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Excerpt from ARCTIC HEAT 3: ICE WHITE
Caleb Barstow trudged through the wind-whipped snow. The storm had blown in quickly, like they often did in this part of the world. It reminded him how harsh the climate in Antarctica could be. He was a long way from sunny Arizona. He shivered in his arctic gear. Even though he wore several layers of clothing, a thick parka, and a fur-trimmed hood, the dry gusting winds blew straight through him.
Thank God, one of the storage sheds was up ahead.
He’d been hoping to get back to the Beta Group Research Center before the whiteout. But since he’d been at the Antarctic Research Observatory, or ARO, for three months, he’d learned the value of always having a Plan B whenever he had to make a trek outdoors. Dr. Tate would just have to wait for the additional supplies he’d requested.
As Caleb trudged to the metal door of the storage shed, he noticed it had been left open a few inches. When he pushed, however, the door refused to open completely.
His gaze lit upon the reason why—a naked and shapely hip blocked the door.
Sweet Jesus.
The soft rounded hip was part of the soft rounded woman lying on the floor, unconscious. Or dead? Drifts of snow blew inside the shed and skipped across her prone form. She didn’t move. His heart slowed. How long had she been lying there? In temperatures well below freezing, hypothermia took hold in minutes and death followed quickly thereafter. Worry battered his thoughts. What if he’d found her too late?
With the storm screaming at his back, he hurriedly slipped inside, shut the door, and bent down to check the stranger’s pulse. He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt a surprisingly strong thump under his fingertips.
In the dim lighting from a small, snow-encrusted window he could only see the woman’s outline. What was she doing here? And why the devil didn’t she have any clothes on?
He averted his gaze to keep his heart from pounding and his blood from boiling. He hadn’t had a good fuck since he left Tucson in October, and his damn hormones wouldn’t stop reminding him. He exorcised the inappropriate thoughts from his head. She needed his help.
He grabbed a flashlight stashed on the wall and switched it on. The harsh beam revealed a strikingly beautiful woman. Her eyelashes were like snowflakes against her pale skin. Her hair was long and almost as white as the snow gusting outside.
He unzipped his parka, and covered her with it. No jacket. No boots. What was she doing out here? He knelt down and brushed her hair off her face.
From the dust that stirred, he knew she was breathing, but her skin felt chilled to the touch. He needed to warm her up. Fast.
Leaving his flashlight on the floor, he scooped her up and tipped her back against his chest. The parka twisted around her lithe body, and his hands touched directly against soft, womanly flesh.
Fuck.
Gently, he set the woman on a pile of wool blankets stacked on a cot. Each shed contained the bare essentials should anyone get stuck in a squall. To get caught unawares in the changeable weather of the Antarctic wasn’t unusual.
The storage shed held mostly emergency food and supplies for the shape-shifter enclave inside the block-shaped building on stilts about a quarter-mile from the research center. He’d never been inside the shifter facility, but he’d heard tales.
He looked down at the beautiful woman. Was she one of them? Had she been part of the sex games and other wild things he’d heard about? She didn’t look like any of the black-haired shifter females he’d seen coming and going from the ARO.
Dang, it was cold in here.
He scanned the dark recesses of the eighteen-by-eighteen foot shed. A propane heater sat near a set of shelves full of unmarked cardboard boxes. Hopefully, there’d be some useful things in them. He grabbed a battery-powered lantern and switched it on. It lit up the shed with an odd white light.
A quiet groan caught his attention.
When he turned around, his mystery woman was wide awake.
The parka had sagged off one shoulder, revealing the sweep of her collarbone and the top curve of one breast.
He sucked in his breath.
“Where am I?” Her voice was like sunlight, bright and warm.
He passed a hand across his mouth. “In one of the storage sheds on the outskirts of the compound. There was a storm. I came here to wait it out and found you passed out on the floor.”
A furrow appeared between her brows. She sat up straighter, and the parka slipped lower. “A storm…” She seemed to notice her state of undress just then, pulling the parka closer around her. “You aren’t from the facility.” The warmth from her voice was gone.
“No, I’m not. I’m a researcher at the center. My name’s Caleb Barstow.” He took a step forward. “Is that where you came from, the shifter facility?”
The woman gazed at him with glass green eyes. A sprinkling of freckles dotted her cheeks and nose. “Yes, but I don’t remember how…how I got here.”
Excerpt from KISS & SPELLMarissa didn’t even look toward the bar. She kept her gaze entirely focused on him. Justin shifted from one foot to the other. A bead of sweat slid into his collar.
“I’ve found the one I want tonight.”
John gave a low whistle. “Think I’ll go get us a couple more bottles of water.” He stepped between them and headed for the bar.
Justin watched John disappear into the crowd. “You’re joking.”
“I’m serious. You. Me. Tonight.”
The band’s pounding drums grew louder and louder. The bartender flipped on the ceiling fans as the heat grew in the crowded room.
Justin couldn’t think straight.
