Erin McCarthy » rerelease

Bit the Jackpot

admin — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 07:00:00 +0000

Cara couldn’t even imagine why she had thought it was a good idea to go out into the alley wearing jeans, flip flops, and a short satin robe. No bra. No cell phone. No purse. She had lost her everlovin’ mind, and if she hadn’t been drinking bottled water only all night, she would swear she’d been drugged. It was the only explanation for why she was crouched in a corner watching Seamus Fox- if that was really his name- brawling with two fat guys in bad outfits. And they weren’t just fighting. They were doing some freaky shit. At first it had looked like normal punches but then Seamus had gone all Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, doing moves that looked humanly impossible. He was like a blur in a black T-shirt, and at one point, she could absolutely swear he had actually risen vertically in the air. She was too scared to move, afraid they might see her if she tried to sneak back in the door. Clearly even though Seamus was outnumbered, she wasn’t going to be of any assistance to him. Her major talents in life were dancing naked and animal care. Somehow she didn’t think doing a hip rock or clipping his nails would help Seamus at the moment. It would be best to leave them to their beating the crap out of each other thing, but Cara had retreated too far from the door to go back in without being seen. Cara? Seamus called to her, shattering her illusion that she hadn’t been spotted. Not to mention she was almost certain he hadn’t spoken out loud. Just in her head. She licked her lips nervously. What? she whispered tentatively, her lips moving automatically even if no sound came out. Go back in the club, beautiful. She fell back on her butt, startled that she could hear him so clearly in her head. Yet he wasn’t even looking at her. He was slamming one of the big guys into the brick wall. I’m serious. They want to kill me. Get back inside. It seemed like a good plan. Get back inside away from big, hairy men throwing punches. But for some reason her legs weren’t moving. Leaving Seamus all alone just didn’t seem right. She bit her fingernail nervously. If she ran toward the door, she could call 911 and get Seamus help. That would be the smartest thing to do. She stood up, hugging the wall, staying in the shadows as she inched toward the door. Right then Seamus leaped six feet in the air in the most unbelievable move Cara had ever seen and kicked one of the guys in the back of head. It should have dropped the big dude to the ground, but instead, he just growled and bared his teeth. The streetlight was right on his face and Cara had a perfect view of his face and mouth. Of his fangs. “Arrghh,” she said involuntarily, covering her mouth with her hand. Those were not just exceptionally large canines. Those were fangs. And Seamus was leaping through the air like he had superpowers. Something was very, very wrong here. Now the big guy had seen her. “Who are you?” he asked, getting back to his feet after kissing concrete. He took a step toward her, a leer on his face. He wasn’t as ugly as the other guy, who was currently in a headlock under Seamus’s armpit, but he looked stupid. “Leave her be. I’ll wipe her memory,” Seamus said. Excuse me? That didn’t sound pleasant. Cara started fast walking toward the door. Stupid cut her off, stepping right in front of her escape path. His nostrils flared. “You smell good.” Cara grimaced. That just didn’t sound like a compliment. But to prevent pissing him off, she murmured, “Thank you.” If she ran the other way, toward the street, she could get help. She chanced a glance at Seamus. He still had the ugly guy in his grip, but was getting his head pounded against the wall in retaliation. Cara winced. That must hurt. That was brain damage in the making. It was up to her to make a break for it. Especially since Stupid was leaning towards her, his mouth wide open. “I bet you taste really good, too,” he said. Eeew. Time to move it. “What’s that?” Cara asked, pointing behind the guy’s right shoulder. “What?” He turned. She ran like hell to the end of the alley and out into the street. It was a good plan. What she hadn’t factored in was the possibility of a car driving right in that particular spot. She popped out with too much momentum to slow down, even as she realized an SUV was only a few feet from her. She felt the impact of the huge car like a massive shove, her brain rattling, her breath sucking right out of her lungs. Then she was hurtling through the air with nothing to hold onto, a scream stuck in her throat. This could be a problem. Cara landed, pain ripping through her entire body, crunching and jarring and tearing. Then with great relief, she passed out.

Date With the Other Side

admin — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 07:00:00 +0000

Haunted house tour guide Shelby Tucker gets hot and bothered when she stumbles upon sexy, naked Boston McNamara. She knows he’s no ghost, though he does makes her weak in the knees.

——

“McCarthy manages to keep her characters grounded and real. A Date with the Other Side is cute, fun, and doesn’t require any heavy lifting. It’s my third and favorite book so far by this relatively new author. If you are looking for a steamy and amusing read, give it a shot.” – Sybil Cook from All About Romance

“Ghostly matchmakers add a fun flair to this warmhearted and delightful tale. A Date With the Other Side is an amusing and sexy charmer sure to bring a smile to your face.” – Jill M. Smith from RTBook Reviews

“Erin McCarthy always does an excellent job of combining laugh-out-loud humor with sizzling, steamy passion. A DATE WITH THE OTHER SIDE is no exception!” - Alane from Romance Junkies

