And it’s a doozy! Like I am smiling so much and want to wake my sleeping husband so I can jump up and down and cheer doozy A FIVE ravens and recommended read doozy!!

Check it out!!

Ashley from The Blackraven Review says…

“Copping A Feel is ALL about the sex, let me tell you and it sizzles and sparks in a way you don’t want to miss. Lexxie Couper is very descriptive in this one and as I read it, I felt like a race car driver trying to get to the finish line. I liked it so much I just couldn’t stop reading it!”

How awesome is THAT?!

Check out the whole review here and take a look at the book here

Okay, so I’ve been fooling around with a horror-erotic romance for my wonderful Ellora’s Cave editor (g’day Kelli *smooch*) and decided to go back and read my last attempt, Timeless Wrath. Then I thought, why not post an excerpt to see if I scare anyone.

If this makes you a little unsettled, let me know. Otherwise, it’s back to the rom-com Lexxie that seems to be emmerging from the once dark shadows of my brain…

Ricki woke. Jerked from sleep by her own force of will.

She’d been dreaming. Evron had been kissing her, his tongue exploring her mouth as his hands explored her body. Raw pleasure rolled through her, stealing her breath and flooding her pussy. And then, as the kiss deepened, a shadow fell over them both. A shroud of black blistering heat that consumed the very light around them.

She’d pulled away from Evron,  scared. But it wasn’t Evron who held her at all, but a creature of hideous proportions—twice the size a normal man, with muscles that bulged and rippled under red leathery skin. A massive pulsating cock leaked putrid pus from its swollen, bulbous head, and immense venous wings engulfed her in their span just as the creature opened its mouth to reveal needle-sharp teeth and a long, lashing forked tongue. Beatriccccccccce Whatleeeeeeeeeeeeeey. Her name sounded like tearing flesh. You are—

She sat up. The room around her—Evron’s bedroom—was silent. Dark. Rubbing at her face, she shoved the terrible dream from her mind. Or attempted to. A chill rippled over her and her flesh broke out in goose bumps, pinching her nipples tight and making her scalp prickle. “Damn.” She scrubbed her hands over her face again. “What a dream.”

Stretching back on the bed, she roll to her side, sliding her hand across the mattress, reaching for Evron.  She needed to snuggle back into the security of his arms and let his hard warmth dissolve the nightmare’s chill.

Except he wasn’t there.

Beatriccccccccssssssssssssse.

Ricki jolted upright, peering into the blackness of the room, her breath catching in her tight throat. Another chill, this one colder than the Artic, shot up her spine ad her nipples pinched to painful tips of fear. Had she really heard that?

“Evron? ” Her voice sounded weak, somehow falling flat in the silence of her lover’s dark bedroom. “Evron?  Not funny…”

Nothing.

Not a sound. Not even the whisper of a muffled breath.

“Evron?”

A blast of scalding air smashed against her, knocking her flat on her back.

Heart hammering, Ricki scrambled off the bed, sprinting across the room to the door as if the Devil were on her tail.

And found it locked.

* * * * *

“Mine?” Evron stared at the woman before him, every fiber of his body telling him to get the fuck out of his studio. Now. “What the hell does that mean?”

The woman—Shahla—smiled, fangs flashing at him. “It means everything…” Custodian.

Myriad images slammed into Evron’s head. A city in a desert, a crowned man with a black beard, a fiery furnace and a flaming scrawl of indecipherable glyphs. As each image flared bright in his head, his anger grew stronger. Hotter.

He ground his teeth, glaring at the naked woman before him. He wanted answers. And if the bitch thought she was going to frighten him with her supernatural look-I’m-a-sculpture-but-I’m-giving-you-head bullshit, she was wrong. All she’d achieved was to piss him off. “Enough of this Custodian crap.” He took a step toward her. “Who are you, and what the fuck is this crappy piece of bargain basement art doing in my studio?”

Shahla’s black eyes narrowed and a low hiss sounded in the back of her throat. Do not speak so of me, Custodian. The power in the Form is the power of the Nine Circles of Hell.

“Well, the Nine Circles can—”

Go to Hell? Shahla laughed, the sound making Evron’s flesh crawl. I have so much to teach you, Custodian. She took another of those gliding steps, backward, reaching out to caress one smooth extended arm of the sculpture. A featherlight sensation whispered up Evron’s arm, from elbow to shoulder, mirroring the stroke of Shahla’s fingers, and his balls lifted high toward his body. Hell is exactly where I come from.

* * * * *

The knob refused to turn.

No matter how hard Ricki twisted it—and she twisted it so fucking hard the skin on her palm tore—it wouldn’t turn.

She wrestled with the doorknob, the blackness of Evron’s room pressing against her like a suffocating cloak, a scream trapped in her throat. Bands of scalding heat assaulted her from behind. An invisible assault on her body that made her weep and tremble. Formless heat licked at her ass, her thighs, her shoulders. Reached between her legs and tongued her cunt.

Oh God, what is happening?

Terror crashed through her.

Terror and something akin to—God save her, where was her mind?—pleasure. The bands of heat, insubstantial and cruel, traversed her flesh, flicking at her nipples, dipping into her bellybutton. With every burning contact her heart pounded and her cunt contracted, flooding with moisture that, had she not been in a state of petrified arousal, would have been as blissful as an orgasm itself. She yanked on the doorknob again, desperate to escape.