There was a popping noise. Then another. The crowd jumped. The loud conversations broke up into gasps and squeals.
One more pop, and the pub was plunged into darkness.
A woman screamed.
Justin couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. He reached for the flashlight he’d left on Marissa’s table. His hand touched something soft and warm. “Oh, sorry.” He pulled his hand back.
Behind him, the crowd rushed past into the pitch-black night. The streetlights that normally illuminated the parking lot were out.
A hand clutched his.
Marissa. He could smell her. In the next moment, her soft body pressed up against him.
Driven by purely masculine impulses, he pulled her against him and curved an arm around her waist, protecting her from the dozens of frightened pub patrons fleeing out the door.
The feel of her rounded backside up against his groin lit a fire inside him. One fueled solely by instinct and hormones. Any man would react the same way. He fought against it, willing his cock to stand down.
For a woman who’d seemed hell-bent on seducing him this evening, she was surprisingly quiet and meek in his arms.
“I can’t see.” Her voice was a squeak amidst the chaos surrounding them.
He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “It’s okay. Most of them are outside now. A transformer must’ve blown or something. The lights are out on the street, too.” Did it mean anything that he found her scent intoxicating? The orange blossom sweetness filled his nose. He wanted to lean in closer, tickle her neck with his lips, dip his hand inside her dress and . . . .
“Stay with me.” Her hand clamped down on his.
Beneath the silky fabric of her skimpy dress, there was a warm, live woman. If he moved his hand just to the left, he could touch her hipbone. Is this how she did it? Is this how she lured men to her? With her softness? With her delicious, sweet scent? Even blindfolded, a man would know she was beautiful, just by those two things alone.
For a moment, he understood how they could fall for her. How they could want to bury themselves between her thighs. Get a taste of that sweetness. Know what it was like, even for one night, to have something that tender, that delicious, that lovely all to themselves.
The room was quiet now. Everyone had left. Even John, the bartender, and the manager had made their way outside.
The room was so dark no one had noticed the two of them, flush against the wall, holding each other.
He couldn’t seem to let her go.
The manager leaned into the open door. “Is anyone inside?”
Justin opened his mouth to speak, but Marissa pressed her fingers to his mouth. A quiet entreaty for them to remain in the dark, empty bar just a little bit longer.
The lock clicked as the manager shut everything down for the night, locking them inside.
Excerpt from THE OPAL HUNTER
Aaron shook his head as the petite Nina Delgado passed by him into his house. He’d opened the door expecting anyone but this woman with her silky black hair and wide brown eyes. Women in heels and expensive clothes didn’t live around here. In fact, he was plenty sure a woman like that didn’t come within fifty miles of here. She must have made the appointment with his father. Another secret his dad had been keeping from him.
He returned his shotgun to its holder.
When he turned around, she stood in the middle of the living room and clutched her purse close to her side, as if someone would jump out and snatch it from her. “Do you mind?” She eyed his shorts again.
“Right. Pants.” He headed for his bedroom. “So, you said you’re from the IRS?” he called out to her, putting on a pair of jeans.
“Yes. A case worker. I’m here for the audit? You did remember I was coming, didn’t you?”
“No. I didn’t.” He tugged up the zipper and went back into the room, still bare-chested, while buttoning his fly. When he looked up, her gaze was focused on his crotch. In response his cock grew hard. He wasn’t used to having pretty women around. Sex was usually the last thing on his mind at the end of the day, but somehow this little woman got his blood throbbing. He headed to the small kitchen at the other end of the room to put some distance between them. “Would you like a beer?” He pulled open the refrigerator and grabbed two bottles.
She cleared her throat and tugged at the edge of her navy suit jacket. “But you set up the appointment. You chose the date and time.”
“That was probably my father.” He held out a bottle. When she didn’t take it, he shrugged, set it on the table next to the pile of mail, and unscrewed the lid on his. That’s about as friendly as he was going to get with this woman. Last thing he needed was to get all revved up over some lady from the IRS. That wouldn’t go over well with good old Uncle Sam.
Her pretty face screwed up in annoyance. She had a cute little wrinkle in her nose when she did that. “You told me not two minutes ago that you were Aaron Brady.”
“I’m Aaron T. Brady. My father was Aaron H. Brady. Henry. Hank for short.” It was actually fun to watch her face turn different shades of red. He didn’t know if it was from anger or embarrassment, but it sure was entertaining. Just about the most goddamn entertaining thing he’d seen in a long, long while.
“But you said … and I was thinking that…”
“Well, you were thinking wrong.” He gulped down the rest of his beer and wiped a hand across his mouth. “Let me go get you those sheets. You can take a seat if you want.”
“Yes, the sheets.” She seemed a little off-kilter. Guess she wasn’t used to a man walking around with his shirt off. Guess she was more used to the shirt-and-tie type.