High Stakes

admin — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 07:00:00 +0000

“He offered me a lot of money to do it, Alexis, and I might have said no except I realized that it was important for me to spend time with Ethan and his staff, because I need to save them from eternal damnation.” Huh? Alexis stared at her sister, waiting for anything about that sentence to make sense. “Umm… eternal damnation? Baby, what are you talking about?” Brittany had always led with her heart, but she’d never shown signs of insanity before. Brittany tossed her long black hair over her bare shoulders and nodded. “Yes, eternal damnation. They’re all vampires, Alex.” “Vampires? Vampires. Vam-pires?” Alexis felt her blood pressure rising like an elevator. She’d started out on the fear floor and was heading straight towards furious. A headache was brewing behind her eyes, and she wished that Brittany wasn’t six inches taller than her, so she could just grab her sister and haul her ass home where she belonged. “You mean like Dracula? Blood sucking demons with bad breath, nocturnal habits, and an aversion to crosses, stakes, and garlics? That’s crazy.” “Yes.” “Yes, what?” Alexis rammed her hands in her suit pocket. “Yes, it’s crazy, or yes, they’re blood sucking demons?” “Both. I know it’s hard to believe, but Ethan is a vampire, and he needs our help.” Our help? The only thing Alexis was going to give him was a flying roundhouse kick into the crotch. Not only was he a rich casino owner, he got his jollies running some kind of goofy club/cult of creepy pale people who all had her little sister believing they were freaking vampires. Dead people. Undead. Double dead. Whatever you wanted to call it. They weren’t any of it. And what they wanted to do on their own loser time was their business, but since they had dragged Brittany into their weird hobbies, Alexis was not happy. In fact, she was so angry her mouth went hot and the hallway spun a quick tilt. “I’ll help him, Brit.” She jammed her purse back onto her shoulder. She’d help escort him to the police station to answer a few questions. And prosecute his ass away from her sister and straight into prison. Ethan heard the moment Alexis and Brittany stopped speaking by the elevator bank and headed towards the reception room. Even while chatting with Peter Federov about his winnings at the Bellagio’s elite poker table, Ethan sensed the angry footsteps marching in his direction long before he saw Alexis. She was muttering, even though he couldn’t decipher the words, in an irritated way that amused him, as he sipped vintage blood from a champagne flute. “Thirty grand in one hand,” Peter was saying. “Like taking candy from babies, since I can sense everything going on in their minds.” “That’s not exactly ethical, Peter,” he said automatically, though he was distracted. Now he could smell Alexis, a warm blend of vanilla lotion and the natural scent of her skin, a salty anxiety. The steady, rapid beat of her heart echoed in his sensitive eardrums, and the cadence of her walking drummed in harmony with the pulsing of her veins. With chilled, aged blood on his lips, the taste a sharp, dry, subtle satisfaction, he suddenly wanted more. Sweet, warm, immediate blood, like a bubbly Riesling wine, straight from the source into his mouth, where it would roll over his tongue and fill his cheeks and make his eyes slip shut with pleasure. “Screw ethical, Carrick. Why do we have these talents if we can not use them? If we want something, we should take it.” Take it. Ethan could take it. He could draw Alexis to him and take her thick, rich blood, and she would never know. It had been a long time since he’d fed straight from a mortal, and he was suddenly very thirsty for the experience.

Heiress for Hire

admin — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 07:00:00 +0000

There were some things money couldn’t buy. For everything else, there was her father. Since Brett Delmar couldn’t- or wouldn’t- provide Amanda Delmar with love, affection, or respect, at the very least she figured he should foot the bill for a few of life’s necessities. And luxuries. “Daddy, just two hundred. That’s all I need.” Amanda checked out her manicure and grimaced. If he could only see how godawful her nails looked, he would understand that this was an emergency. “Why not make it two thousand? Why not make it ten thousand?” Her father’s sarcasm came crackling through her cell phone. She decided to ignore it. “That’s so sweet of you! And it’s not even my birthday.” That wheezing was probably the sound of his blood pressure going up. She felt a momentary twinge of guilt. She didn’t want to give him a heart attack. She just wanted a manicure. “Amanda Margaret.” Ouch. Trotting out the middle name was never a good thing. Amanda set the swing on her front porch swaying. She ran her fingers idly through the lilac bush that hugged the porch as she rocked back and forth. She was enjoying her summer in Cuttersville, Ohio. It was quaint and different and full of fawning men, eager to pay court to the rich girl from Chicago. But it had its drawbacks in that there were actually establishments that only accepted cash, as unbelievable as it seemed. And her father with his many mountains of money was back in Illinois, getting cranky about her spending habits. Which was ironic since he had created those spending habits, nurtured them in her. He had praised her beauty and her style as a child, and scoffed at her attempts to use her brain. Now he found those very traits he had fostered in her annoying. All her attempts to please him had failed, and around about her eighteenth birthday she had stopped trying. “Yes, Daddy?” If he could use sarcasm, surely he would recognize it. “Have you heard of Tough Love?” Amanda stopped playing with the tips of her hair extensions and frowned. Maybe she had been in the country too long ogling brawny farmers and getting back to nature. “Is that a new designer? Did P. Diddy start a line of street wear? Why haven’t I heard of it?” He snorted. “No, it’s not a goddamn clothing line. It’s what I’m about to do for your own good, because I love you and you need to get serious, Amanda. You’re almost twenty-six goddamn years old. When I was your age I was making half a million a year already.” Amanda moved her mouth in a silent, “blah, blah, blah.” She had heard this speech before. Could recite it backwards and forwards and in French. “You need to work for your money.” She was. Listening to him blather was hard, painful work, and she had to endure it every time she needed cash. It was as bad as flipping burgers at McDonald’s would be, she’d bet. Maybe it was time to get a job. Not that she was qualified to do anything, given her degree in Art Appreciation. But it was getting a little old to beg for money all the time, and the childish satisfaction of spending her father’s fortune no longer had quite the same charm. My God, maybe she was actually maturing. There was a scary thought. Amanda reached down and scooped up Baby, her teacup poodle, and stroked her downy head. She was getting stressed out, and Baby was soothing, her fluffy fur poofing around Amanda’s fingers. Baby’s devotion was simple and uncomplicated, and Amanda appreciated that. “So, this time, I’m serious, Amanda, I’ve had it. I’m instituting Tough Love. In the end we’ll both be happier this way.” Amanda heard herself sigh. She really was getting too old for these circular arguments. There was no fight left in her. That’s why she was nesting in the country, to relax. “What are you talking about? What does Tough Love actually mean?” “It means I’m cutting you off. No more money.” “What?” The words didn’t make sense. They were unintelligible to her. Daddy was money, money was Daddy, and he couldn’t possibly mean… “No. More. Money. Ever. That’s what I mean. You’ll have to fend for yourself from here on out. I know your rent is paid for the duration of the summer, so you’ll have plenty of time to look for work. There’s the two thousand I gave you last week. That should hold you over until your first paycheck.” “It’s gone already! Baby needed dog food.” And she had needed a new handbag, one better equipped to handle the dust of the country. “What the hell is the dog eating? Beluga? Christ, Amanda, give me a break. That dog is the size of an egg. It probably eats a can of dog food a month.” Amanda felt the beginnings of panic, followed by pure anger. How absolutely like him. He gave, and he taketh away. Her father had a serious power trip going on. He just loved being the one in control, holding the cards, manipulating her life. Well, she wasn’t going to beg. Not this time. She’d just run to the money machine instead and make a large cash withdrawal on her credit cards. All six of them. “Well, if you’re really serious about this…” she paused, giving him time to regain his sanity. “I am.” “Then I have to go. I have to find a job before I die of starvation and exposure.” Or worse, her cell phone ran out of minutes.

