soundless on the carpeted steps as she descended.
Jaynie’s breath hitched a little as she stared at Brian. He
was lying on the weight bench, his gaze on the ceiling, his features blank as
he lifted the heavy bar up and slowly lowered it back down. He didn’t make any
of the annoying grunts and groans that Dean liked to make when he worked out.
The only sounds she heard were his heavy breathing. He did ten reps as she
watched.
She waited until he put the bar down and sat up before she
moved. She didn’t make a sound, she knew she hadn’t, but his head turned and
for a brief moment there was a fiery heat burning in the depths of his gaze. Then
he blinked and when he looked at her, his expression was shuttered.
That blank look cracked as she lowered her hands to the robe’s
belt. She didn’t say anything at first, just opened the robe and stood there as
he looked at her. He stared at her breasts and she shuddered a little when he
licked his lips. His big hands clenched into fists and under the thin cotton
shorts, she could see the swelling of his cock. His gaze moved down her body.
Jaynie had to fight not to jerk the robe closed when his gaze fastened on her
sex. A muscle jerked in his jaw and Jaynie felt an answering throb deep inside.
He wanted her. The relief that flooded her was unreal. It
didn’t matter that he was probably just reacting to the physical stimulus of a
woman standing naked in front of him. It was a basic, honest human reaction—a
man wanting a woman. That was all she needed, to know that she hadn’t totally
failed and that she could react. Men could want her and she could feel heat—she
hadn’t frozen up.
“I need you to touch me,” Jaynie said softly when he finally
looked up at her face.
“Jaynie—”
She knew what he was going to say and before he could form
any words to try to talk sense into her, she shrugged her shoulders and sent
the robe to the floor in a puddle of peach silk. “I don’t want anything more
than you touching me, your hands on me. I’m not looking to find a replacement
for Dean and you don’t need to feel anything more than what you’re already
feeling. I need to be touched, Brian, and I want you to do it.”
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