In the closet next to the bathroom he pulled out some dingy white sheets that had seen better days. He caught sight of the yellow brown dirt under his fingernails and wondered if she’d noticed. Before he grabbed the sheets, he plucked a plaid shirt hanging over the bathroom door, put it on, and buttoned a few buttons. Might as well make her feel a little more comfortable around him. Although it was awfully fun to get under her skin. She made it so easy. He wiped his hands on his pants before picking up the pile of sheets.
Coming back into the living room, he handed them to her. “Here you go.” She took them tentatively.
“Thanks. And the trailer?”
She’d taken off her navy blazer. Underneath it she wore a sleeveless top that clung to her breasts like the skin to a grape. Smooth, round. He lost his train of thought for a moment. “Uh, yeah, the trailer. It’s round back. We’ll need a flashlight.”
“There’s no power out there?”
“Just twelve volt. Batteries, you know. But like I told you, it hasn’t been used in a while.” He went to the kitchen and grabbed a flashlight out of a drawer. “The toilet’s not hooked up, but you can just take a bucket and–”
“A bucket?” A look of horror came across her face.
Shit. What was he thinking? A girl like her couldn’t sleep in a dump like that. Hell, she could stay in the house and he’d take the trailer. He scratched the back of his neck. “Well, if it would be all right with you, why don’t you just stay in here. I’ll–”
The horror drained away. “In your bedroom?” Her gaze dropped to his half-buttoned shirt. “I don’t think so.”
“There’s a pullout couch.” He nodded toward the sofa behind her. “I used to sleep there before my dad … before he passed. You’re welcome to it, if you’re okay being…”
“In the same house with my client?”
Without wanting to, his gaze went from her soft brown eyes to her breasts. He didn’t mean to; he just couldn’t help it. She brought the sheets up against her chest. Embarrassed he was caught ogling, he cleared his throat. “If it makes you that uncomfortable, I can take the trailer.”
“No, no, that’s all right. I don’t mind…”
“I wouldn’t think of it.” What was he saying? Why was he going out of his way for her when she was only here to make more trouble for him? He picked up the flashlight and put on his cowboy hat. “I’ll just be back in the morning … make some coffee. And then we can meet for that appointment.”
Her gaze followed him to the door. “Are you sure? I really don’t mean to impose on you.”
“No imposition at all.” Liar. “A bed’s a bed, right?”
“I suppose.”
He opened the door, hardly believing what he was doing. “Have a good night, Ms. Delgado.”
“Why thank you, Mr. Brady.” She leaned against the door frame, one curvaceous hip jutting out.
Aaron tipped his hat and left her there in his house. In his bed. An image flashed in his head … her tawny naked body stretched out on his bed, her long black hair strewn across the pillow. He shook his head. What was he doing? She was here to gut him, probably take his land, maybe even sell off the house and everything he owned. He wasn’t going to get up tomorrow and make coffee for this woman. He had to find those opals. If she was there to collect on a debt to the government, he’d better have a way to pay her. Put her off as long as possible. Make it near impossible to get what she needed to do her job. And if she needed to speak with him, the best way to make that not happen was to get lost on his own five hundred acres.
He’d spend tomorrow digging alone, like he had been for months. Digging and digging until his hands were raw. As long as it took. He wasn’t going to be the one who lost the Brady Mine. No fucking way. And some little sexy thing in heels and a skirt wasn’t about to get in his way.
Excerpt from ARCTIC SHIFTERS: ICE BLACK
The helicopter set down on the ice-covered landing pad.
Here we are, Dr. Preston,” Hannah heard the pilot say in her headset. “Be careful on the way out. Remember, duck your head until you’re outside of the marked zone. Hope you have a nice stay.”
Hannah nodded and huddled further into her squall jacket. The cold here was different than she was used to in Chicago. This was bone-deep cold. A dry, bitter cold that hit like a sharp knife to her gut. Although she’d expected freezing temperatures, this was worse than she’d imagined. She grabbed her duffle bag off the seat next to her and reached for the latch.
The helicopter door slid open. A man in a parka and reflective goggles held a mittened hand out to her. “Welcome to the bottom of the world, doctor.”
She grabbed his hand and climbed out. At first, it was just white and gray as far as the eye could see. Then, she caught sight of the sign:
Atmospheric Research Observatory - ARO
South Pole Station
Beyond, the square concrete building on stilts stood out in sharp relief from the desolate landscape. Her new home for the next six months.
“We’ve been looking forward to your arrival ever since Dr. Monahan had to drop out of the program.” He took her bag. “I’m Kyle White. Welcome.”
“Thanks. I have to say, I was surprised when I got the call,” she yelled over the chopping blades of the helicopter. “I thought I’d be spending the rest of the sweaty summer in the Midwest.” It was still hard to grasp the idea of temperatures below zero in August.
They bent down and hurried to get out from under the blades. Icy air hit her lungs, and she gasped at the shock to her system. Déjà vu hit her. The starkness, the biting cold. Like a distant dream, it seemed familiar to her.
But that made no sense. She shook her head to clear the feeling.
It was hard to discern anything about the man who led her toward the ARO building. He was tall, she could tell that much, but age, eye color, anything else was a mystery.