An Enchanted Season

admin — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 07:00:00 +0000

“I just have one question,” Will Thornton said casually as he stood on a ladder and nailed fresh evergreen swags above Charlotte Murphy’s front door. “What?” Charlotte dragged her gaze off the seat of Will’s jeans with a significant amount of effort, refusing to feel guilty. Lord, Will was slow sometimes. Her arms were straining under the weight of the boughs she was holding for him and her feet were getting cold in a hurry. Checking out the view he provided at eye-level from his position on the ladder was fair compensation for the discomfort she was enduring. “Who just grabbed my ass?” Charlotte almost fell off the front step. “What? What are you talking about?” Okay, so maybe she had entertained the idea once- or nine hundred times- of cupping his backside and giving a nice, hard little squeeze, but she would never act on it. Probably. She was pretty sure. But definitely if she did, she would know it. Savor it. Make it count. “Someone just copped a feel, and since I can see you out of the corner of my eye, and your hands are full, I was just wondering if you could tell whoever did it that it’s not wise to grope a man on a ladder, unless she wants me to break my neck.” Glancing around to confirm what she knew, Charlotte frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s nobody here but us.” And her libido. “Your sister did it, didn’t she? That sounds like Bree.” Will reached for another swag and Charlotte passed it up to him. “Bree went shopping an hour ago.” Which was classic Bree. Ditch out doing the Christmas decorating for their house with an excuse about getting pomegranates for a centerpiece. Like there were any pomegranates in the tiny grocery in Cuttersville, Ohio. Bree just wanted to peruse the bookstore, gossip at the hair salon, and stay out long enough to avoid having to drag all the boxes of ornaments out of the basement. “Abby?” Will asked doubtfully. “Abby! My baby sister, who is only seventeen, need I remind you, did not touch your butt, Will. No one did.” For crying out loud, did he want someone to touch it? If she were a little bolder, she’d just reach out and smack it right now to really give him something to think about. But she wasn’t bold. She was the opposite of bold- she was pastel pink on the color wheel. “Someone did. I know what I felt.” Now his voice sounded stubborn, his hammer pounding harder. “Well, I didn’t.” “Course not.” That was irritating. He didn’t think she could, or would, or didn’t think she should? How was it that he could suspect her little sister, a junior in high school, of grabbing him, but she was a no way, never happen? Was she so staid and boring and vanilla that it would never occur to him that she did actually have a sex drive, though it was well hidden and brought only out on special occasions like full moons and when the annual firefighter’s hottie calendar hit the bookstore in town? “Then I guess it was just wishful thinking, Will, because we’re the only two people standing here.” “Huh,” he said, leaning against the ladder for support and glancing left and right. “That’s really weird.” What was weird that never once in the last eight years had Will so much as suspected she liked him more than was appropriate for good friends. Yet she did. She loved him with a passion and urgency that was just downright embarrassing when she allowed herself to ponder it- or wallow, which was probably more frequently. But he didn’t seem to be on to her. To Will, she was just Charlotte, his best pal. Damn it.