Out of the corner of her eye she caught movement. The flash of a white tail behind an outlying shed. It couldn’t be. Very few animals lived in Antarctica, and the chances of her catching sight of something in the middle of the day seemed unlikely. There was so much white everywhere, she probably was seeing things.
“We’re certainly glad you decided to spend it with us instead. We can only choose so many—spots are limited.” Kyle climbed up a flight of stairs on the outside of the concrete complex. “You’ll find out a lot about yourself down here. Nice to have another pretty face.”
At first, she’d thought she’d heard wrong. Pretty face? She’d always been focused on her climatology work—studying the upper atmosphere—not on her physical appearance. Interesting that her looks would be the first thing he noticed about her.
“Well, thanks. I guess. I thought I’d been selected for my background, my work.”
They reached the top of the steps, and her guide opened a door. “That was one reason you were given the slot when it opened up. We can use an expert in your field this time of year. But you were specially selected for the other things we have in common.”
Other things? What was he talking about? When she walked through the door and entered the observatory, she had a better understanding of what he meant.
Stacked on the shelves next to the heavy outdoor parkas was every assortment of sex toy, lube, massage oils, candles, masks, ties, handcuffs. A regular sex shop in the middle of nowhere.
Her nipples tightened instantly. “Who told you?” she asked her guide, her breathing shallow and quick.
He removed his parka and goggles. A six-foot-two, white blond, blue-eyed perfect male specimen looked her straight in the eye. “Does it matter?”
Excerpt from ARCTIC SHIFTERS: ICE RED
The storage closet was dark and stuffy. Kerry Campbell crouched behind boxes of industrial-strength cleaners, a vacuum, and an assortment of brooms and trembled.
Outside, she heard moans and thumps. Cries of pleasure. Urgent calls of “faster” or “harder” or “fuck me.”
She couldn’t go back out there. She just couldn’t. They wouldn’t understand.
Tears formed in her eyes. Before she came to this desolate outpost in Antarctica, she thought she’d found what she’d been looking for. After today, though, she felt like more of a freak than ever.
Six months with shifters of her own kind sounded like heaven. For a year or two, she’d suspected she wasn’t a regular human. When she’d received the letter in the mail from the Beta Group suggesting she apply for a space at the Atmospheric Research Observatory at the South Pole, she’d been ecstatic. A place for shapeshifters like her to explore their sexuality, figure out how to control their shifting. It was just what she needed.
But now she knew she was in the wrong place. What a mistake.
The door cracked open, and a stream of bright light blinded her.
“There you are,” said Hannah Preston, her guide. When she crouched down to Kerry’s level, a lock of her long black hair swung forward. “Come on out—it’s okay. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
A woman screaming in ecstasy interrupted the insulated quiet in the closet.
Hannah looked over her shoulder. “We’re just about done. Not everyone likes to participate in the games.”
“I don’t belong here,” whispered Kerry, drawing her knees closer to her chest. “It was a mistake. You have to see that.”
Hannah held out her hand. “Let me take you back to your room where we can talk. We’ll straighten this out, I promise.”
Kerry hesitated. When Hannah smiled reassuringly, she took a chance. She grabbed her hand and came up out of the darkness.
The scent of sex lingered in the air. The orgy was over. Thank God. A few naked males remained. They all stared at her as she walked by, following Hannah. She self-consciously tucked some of her wavy auburn hair behind one ear. She stood out like a weed in a field of wildflowers.
She diverted her eyes away from their cocks. Still half-erect. Still wet from fucking. One woman remained, her hair as black as Hannah’s. Two white-blond men held her up against the wall; one kissed her, and the other stroked her breast. Her nipple was a tight, pale point against even whiter flesh.
Kerry’s nipples hardened under the lace cups of her bright blue babydoll outfit. She’d tried. She’d really tried. Not that she couldn’t get turned on by the perfect male specimens or any of the variety of sexual activities scheduled. It was the idea of being in charge and asking for what she wanted that scared her. It was easier to wait it out in the closet rather than appear as if she wasn’t enjoying herself.
“Touch my pussy,” the woman told the man fondling her breast. “Make me come with your fingers.”
The man complied with a smile, dipping his index finger between the shaven lips of her cunt. His mouth latched on to the woman’s tit, sucking hard on her nipple. The woman bucked against his hand.
Kerry turned her head away from them. Her own clit throbbed with need. Her breasts were heavy and overly sensitive to the feel of the lace.
“Your room is this way, right?” Hannah asked. They had climbed up the stairs from the lounge area and were now in a long hallway with doors on either side.
“Yes,” Kerry said, biting her lip. She’d been here for a month now and hadn’t transformed once. Nor had she figured out how to become sexually fulfilled and initiate the change. Every sex encounter, every male she selected didn’t work for her. “I’m the last one at the end of the hall.”
“That’s right.” It was unusual for someone to need a guide this long. Guides typically helped out a new arrival for the first twenty-four hours. Introducing them to the games and toys. Explaining the rules. Answering questions. But it was up to the new shifter to explore her sexuality alone.
Kerry was embarrassed she still needed Hannah’s guidance.
They reached her room, and Kerry let them inside.
The king-size bed emphasized what the shifters were here for: sex. Kerry leaned against the dresser. Hannah sat in the strange chair in the corner with the footrests. Some sort of sex chair she had yet to try. It seemed pointless now to even think about using it.
“So, have you tried anything new this week? Did you take some of my suggestions?” Hannah’s face was all concern.
“This just isn’t working. You know it isn’t. I think I should go home. Someone made a mistake.”
“We don’t make mistakes.” Hannah crossed her lean legs. “Your blood tests were positive for the shifter gene.”
“But my hair…no one else has red hair.” Kerry touched a lock of it. “Doesn’t that tell you something?”
“I’ll admit, I was shocked to see you that first day. The women always have black hair, the men blond. But if you have the gene….”
“You keep talking about this gene.” Kerry turned away from Hannah and stared at herself in the mirror above the dresser. She looked nothing like the shifters here, genes or no genes. “As if that means something. What if I’m damaged? What if I have some birth defect that won’t allow the shifter side to come out? I just want to go back home.” The tears flowed freely now. To be on the edge of sexual desire with no real release for over a month, to be surrounded by fucking and naked bodies and sex toys…it was torture. Sexual torture.
“Kerry, we want to help. We really do. We may have found someone who can—a shifter who has an interest in your case.”
Kerry wiped her eyes with a finger and faced Hannah again. “Who is it?”
“A doctor. A male. He’s helped with problem cases before.”
“There have been others like me?”
“Well, not exactly. But there have been some with sexual issues. Past histories of abuse.”
“He’s a shrink, isn’t he?” Kerry paced the room. She’d been to psychiatrists before. This place was supposed to prove she wasn’t crazy. That the times she woke up nude, aroused, and outside on her lawn weren’t dreams. Those experiences were real. This place proved it. And now Hannah wanted to send her to another one?
“He might be able to help….”
“I’m not crazy.”
“I didn’t say you were crazy.” Hannah sighed. “He’ll be here tomorrow. I’ll come for you in the morning.” She stood, adjusted her leather bustier, and smiled at her reflection in the mirror. “My boys like the leather.”
Tomorrow there was a pirate party at ten, toy experimentation and instruction at noon, and a swap party in the afternoon. If Kerry met with the doctor, she wouldn’t be expected to attend any of them. Although she didn’t want to see him, the alternatives were worse. “Fine. I’ll be ready.”
Excerpt from MOONLIGHTING
“I’ll take off the dress,” Kara said, watching desire fill the attractive security guard’s eyes. “If you get me my clothes.”
She couldn’t believe what was happening. All she had wanted to do was stop and buy a dress—a skimpy, sexy dress to make Ben feel like a complete idiot for cheating on her. Now, she found herself with an incredibly hot stranger while she stood half naked in an empty dressing room.
This is not something that happened to Kara Hadley, top insurance salesperson in her district. Kara Hadley spent her evenings watching the news, shopping online, or reading the latest statistical analysis report from the head office. She did not spend the evening stuffed into a sexy outfit with no underwear on, contemplating what the security guard’s hard body would feel like pressed up against hers.
“How do I know you don’t have a weapon concealed under there?” Jack jerked his chin toward her.
“If you think I could fit a gun or a knife in this dress, you must think I’m Houdini.” She sensed a shift in their conversation. What started out as a serious encounter between guard and possible thief had changed to something else. His voice was teasing, hers was slightly breathless.
I think I should check, just to be sure. I wouldn’t want to find out you’re lying to me. Might make for a painful surprise.”
For a moment, she imagined she was a character in one of those soft core porn flicks they showed late at night on cable. She wanted him to slip his hands beneath the zipper of her dress, slide it down her body, and kiss her everywhere with those sensuous lips. Her knees trembled at the thought. He knew she was naked under the dress. She saw his reaction when he looked back at the dressing room where she had left her things.
What was she thinking? She was about to end a bad marriage to a man who cheated on her, and she was lusting after a stranger? A stranger who thought she was a shoplifter?
But Jack was gorgeous. He had a lean but tightly muscular body, smoldering brown eyes, and a mouth just made for kissing. Any woman in her position would probably feel the same way. Right?
This was pure and utter lust for a man with a hard-on that he tried his hardest to conceal. And what was wrong with a little lust? Being faithful to her husband and having a pretty sedate dating history had gotten her nowhere. She’d ended up in a loveless marriage with a jerk who screwed her friend because he said Kara was too cold. A cold fish for a wife. That’s what he had told her the last meeting at the lawyer’s.
Cold fish, my ass.
“Frisk me all you want, officer.” She emphasized the last word by giving him a smoky look. She’d show Ben. She’d have a fling. A one-night stand. With a hot security guard who thought she was a shoplifter. And if he took her to jail, at least she could throw it in Ben’s face when he came to bail her out. Yes, she wanted love bites all over her neck, sex-tousled hair, and the smell of sex all over her when he came to pick her up in the morning. For, of course, Ben would make her wait until morning to get her out of jail.