Bled Dry

admin — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 07:00:00 +0000

“Well, it’s not the flu.” Brittany Baldizzi watched her general practitioner tuck her hair behind her ear as she stepped back into the room. Perched on the edge of the examination table, Brittany was seriously confused. “An ulcer then? I’ve felt this awful nausea for weeks.” “Not an ulcer.” Dr. Hopkins smiled. “You’re pregnant.” “Excuse me?” The room went stark white and a buzzing rang in Brittany’s ears. “Pregnant? I can’t be pregnant!” There was no way. It wasn’t possible. “Have you been practicing abstinence?” Dr. Hopkins asked with a rueful shrug. “Yes, I’ve been totally abstinent.” How in the hell could she be pregnant? Dr. Hopkins raised her eyebrows. “Really?” Okay, so that wasn’t completely true. “Well, mostly. I’ve only had sex once in the last six months.” But that had been with Corbin Atelier, and that didn’t count because he was a vampire. “Once is all it takes.” Normally. When you were having sex with regular, mortal men. “But…” Brittany rubbed her head. “He can’t have children.” She didn’t think. Of course, he had never really said he couldn’t have children. But neither had he suggested birth control. “I’m sorry this is such a shock, Brittany, but obviously he can have children, because you are definitely pregnant.” “Well, I had no idea.” That vampires had sperm. Which was a stupid assumption on her part. After all, hadn’t her brother-in-law sworn to her up, down, and sideways that her own biological father had to be a vampire? But she hadn’t put two and two together when she and Corbin had been talking that night. Though to be to totally honest, it wasn’t like she and Corbin had devoted a whole lot of time to conversation when he had climbed in her bedroom window and asked for blood. She’d given him her blood and her body, and now he had given her a baby. Holy crap. It really would have been nice if he had warned her his boys could still swim. Corbin Atelier stared out the window at the Vegas cityscape, feeling restless with his confinement. He’d been living in Las Vegas for nearly four decades, and never had he felt the yoke around him so tightly as now. There was no reason for it, but he longed to be able to leave the desert, to fly to the ocean, to the mountains, to smell the crisp air of Paris in late October. A knock sounded on the door of the suite of rooms he had been staying in for the past two weeks as he oversaw Ringo Columbia’s withdrawal from his drug blood addiction. Corbin made no moment to answer the door, staring, searching, wanting some kind of answer from the view in front of him. “There’s someone here,” Ringo said. Corbin turned and saw that Ringo was slumped on the divan with his eyes closed, legs stretched out in front of him. A cigarette dangled at his lips, and his cheeks were pale, skin sallow. The knocking came louder. “Would you answer that?” Ringo asked, voice rising in irritation. “It’s probably Kelsey.” Corbin didn’t know what the relationship was between Ringo and Ethan Carrick’s secretary, but her visits usually had a positive affect on the patient. However, this wasn’t Kelsey. “It’s a mortal. I can sense it.” Corbin moved to answer the door, suppressing a sigh. He had work to do and every day he spent stuck in Carrick’s casino, forced into the role of part prison guard, part medical doctor to Ringo, the longer his research was delayed. Brittany Baldizzi was standing in front of him when he pulled open the door. Corbin was so startled he said the very stupid and obvious, “Brittany! This is a surprise.” “Hi, Corbin.” Her cheeks went pink, and her eyes didn’t quite meet his. “How are you feeling?” he asked. “Are you recovered from the flu?” Truthfully, she still didn’t look one hundred percent healthy. Her skin tone was off, and she looked like she had lost weight. Corbin felt both worried and guilty. He should have checked up on her a second time, but he hadn’t been entirely comfortable with his own feelings towards Brittany, so he had avoided her. Yet again. He had done plenty of avoiding as well following the night he had bedded her. “How did you know I had the flu?” she asked, looked startled. “I saw you. I came to your apartment one night when you were sick.” The night he had heard her call him mentally, felt her suffering. Without thinking, he had gone straight to her and found her sick in her bathroom. He could have sworn at the time that she didn’t have a fever, but she must have if she didn’t even remember seeing him. Her eyes went wide. “You were really there? I just thought…” “What?” “That I was dreaming.” This beautiful woman he had made love to thought he was in her dreams? That pleased Corbin more than it should. “No. I was there. I put you to bed.” “Oh. Well, thanks.” “You are welcome.” Corbin suddenly remembered that he had manners. “Would you like to come in? Are you here to see Ringo?” She shook her head. “No. I’ve actually never even met Ringo. I wanted to talk to you for a minute. Privately.” He couldn’t possibly imagine what she wanted to discuss with him, but she looked so anxious Corbin didn’t hesitate. He admittedly had a rather soft spot when it came to Brittany. Not to mention he’d been attracted to her since the first night they met, when she had thought he was a serial killer. “Certainly. We can go into the other room.” It was a bedroom, which wasn’t the best place to be escorting a woman he thought was so beautiful, a woman he’d impulsively made love to in a moment of total sexual weakness. It had been a wonderful, madly erotic five minutes, and a bed was sure to remind him of that, but the only other option was the bathroom, and he was too much a man of the nineteenth century to speak to her by the commode. He offered her a seat in the sleek gray suede chair next to the bed, but she shook her head. “What is the matter?” he asked, unable to resist the urge to smooth her hair back from her forehead. She really looked ill, and he felt prickles of concern. “Corbin… I’m pregnant,” she blurted, looking eyes with him for a second, before dropping her gaze to the floor. “Pardon?” She’d spoken so quickly, mostly to the carpet, that surely he had misunderstood. Those dark eyes, that he found so innocently alluring, locked onto his. “I’m pregnant. I’m having a baby.” That was rather unpleasant news. Granted, he had not spoken to her since the night they had made love, aside from when she’d been ill, but he had foolishly thought she had felt the same way as him- knocked off his feet by their encounter. He had not so much as looked at another woman in those eight weeks, yet she had moved to another man’s bed. He was not so memorable, it seemed. “Ah. Zat explains the vomiting,” he said, his English slipping as it always did when he was irritated. “Morning sickness, yes? Well, I wish you happy.” The last remaining bits of color in her cheeks leeched away. She frowned at him. “Is that all you’re going to say?” Corbin shifted uneasily. He didn’t see how the situation called for him to say anything else. “Take care of yourself,” he said politely. “Uh!” Tears came out of nowhere and rolled out of her eyes, scaring Corbin senseless. “What ez the matter? Don’t you want to have a baby?” And why was he the one standing there in complete discomfort patting her arm inanely? Where was the baby’s papa? “I want to have a baby. And I thought that it was only the right thing to do to come and tell you that you’re having a baby, but it seems like I shouldn’t have wasted my night. You could care less!” Corbin listened to her words. Played them back in his brain. Was she saying… “I’m the father?” “Duh. Of course you are!” Brittany swiped at the tears on her face. “Who else would be? You’re the only man I’ve slept with in six months.” Well, that was pleasing- she hadn’t found him so lacking as a lover she’d had to find another. But that also meant… “Mon Dieu, you’re having a baby? Our baby?” “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” Corbin needed to sit down. He needed a drink. He needed to think this through. Good God. A baby? A small, crying, helpless, mortal creature. That was half his, half Brittany’s biology. It didn’t seem possible. There had only been that one night. But he had made no effort to use birth control or even withdraw at the precipitous moment. Quite the opposite. He had enjoyed exploding deep inside Brittany. Just the memory had him shifting, manhood swelling inappropriately. “You are certain?” She sighed. “Yes, Corbin, I’m certain.” “We didn’t use birth control,” he said, trying to reconcile what she was telling him with what had happened. “No. But I didn’t think you had sperm.” Corbin frowned at her, feeling insulted. “Of course I have sperm. I am still a man. I still function, do I not? I have everything that is manly the same as a mortal.” Brittany couldn’t stop a small smile from crossing her face. Corbin looked so outraged and French. “Yes, you still have everything.” And then some. She would never forget how in five minutes he’d given her better sex than some guys had in six months of dating. “Absolutely.” He nodded up and down once. Brittany couldn’t tell how he was taking the news. He didn’t look angry. He looked surprised, but nothing more. Damn, he was cute. She’d almost forgotten how adorable he was in person with his caramel colored hair and rich, chocolate eyes. Corbin rubbed his jaw. “And as such, I owe you an apology. This is my fault and I accept complete responsibility. I will marry you.” Brittany forgot how cute he was. “What!” Of all possible reactions, she hadn’t even considered that one. He was smoking something if he thought she was going to just marry him because he’d gotten her pregnant. And what kind of a proposal was that anyway? A sucky one, that’s what kind. “It is for the best.” He nodded, like everything was decided. “We will marry and hire a nurse to care for the babe.” Someone had fallen back into the nineteenth century and it wasn’t her.

Bad Boys Online

admin — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 07:00:00 +0000

"Hard Drive" “I want to lick your nipples until you…” Kindra jumped in her swivel seat as a low voice spoke over her shoulder. Please don’t let that be who she thought it was. She turned. It was. “Ohmigod. Mack!” Whipping the mouse around on her desktop, she tried frantically to close the email that was up on her computer screen. The dirty email from her cyber-partner, Russ. The dirty email that was being read by her real live crush and co-worker, Mack Stone. God, where was the minimize button? “come like a rocket, hot and wet…” Mack’s amused voice trailed off. “What is this?” “Spam,” she managed to say, a sweat breaking out under her white blouse and black jacket. “I get all kinds of junk emails.” Kindra clicked the close button as Mack’s finger touched the screen. “Then why does it have your name on it?” “I don’t think it did,” she lied without compunction. There was no way she was admitting to Mack “different girlfriend every week” Stone, that she had been engaging in a cyber affair. “Yes, it did,” he insisted. Annoyed, she looked over her shoulder at him and gritted her teeth at his total and utter perfection. Why? Why did she have to spend every day for eight hours looking at this paragon of masculinity? From his short black hair, past the strong jaw, down to the broad chest and gorgeous pecs covered in GQ inspired clothing, and continuing on down… lower, he was perfect. And very out of her league. She glared at him, willing him to back away from her chair and take his arousing after-shave scent with him. A grin spread out across his face, showing off perfect white teeth. He probably never even got cavities. “Kindra Hill, are you having cyber sex? I never would have guessed.” Her impulse was to just push him out of the way and run down the hall and hide in the ladies room until he left the building. But that hadn’t worked in ninth grade when Tommy Slade had pantsed her in front of her geometry class, and she didn’t think it would work now. Two choices here. Deny. Or brazen it out. Being a proverbial wallflower, she had never brazened anything out in her life. It was time to try. Taking a deep breath to gather some courage, she said, “So what if I am?” Okay, what was meant to sound seductive came out defensive. She sounded like a bitter divorcee who goes through a vibrator battery a week. His ice blue eyes went wide. “Then I’d say there’s more to you than meets the eye.” Then he shook his head, clearly curious. “But I figure, why talk about it online, when you can be doing it live and in person?” Yeah, if she had him to do it with. But Kindra’s choices had never been so appealing. After a few mishaps that had ranged from yawn inspiring to borderline gruesome, she had decided she was better off snuggling up with the blue light on her computer screen every night. “It’s easier this way… safer, cleaner,” she mumbled. Then she straightened up and turned back to her computer, on the verge of collapsing from mortification. Had she said that out loud? She had. Mack leaned over her, his hot breath tickling across her ear. His tie fell forward and brushed against the back of her hair, sending a shiver through her. “But it’s so much more fun the old fashioned way.” “Sometimes. And sometimes it’s messy and complicated and just plain lousy.” She gave a shrug that was meant to be worldly and nonchalant, as if she’d sampled men aplenty and found them all lacking. Instead she managed to clip him in the chin. He grunted. “I think you’re wrong.” “I don’t care.” She scooted forward, away from him. Hint, hint, take it please. Go away and take your hot bod with you. “I can prove it to you.” She froze. He couldn’t possibly mean… no. Mack Stone had never given her the time of day before. But if he did mean that, did she want to take him up on it? Her head said of course not, you naïve and greedy slut. Her inner thighs had an altogether different answer, one that had her pantyhose turning into a mini-oven. He wasn’t serious though. “I’m serious,” he said. Help. Kindra opened her mouth, knowing full well her brain had ceased to exist and her crotch was in complete control. “What kind of proof are you talking about?” She fought the urge to clap a hand over her mouth. Now she’d done it. He’d think she was actually interested. Which, of course, she was. But she shouldn’t let him know that. Mack was still leaning over her. He said in a low voice laced with amusement, “I think you know what kind of proof I’m talking about.” Well, she thought he was talking about having sex with her. But if she said it out loud, and she was wrong, she would have to quit her job and move to Europe. Kindra cleared her throat. “Maybe, if you explain it to me?” Mack’s hands gripped the back of her chair and she found herself slowly being turned around. Since grabbing the desk and clinging for dear life would be rude, she settled for crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap. Perfect position for a woman claiming to be disinterested in live action sex. Except that somehow Mack had managed to place a leg on either side of her chair and his… pants were eye level. Fascinated, she took a long look. Kindra licked her lips. Mack’s pants jumped. Oh, my. She forced her eyes upward. He no longer looked amused. His legs and other body parts took a large step backwards, removing the masculine scent of him from her personal space. “If I’m going to prove to you that one-on-one sex is better than cyber sex, I can only think of one way to do that.” Here it was. It was coming. “Oh?” she squeaked. Mack nodded, his hands sliding into his pockets. “Yes, that’s right, Kindra. It looks like I’m going to have to have sex with you.”