She stepped toward Jack, took a deep breath to rustle up some courage, and let her hands fall to her sides. The neckline of the dress drooped to her waist, but this time, instead of rushing to cover her nakedness, she just stood there.
Let’s see if Jack can resist acting on that hard-on now.
Excerpt from VARGAS GIRL
Her long legs were spread; toes, pointed to the ceiling. All she wore was a pair of thigh-high fishnet stockings. One arm was artfully thrown behind her head, her back was arched, and her red hair fanned out across the pillow. Her naked breasts, with their rosy nipples, were creamy and round.
“She’s perfect,” Tyler Jameson said.
“She’s for sale.” The gray-haired man behind the counter in the antique shop grinned.
Ty touched a fingertip to the oil painting in front of him and traced the line of the model’s lush body.
“Going up for auction tomorrow. Nine o’clock. Here’s the catalog.” He passed Ty a glossy booklet. The Vargas Girl painting was prominently displayed on its cover.
“I was already planning on being there.” He flipped to the page where the painting was listed. Original oil by Alberto Vargas, valued at eighteen-thousand dollars.
“A fan of his work, eh?” The older man came out from behind the counter and admired the painting with Ty.
“I own a few.” He thought of his living room, where every square inch of wall space was covered with Vargas originals and a few prints. “But I’ve been looking for this one for a long time.” He scanned the details of the painting again. A beautiful redhead, curvaceous and naked, lay sprawled across an antique bed. Her blue-green eyes were half-closed and beckoning, and her red bow of a mouth was slightly parted.
“She’s a special one. I was lucky to get a hold of her.”
“Oh?” Ty pulled his gaze away from the painting.
“It came from an estate sale. Had been in the family’s private collection for years.”
“So why did they sell?” Ty couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to lose such a special piece of art. An original Vargas oil painting was hard to come by.
“Guess the heirs thought it was in poor taste. The subject matter was a little too risqué for their sensibilities.”
Ty shook his head at the heirs’ ignorance. Alberto Vargas was well-respected and admired for his sexy pop art. Collectors of his work paid a pretty penny to buy even half-finished sketches.
The tinkle of a bell told them another customer had entered the shop.
“May I help you?” the owner asked, addressing the new arrival.
Ty went back to the catalog, reading the details of the painting.
“Yes, I wanted to get a look at…oh, there it is.”
Ty smelled her before he saw her. He breathed in the subtle scent of jasmine with a hint of something spicy underneath. Then he looked up from the catalog and discovered she looked as good as she smelled. He couldn’t breathe. For standing right in front of him, was a living, breathing Vargas model.
Her hair was shorter than the woman’s in the painting, but it was the same shade of fiery red. She had the same bow mouth, the same green-blue eyes, and the same curvy figure. Rounded breasts, a slender waist, and a wide flare of hips. His dick hardened in a flash.
The gorgeous redhead ignored him. “The auction is tomorrow, right?” She addressed the shop owner like Ty didn’t even exist. Or she was just so used to being ogled, he didn’t register on her radar.
“That’s right, miss,” said the antique dealer. “Tomorrow, at nine o’clock sharp. Did you want to register for a paddle number? You can do that right now, if you’d like.”
“A paddle number?”
Her back was now to Ty, giving him a look at the rear view of her body. He leaned an elbow on the counter. Her backside was almost better than the front. She had a perfectly rounded ass. In a flash, he was fantasizing. She lay sprawled across his bed, just like in the picture. He slid his hands up her body, taking time to caress and squeeze those peaches-and-cream tits. Then he slid between her legs and thrust himself into her warm, wet pussy, and….
“Excuse me,” the woman addressed him. “Do you mind?” She arched a brow.
Ty’s face grew warm. This wasn’t the best place to think about sex. His dick was now as hard as a piece of concrete, and he was miles from his house and a cold shower. Heaven help him if she noticed his hard-on. He cleared his throat. “What? Um…what do you—?”
“The registration book? You’re leaning on it.” She tugged on a red binder stuck under his elbow.
The shop owner hid a grin. He knew what Ty was up to.
Ty lifted his arm, and she pulled out the binder. “Thank you.”
“Just sign your name, address, phone number, and etc., and I’ll assign you a paddle number. You can pick it up tomorrow when the doors open at eight.” The owner directed the beauty to an open slot in the binder.
Was it just coincidence that this woman, who happened to look just like the subject of the painting, was bidding on it? That would be too insane. Ty was intrigued to find out more about this beautiful look-a-like.
“So, you’re interested in the Vargas, too?” he asked, his voice cracking.
She filled out the page, keeping her baby blues on the paper in front of her. “That’s right.”
“Better watch out. I’m prepared to bid pretty high, if I have to.”
“Is that so?” She put down the pen and looked at him.