Houston, We Have a Problem

admin — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 07:00:00 +0000

Josie Adkins had to stop waving her hot little ass in Houston’s face, or he was going to have to slide his hands across it and squeeze. Which would fall squarely under the heading of sexual harassment. He could see the headline. State of Florida vs Dr. Houston Hayes. Surgeon fondles resident and loses license. Sweet little Josie had no idea he was plotting ways to lick her like a cat does cream. She wasn’t tempting him with her curvy behind on purpose, so he couldn’t really blame her for the guttural detour his thoughts had been taking on a regular basis. But just how in the hell an orthopedic surgeon could be so damn clumsy was beyond him. And Jesus, was Josie clumsy. So clumsy that at least six times a day he was subjected to the sight of her bent full over at the waist retrieving something from the floor she had dropped. Today was even worse. They were alone in a semi-dark alcove, for the purpose of looking at a patient’s X-ray, only Josie had done her usual butter-finger bit. The film Josie had been holding had slipped out of her hand, hit the floor, and disappeared under the desk next to her. She was now on her hands and knees, wiggling around searching for it. God help him. No one with a body that lush and womanly should be wiggling on her hands and knees unless she was naked and it was part of foreplay. “Whoops. It just jumped right out of my hand, Dr. Hayes,” she said, in a cheerful voice. Houston counted from one to ten and back again until he was in control of himself and his bodily urges. He didn’t know what it was about her that had him hiding hard-ons left and right and sweating through three pairs of surgical scrubs a day. She wasn’t his type at all. She was on the short side, with an odd haircut that made her light brown hair flip around at gravity defying angles. When she smiled, twin dimples appeared and she looked about twenty years old. She talked constantly. He had heard other staff members affectionately refer to her as a dingbat. Yet here he was, unable to look away, all too aware that her scrubs were worn thin in strategic places. “It has to be here somewhere.” Josie disappeared under the desk, at least the front half. The back half was still in full view. He could see her underwear. The thin scrubs hid nothing, and the position she was in on her knees pulled them taut, giving him a clear view of her panties. They were riding up just a little, sliding into the crevice between her cheeks, fitting close and tight. There was a little red lip print stamped on each side of her panties, and he wondered what she would do if he leaned forward and placed his own mouth right on one of those lip prints. And bit her. He was fascinated by the full curviness of her behind, and ached all over from the desire to taste her, to cup his hand between her legs and feel her heat pulsing through his fingers. He wanted to know if there was a matching lip print on the front of her panties. So that if he kissed it he would feel her soft dewy mound give a little beneath his mouth. It seriously annoyed him, this edgy uncontrollable desire. Houston had never had a problem maintaining his professional distance with both patients and co-workers. If anything, he had been accused of being too reserved. Now this one woman, this tiny tornado of smiles and klutziness, had successfully breeched his aloofness. Impatient with his thoughts, he glanced at his watch. How long had she been on the floor? It felt like hours. “Do I need to come back, Dr. Adkins, when you can make your X-ray films behave?” Visions of making her behave with his hand on her soft bottom flitted through his mind, playing like a porno video. He had meant it to sound like a cool rebuke, but it came out sounding suggestive. Either of which seemed too subtle for Josie. She laughed from under the desk, like he was simply teasing her, than gave a little cough. “Yuck. I think I inhaled a dust bunny.” Her head reemerged long enough to smile at him in reassurance. “Just give me a sec. I’ll get it.” “Really, we can do this later.” Since he had learned just about nothing could hurry her up. Of course, he could brush her aside and get the damn thing himself. But he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Josie always tried so hard to gloss over her gaffes. Plus he was a total masochist who didn’t want to deny himself the glorious view of her backside, even though he knew he couldn’t, shouldn’t- wouldn’t act on his lust. So Houston resented the distraction and cursed himself, but still couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, not even long enough to pick up the X-ray himself. “Almost got it.” She gave him another blinding smile, head cocked to the right as she stretched her hand a little further. He put his hands on his hips and reminded himself, again, that getting involved with a resident would be a complete nightmare, no matter how freaking adorable she was. “I need one of those rubber arms, like Stretch Armstrong, that really weird doll my cousin had when we were kids. Remember that?” she asked him. He shook his head. Rubber dolls were the least of his problems right now. “Well, it was kind of cool, in a bizarre sort of way, kind of like molded silly putty. What did you play with?” Her eyes widened a little, and Houston fought the urge to moan. Josie managed to mix innocence with that lush body, all tossed alongside her brains and her quirky personality. It was an unusual combination he was finding damn hard to resist. Especially in this room that wasn’t really a room, but a very small, very crowded alcove cut out of a corner in the hallway. Where Josie was just inches away from him. “When you were a kid, I mean, what did you play with?” She kept feeling around on the floor. “Risk? World domination seems like your thing.” Should he be offended? “No.” “So what then? Nerf football? Twister? Chess club?” He folded his arms and rubbed his chin. He’d forgotten to shave that morning and the stubble was irritating and itchy. He was well aware that if another co-worker had engaged in this ridiculous conversation with him he would have walked away. “I played doctor.” Let her figure out what exactly he meant by that. Except that Josie seemed immune to sexual innuendos. “Here it is!” She pulled the film out and handed it to him. Josie sat back on her heels and blew her hair out of her eyes. “Oh, well, that makes sense. Like Operation? That game that buzzed at you if you dropped the body part?” Houston just stared at her as she brushed her knees off. He had read Josie’s personnel file. On paper, she was only a few IQ points short of a genius. In person, she was a chatty, clumsy, sex nymph. Who had his nuts in a knot without even trying. “Thank you, Dr. Adkins.” He took the X-ray, shaking a dust ball off of it, and wondered just when her residency was over. With a little luck she would leave Acadia Inlet Hospital for another resident rotation at least fifty miles away, taking her sweet ass with her. Until then, he was going to have to work overtime at pretending she didn’t make him go hard just by entering the room. He’d had two rules since he had broken things off with his last semi-serious girlfriend four years earlier. No long-term relationships. No anything with another hospital employee. It had worked so far. He dated casually, and when it was mutually agreed upon, had some no-strings attached sex. Neither of which were done with someone he had to see every day in a professional capacity. But when he had joined the staff at Acadia Inlet three months ago, he had met Josie. And suddenly, his hormones seemed to think rules were meant to be broken. Holding the film up to the light, Houston focused his thoughts squarely back on his job and was pleased to see evidence of his original diagnosis. “Okay, exactly what I thought. Schedule surgery while I talk to Amber’s parents.” “How soon?” Josie asked. “Within a week.” “Okay. Not a problem. I’ll take care of everything.” A smile danced across Josie’s plump lips as she played with her ID badge clipped to her waist. She smiled so much it gave him a headache. No one could be that damn cheerful all the time. Yet, she was, and damn it, he found that attractive. Everything about her was attractive to him, almost as if he liked her. At that thought, he shot her a violent scowl. The ID badge flew off her pants and hit the floor. “Whoops.” There was no way that word should be sexy, but somehow it was. Josie leaned down to pick up her badge right as he turned to move out of her way. Her forehead connected with his thigh. His pants were no thicker than hers and he could feel the warmth of her skin brush against him. Hot breath drizzled across his crotch as she gasped in surprise. Houston took a fast step back. By sheer will power he prevented an erection from popping up and embarrassing the hell out of both of them. “Oh, sorry, my fault,” she said, brushing her hair out of her green eyes. The movement made her shirt pull up, exposing a tiny ribbon of pale smooth skin above her waistband. If he opened his mouth, the only thing that would come out would be a primitive growl, so he kept his lips clamped shut tight. This time when she started towards the hall, she tripped. Over nothing, from his point of view. But as she stumbled, he reached out and grabbed her arm to steady her. “Thanks,” she said in a breathless voice, her moist pink tongue peeking out from under her shiny teeth. The corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled. If she had any idea how close he was to yanking down her pants and sliding into her, she wouldn’t be smiling at him. She would be running. Or moaning. Shit. Houston dropped her arm. “You’re welcome.” Annoyed, he turned his back on her to hide the hard-on that he could no longer keep at bay. He stood rigid and listened to her leave the room, her shoes squeaking on the tile floor. He was never this greedy, this needy, this wanting. It made him feel reckless and vulnerable, out of control. All feelings he despised. Would a hot, burning affair with Josie be inappropriate? Yes. But so was repairing Mrs. Kransky’s kneecap while sporting an erection, which he was going to have to do in another minute, since his dick was not cooperating and deflating. Sleeping with Josie wouldn’t just be inappropriate, it would also be a mistake, of course. But if no one knew and it was just a night or two… Houston grabbed the film and started toward the door. No. He would not give in to his base carnal urges. Unless Josie gave him the slightest hint that she was interested. Then he wasn’t sure he could stop himself from taking a taste of those lips. All of them.

Mouth to Mouth

admin — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 07:00:00 +0000

“He’s not going to show.” Russ Evans didn’t even spare fellow detective Jerry Anders a glance, eyes trained on the coffee shop and the woman inside sitting alone. “Ten more minutes.” Jerry didn’t protest, but Russ felt him shift in agitation, the heels of his shoes crunching in the hard packed snow. Russ knew Jerry was cold, because he was too. Hell, cold was an understatement. His nuts were completely numb. January winds were creeping in under his nylon jacket and his fingers were stiff wrapped around the binoculars he was using to watch the door of the coffee shop. But discomfort was part of the job, and he wasn’t going to be hanging his badge up anytime soon. In fact, he loved being in Special Operations, got a kick from the watching and the waiting and the thinking- cold nuts or not- because in the end there was nothing like slapping the cuffs on slimeballs. “He’s standing her up.” Thoughtful, Russ scanned the nearly deserted parking lot. Nothing. Their target, petty con artist and first class bastard, Trevor Dean, was nowhere to be found and it didn’t add up. There was no reason to think Dean had figured out the cops were waiting for him, but it wasn’t like Dean to pass up a chance to meet a woman. Women were Dean’s source of income, and he liked to live well beyond his means. “Not his usual type, is she?” Russ took another hard stare at the petite woman sitting in the shop with a cup of coffee in her hand, a thick pink scarf wrapped around her neck. The view of her face was obscured by the glass, the coffee steam, and the rich blond hair that fell over her cheek, but Russ could see enough to feel the prickles of intuition tripping up his spine. Something was off here. “You mean she’s not butt ugly?” Jerry cupped his hands and blew into them. Russ laughed. “No. Look for yourself.” He handed over the binoculars. “And Dean’s women aren’t ugly, they’re just… plain.” “Just plain ugly, maybe.” Jerry studied the blond. “But this one’s not bad. Good hair, tight sweater, I’m liking it. Hey, she just licked her lips, did a little nervous tongue thing. Do that again, honey.” “Glad you’re enjoying yourself.” Russ stamped up and down a little to get the blood flowing in his legs. “Well, my pants are warmer anyway.” “But don’t you think it’s strange that this woman looks so different? I don’t like it when a con changes a pattern without reason. He’s been going after plain women, earning their trust. Letting them think he’s in love with them, then stealing everything they’ve got- and it’s been working. That we know of, he’s hauled off a hundred thousand bucks so far. And there’s probably been more. So why do anything different?” Binoculars still stuck to his eyes, Jerry murmured, “Maybe this one isn’t for business. Maybe this one is just for pleasure.” Russ hauled himself off the brick wall of the bookstore across the street and pitched the cigarette he’d been holding down into a snowdrift where it sizzled. He’d been hanging onto the thing just in case they were spotted. It would look less suspicious, like he’d just stepped outside the store for a smoke. He dug a cinnamon disc out of his pocket and unwrapped it, popped it into his mouth. Crunching on his candy, Russ said, “Like a girlfriend, huh? A real one?” He bent over and picked the butt back up once it stopped burning and dropped it in the pocket of his jacket. “You could be onto something, Anders.” “What can I say? I’m a deep thinker.” “Bullshit.” Russ grabbed the binoculars off of Jerry’s face. “Pick your tongue back up off the ground before it freezes to the concrete.” “So if Dean’s got a girlfriend, why’s he standing her up?” “Because you can stand up your girlfriend. “Sorry babe, I got held up” and all that shit. You can’t do that with a woman you’re trying to con.” You didn’t piss off the meal ticket. Jerry snorted. “Maybe you can stand up your girlfriend and get away with it, but Pam would rip me a new one if I did that. Of course, you don’t got a girlfriend, because nobody will put up with your ugly mug.” “I don’t have a girlfriend because I don’t want one. I’ll stick to casual sex. You can keep all that other crap that goes with a relationship.” Russ didn’t have time for it. Between his job and raising his little brother Sean, he barely had time to go to the john. And he’d never met a woman yet who didn’t make things more complicated than they needed to be. “You’re a cold man, Evans. But someday you’re going to get knocked on your ass by some woman and I’m going to be there taking pictures.” Russ only half heard Jerry’s razzing him, puzzling over the blond waiting for Dean. If this woman was Dean’s girlfriend, was she in on the con? What did she know? And could she be coerced into talking? Stuffing the binoculars in his pocket alongside the cigarette butt, he started across the street. “Where the hell are you going?” “Stay here a minute, Anders. I’m going in the shop, get a better look at this chick. I’ve got a feeling about her…” “Yeah, I just bet you’ve got a feeling,” Jerry grumbled. “Fine, leave me out here freezing my ass off while you check out the blond. I’m waiting in the goddamn car.” Russ grinned over his shoulder. “Don’t be such a whiner, Jesus. If you’re quiet, maybe I’ll even bring you a coffee.” “Do that, Evans. So I can spill it on your lap.” The warm air from the shop hit Russ as he opened the door, enveloping him in the scent of coffee beans and chocolate. The bell announced his entrance and the spike haired guy working the counter glanced over, gave him a head nod. “Hey, how’s it going?” “Good.” Russ waited for the blond to look up, but she didn’t. She was reading a magazine, a strand of her hair wrapped around a finger, and pulled across her lips. She didn’t look capable of theft. She looked sweet and innocent, her fleece scarf making her look like an overzealous Old Navy employee on her coffee break. But Russ knew looks were deceiving. He’d seen the most evil hearts lurking behind pretty faces. His fingers were still frozen, so he went to order himself a coffee. Than he would feel the blond out, see where she fit in this puzzle so he could track down Dean. The chalkboard menu was riddled with flavors and blends, iced and hot, mochas and javas and lattes, and he gave up trying to read it. “I just want a cup of coffee. Black.” The guy wiped his hands on his green apron. “What kind of bean? You can pick from these.” He pointed to the case of seventeen different bean flavors. “Oh, Jesus Christ.” Scanning the variety of French this, vanilla that, winter roast-whatever the hell that was- and hazelnut, he said, “Just give me something with no flavor. Something that just tastes like coffee.” The clerk smirked a little. “You know, there’s a Perkins down the street. They have that bottomless coffee pot deal going on.” Wise-ass. Russ was debating flashing his badge to scare the little punk, when he heard someone call, “Russ!” Startled, he turned to see the blond rising from her table, a welcoming smile dancing over her face. “I’m so glad you made it, Russ! I’ve been really looking forward to meeting you.” What the… Knock him over with a fucking feather, the woman knew his name. She reached him, took both of his hands and squeezed. She knew his name, looked pleased to see him. He was holding hands with Dean’s girlfriend and didn’t have a clue what was going on. “Hi,” he said. Wow, that was really thinking on his feet.