He could barely think straight with her eyes on him. It was like she could see into the very depths of his soul. Like she knew he was one two-minute fantasy away from losing control. “Are you a collector?”
“Collect this trash?” she asked. “You’ve got to be kidding. If I win the auction tomorrow, I’m burning that painting.”
Both Ty’s and the shop owner’s mouths dropped open in shock.
“Burn it?” Ty said, disbelief choking off any chance at politeness. “Are you crazy? It’s a work of art. Why would you buy it, if you only want to destroy it?”
“I have my reasons.” Her blue eyes smoldered with an icy fire. She turned her back on Ty. “I’ll be here first thing tomorrow to pick up that paddle. Thank you for your help.”
The woman, with the figure of a goddess and a face that had filled his fantasies for years, left the store without another word.
* * * * *
Sasha Rennik flipped open her cell phone and pressed redial. She stood outside the antique shop, a smile on her face.
“Hey, Sash.” It was her younger sister, Stephanie. “What’d you find out?”
“It’s the right one,” Sasha told her sister. “I’m all set for tomorrow. I think we can pull it off.”
“So it’s just like Grandma described?”
“Yep, every last detail.” Sasha brushed her hair back from her forehead. Chicago wasn’t known as the Windy City for nothing. “Look, make sure you’ve got the money ready. I have a feeling I might need every penny.”
“Why do you say that?”
Sasha thought of the man on the other side of the shop door. He was tall and dark, with a roving eye. “I ran into a pretty passionate collector. Sounds like he might put up a fight.”
“You didn’t tell him you were going to bid on the painting, did you?”
“I might have let it slip.”
“Now that he knows you’re interested…are you sure we’re going to have enough?”
“Grandma left us enough.” She headed to her car parked down the street. “We’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Trust me. We’ve got it in the bag.”
They said their goodbyes, and Sasha snapped her phone shut. Her mind wandered back to the mysterious collector in the antique store. He seemed awfully taken with the painting…and awfully taken with her. If it hadn’t been so dark in the shop, she would have sworn he had a hard-on. Too bad he liked to collect smutty paintings. He probably liked to collect smutty women, too. Any man who had a collection of naked women on his walls had a serious problem, she was sure.
She looked forward to outbidding this guy and anyone else at the auction tomorrow who thought that painting was art. Of course, a man would think a painting of some woman’s tits was art. Disgusting.
Excerpt from SNOWDRIFT
It was early. Her alarm had gone off at seven o’clock sharp, and Piper was instantly awake. The room was cold. Someone had either turned the heat off or turned it too far down. Huddling under the blankets, she contemplated hitting the snooze and going back to sleep. But she wanted to be up before everyone else. Morning was her favorite time of day. She loved the quiet solitude it provided as she sipped that first cup of coffee.
She peeled back the heavy covers and climbed out of the cozy nest of the bed. Frost had grown on the windows overnight, the icy tendrils beautiful in the early white light. Matt didn’t even stir.
In the cold, she dashed about, gathering her clothes for the day, her toes turning into mini icicles. She couldn’t wait to get into the shower and turn on the hot water. Then she could make some coffee and try to rebuild the fire.
The bathroom was just as cold as the bedroom. She shivered, not looking forward to taking off her flannel pajamas, even if she would only be out in the cold for a few seconds before getting under the hot water.
A blast of steam greeted her when she turned on the shower. Instant heated water. Nice. The cabin might be rustic, but someone had gone to a lot of trouble to add a few extra touches. Slipping out of her pajamas, she hopped into the shower. The heat was delightful. And being that it was such a small bathroom, it warmed up rather quickly. After scrubbing her hair clean, shaving her legs, and soaping down, she shut off the water and reached outside the curtain for her towel.
Nothing.
No towel.
The counter of the bathroom sink was empty.
Dang it, she forgot to grab her towel drying over a chair in the bedroom.
She slid back the shower curtain to get another towel out of the cupboard, when the adjoining door opened and Jacob walked in.
All she saw was his green eyes scanning her naked body.
She froze.
Like a fawn startled by a hunter, she jumped back into the tub and yanked the curtain across.
“What in the hell, Henderson?” he asked. “Have you not heard of locks?” His voice cracked.
The blood pounded in her ears. Oh, my God. Jacob had seen her naked. In her mind, it had never happened like this. It was always romantic and sensual and… “Get out of here!”
“Hey, I’m not the one who left the door open.”
He didn’t seem to be going anywhere.
“I thought I’d locked it. Could you hand me a towel, please?”
“Now why would I do something like that?”
“Because I’m naked in the shower, and you’re a gentleman.”
“Who said I was a gentleman? If I knew you were putting on a free show…”
“It’s not a free show!”
“Well, if that was just a taste, I’d pay money to see more.” His voice became growly and low.
Was he serious? Or was he just teasing her again? Making fun of her. She started to shiver behind the curtain. She wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or from the desire that throbbed through her. Memories of the noises coming from his bedroom last night ran through her head. There was no way he was serious. He had that big-breasted bimbo in there. She couldn’t compete with her. “Could I have a towel, Jacob, please?” She didn’t know why, but she was on the verge of tears. Her words came out thick and slow.