The Naked Truth

admin — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 07:00:00 +0000

Tansey Reynolds had sworn off men and embraced celibacy. Okay, so maybe embracing was an exaggeration, since every time she saw a two-legged human male, even remotely attractive and over the age of twenty, she started to drool and engage in a battle with her willpower. But she really had sworn off dating men. And she was celibate. For now. For as long as she could stand it. The problem was, she wasn’t a virgin. And once you got the ball rolling, it was kind of hard to stop it. Her ball wanted to tumble down a long driveway at top speed with the first boy ball that bounced by, and she was trying to force it to stay still. It wasn’t working, and she hadn’t figured out how to deflate her ball yet. “What are you staring at, Tansey? We’re next in line.” Her best friend, Emily Baker, gave her a little nudge. Forcing herself to stop salivating over a construction worker’s tight butt in line ahead of her, Tansey clutched the contest flyer in her now sweaty hand and pondered a life without car payments. She frowned at Emily and tried to hold onto the dream. “How long have we been standing in this line? It feels like an hour.” Taking another king size bite of her pretzel and a slurp of her cherry slushie, she added, “And I’m starving, Em. I wanted to eat a real lunch today for a change. The clock is ticking on my break.” “Eewww,” Emily said, curling her lip in horror. “Close your mouth, Tansey, it looks like open heart surgery in there.” Carefully chewing the soft pretzel remnants, Tansey swallowed. “Sorry.” But there was nothing better to do but eat carbs and fat standing in line at the mall waiting for a chance to win a free car. Eat or talk to the guy behind her, which she had done for a minute or two. And while that guy was cute, in an eager, much-younger-than-her sort of way, Tansey needed to concentrate her energies on the F word. Focus. No more men. Not until she figured out what to do with the rest of her life. Not until she figured out how to stop herself from being attracted to gorgeous, sexy, lying male sluts. “I can’t even see the car because the fountain’s blocking it,” she said, feeling grumpy. This wasn’t exactly where she had pictured herself being at twenty-eight. Single and spending ninety percent of her waking hours at the mall between work and shopping, with fatty food as her only consolation. And as unexciting and low-paying as her job was, she was going to get fired from the department store if she didn’t get back to work in about two minutes. “This is a total waste of time. I’m getting out of line.” Emily looked aghast. “But, Tansey, if you get out of line, you can’t win the car.” “The chances of me winning that car are about the same as the balance on my credit card being zero.” A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, her credit card balance had been nothing. These days it heaved and bubbled and popped, threatening to overflow with a life force all its own. “Well, you won’t win if you don’t enter,” Emily said, the eternal optimist in a sunny yellow sweater. Emily was chronically cheerful. She thought everyone was sweet and adorable and oh-so-sincere, and she doled out trust like Tic Tacs. Somehow it seemed to be working for Emily. Emily was happy. Tansey just felt crappy. There was a life lesson there. Like maybe what goes around, comes around. You receive what you give. Don’t sweat the small stuff. Or maybe just stop being an ungrateful bitch. The thought made her feel better. “You’re right, Em.” She controlled her destiny. She could stand back and react when things happened to her, or she could make them happen. “I’m in charge of my life.” Like swearing off men. That was taking action. See, she had taken charge already. Her eyes strayed back to the construction worker’s fine behind. It was very… firm in those worn jeans. Her mouth went dry. Tansey didn’t need a man. But she sure wanted one. Just like that, please. One gorgeous, tool belt-wearing, guy to go. Order up. Tansey watched the hunk with blond hair step out of the line in front of her and take the clipboard handed to him. He wore faded jeans that hugged his thighs, and scuffed work boots, with a tool belt hanging down around his waist, dragging those jeans even lower. A white T-shirt strained across a multitude of male muscle, and on top of that was a red flannel shirt. Tansey fought the urge to lick her lips. She’d always had a thing for men who worked with their hands. All those calluses, and tanned skin in the summer. Rippling muscle and dirty jeans. The total lack of modesty they displayed as they slung hammers around in ninety-degree weather bare-chested. Even though it was February right now, she could visualize it. Whew. Yeah, she could visualize it. As he turned, he saw her. Though he was a little too far away to be sure, she would guess his eyes were blue, given his light hair with blond streaks. She would not do anything, she would not, she couldn’t… she smiled, did the hair flip. Damn. She was addicted to flirting. After nearly fifteen years of mating behavior, she couldn’t just drop it as easily as she wanted.