She heard a shift in his voice. “I’ve got one. Here you go.” His hand appeared behind the curtain with a fluffy yellow towel.
She took it from him and wrapped herself up tight. Then she sat on the inside edge of the tub, not daring to move or to breathe. If she said one more word, she thought she might burst into tears.
“I’ll go make some coffee. Heaven forbid I should let you do it.” The teasing quality to his voice was back. It was the old Jacob. The safe Jacob.
Before she could thank him for the towel, she heard the door close.
Excerpt from GOING DOWN
“Going down?” the man in the elevator said, holding the door open with one hand.
Out of the three elevators in Sarah Hartman’s office building, why did this one have to open? It was dark. It was late, and all she wanted to do was go home to her apartment, open a bottle of wine, and take a hot bath. Instead, she had to share an elevator with Ian Shane.
Oh, yeah, he was handsome enough: tall and broad-shouldered, with rich brown hair threaded with golden highlights only surfers and rock climbers seemed to get. Problem was, he knew he was gorgeous. Pompous ass.
Ian frowned. “Are you getting in or not?”
Sarah hugged her tote bag, and tried to cover the small amount of cleavage peeping through her conservative business attire. The red silk wraparound blouse had seemed the perfect choice this morning to brighten the rainy day, but now she wasn’t so sure. Ian was known for being a flirt with anyone having two breasts and a pair of legs. He might be hot, but he wasn’t all that discriminating. At least, that’s what she’d heard from Laura, the receptionist.
“Fine,” he said crisply, letting go of the door.
As it started to slide shut, the lights in the hallway shut off. She shivered. Waiting for another elevator in a dark, empty office building was not something she relished, so she slipped into the elevator at the last possible moment.
Ian had a bemused expression on his face.
“Parking Garage Level Two, please,” she said in a brusque tone. She moved to the corner of the car farthest from Ian and stared up at the floor indicator above the doors. Most of the time she was glad she worked on the fifty-fifth floor, because of the spectacular view from her office window. But now, she suddenly wished she worked for the insurance company on the second floor.
“Great minds think alike.” He pressed the button on the panel in front of him, and leaned against the wall of the elevator to give her a friendly smile.
“Excuse me?” she asked.
“Well, I suppose I should say, ‘great minds park alike.”
“Everyone in our office has a parking space on Level Two.”
He cleared his throat and loosened his tie. “So…you work for Harris & Baker?”
“For three years now.” The guy wasn’t only a sleaze ball, he was also an idiot. She was head of the Human Resources department. How could he not have noticed her leading every sexual harassment seminar, the annual review of the company’s 401(k) plan, and the mandatory meeting just a few months ago when they switched health plans?
His brow crinkled as if he were confused.
“Sarah Hartman?” she prompted. “Human Resources?”
“Oh, yeah. That’s right. I thought you looked familiar.” He rubbed his hand across his brow, and his face turned red. “Don’t you usually have your hair up?” He gestured at her long, dark-brown hair, which now spilled over the shoulders of her suit jacket.
She tucked her hair behind one ear in a self-conscious motion. “I went for a swim this morning at the Y. I was late, so I…” Why was she explaining herself to this guy? Next, she’d be telling him why she’d chosen to wear her sling back heels versus her sturdier, low-heeled pumps. Or why she had on no stockings, instead of her usual nude hose. “Never mind.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and looked up at the floor indicator again.
Forty-nine. Forty-eight. Forty-seven.
The awkward silence grew inside the elevator. Sarah shifted from one foot to the other, hoping it would stop at the next floor and pick up someone else. Anyone. But who else in the building would be here at ten o’clock on a Monday night? For that matter, what was Ian Shane doing here this late? With those damn blue eyes and that sexy, sideways smile, he seemed like the type who would never miss happy hour at the bar down the block. Why had God wasted all that male beauty on a jerk?
He cleared his throat. “I do some swimming myself. Gotta have a strong stroke to keep out of the undertow.”
“Excuse me?”
“I surf.”
“Of course you do.”
“Did I say something wrong?”
“Look, I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s not going to work.” She tried to keep her focus on the numbers above the door.
He raised a quizzical brow. “What am I trying to do?”
“Hit on me.”
“Oh. Is that what I’m doing?” Ian’s throaty laughter filled the elevator’s small confines. “Thought I was just trying to make pleasant conversation.”
Sarah’s cheeks flamed at his words. She was such an idiot. Of course he wasn’t flirting with her. He might try to fuck every other woman in the office, or so Laura said, but he wasn’t trying his moves on her. Men like him usually didn’t. She pulled at the edges of her red silk blouse. It was a bit racier than her usual office attire. Now she’d wished she’d worn the mock turtleneck sweater instead.
She caught his eyes on her. He was staring at her cleavage. So he wasn’t hitting on her, huh? Yeah, right.
Copyright © 2007-09 Kris Eton