Escape what?

She didn’t know.

Where’s Evron?

An icy numbness slammed against her pounding heart. She didn’t know that either.

Girl, you have to get outta here! Now!

She opened her mouth, the scream trapped in her throat ready to burst free.

And the invisible lashes raining over her body solidified. Transforming into pliable fingers of oily black brimstone that plunged into her mouth. Her cunt.

Beeeeeeeaaaaatriccccccccssssssseeee…

Molten lava scalded her very soul. Before she could move, unseen arms clamped around her waist and, with a savage jerk, she was yanked off her feet. Flung backward through the air until, meters above Evron’s bed, she froze. Suspended. Back arched in a painful upside-down U, breasts so close to the ceiling her nipples almost brushed it.

Scalding fingers delved into her clenching pussy, seeking the spot deep in the folds of her sex that barely an hour ago had been stimulated to ecstatic rapture by Evron’s pumping cock. She writhed, held aloft by God knows what, terror tearing through her mind.

And even then—assaulted and defiled—her body betrayed her. Craved for more.

Oh God, Evron, help me!

Seeking, delving fingers plunged deeper, deeper, into her cunt. She felt a breath on her cheek, smelled sulphur—acrid and sharp—on the boiling air. Of their own accord, her eyes opened. To stare into the daemonic face of her assailant.

And finally—no force in Heaven or Hell able to stop her—she screamed.

And screamed.

And screamed.

So, what do you think? A little creepy?

Holy moly, I have to have to have to see this movie!!

Okay, stop humming the theme song to Dallas (or wondering what Dallas is if you’re too young to know) and listen up. J.R. Patrick is a new voice in erotic romance, but holy damn, is it an amazing voice. J.R. writes some of the most scorching m/m out there, and while she only has one book in release at the moment (“Only Yours” a Nap Size Dream at Dreamspinner Press) I hear on the grapevine there’s amore coming (pause for a silent YES!!)

Anyways, we’re doing something a little different with J.R. It’s a progressive excerpt from Only Yours. Now if you’ve come to me straight up, you’ve missed the beginning so head over here (International Heat) to check out J.R’s introductionary blog and reading order and then follow the links until you’re done. Then come back here and thank me for introducing you to one of your new favourite authors.

It seemed like hours, but moments later, the second dancer drew his mouth away from his partner’s ass and smacked his lips so loudly that each succulent noise caused Dre’s body to shudder. The second dancer reached for a bottle and squirted liquid onto the first dancer’s crack. He held up one finger to the audience and then inserted it slowly into the first dancer’s ass. Dre bit his lip, wishing for a second that he was on stage. The first dancer cried out, writhing around the digit. Dre was right there with him, his cock throbbing in response. The second dancer removed his finger, repeating the demonstration with two fingers, then three. Dre’s lip pulsed; he realized his teeth had dug in and he had to release it before he drew blood.

From here, head on over to Jess Dee’s blog. Happy reading…

This poster makes a (very important) cameo in Copping A Feel. Just thought I’d share its twisted, perverted awesomeness with you all Don’t you just love it!

Err… is that post title too tacky? Risque? Lame?

Anyways, guess what? Copping A Feel, my first ever ever ever erotic romantic comedy is now AVAILABLE TO BUY at Ellora’s Cave. I can’t believe I actually wrote this book. It is unlike anything I’ve ever written (for starters, no one dies, is torn apart, tormented by malicious villains or needs to save the world) and, according to my Ellora’s Cave editor (the most wonderful Kelli Collins) is bloody hilarious as well as damn hot.

I’ve written a special dedication in this book, but there is one person I simply need to say a HUGE thank you to, and that’s Mari Carr. It was Mari who invited me to write a Tempt the Cougar book. If she hadn’t I never would have told the tale of Darci-Rae and Detective Jarrod St James. If she hadn’t I never would have got the taste for writing a genre which I’d never even considered writing before. Thanks to Mari, I had the courage to write another erotic rom-com and that book (Triple Dare) has been selected by Samhain Publishing to be included in their Red Hot Winter Antho.

So, Mari…if you were here right now I would hug you to bits. Thank you. A million times, thank you.

Now, here’s a little snippet from Copping A Feel. If you enjoy it, feel free to head on over to EC and pick up a copy

Snippet

Darci Whitlam stared at the handset of her phone as if it had grown a set of arms and was trying to feel her up. Well, not feel her up as such, but grab her nipples through her t-shirt and bra and twist them until she cried uncle. What the hell had she just heard?

Her frown pulling hard at her eyebrows, she returned the handset to her ear and said, “Excuse me?”

“I want to bend you over the sofa and pump your sweet, tight cunt full of my hot cum.”

Darci blinked. “Umm, yeah, that’s what I thought you said.”

Face igniting in red heat, she clunked the handset of her phone back in its cradle and chewed on her bottom lip. Bloody hell, that was the third dirty phone call she’d had this morning! Each from a different man, each describing in great detail what the caller wanted to do to her. What the hell was going on?

Turning back to the phone, she picked up the handset again and stared at it.

It’s not going to give you the answer, Darci.

That was true, but she had to do something. For starters, find out why three men thought she, Darci-Rae Whitlam, an unassuming high-school English teacher in a small city on the East Coast of Australia, was, in fact, a telephone sex worker. How the hell did they get her private number? Not even the smartest student at school had unearthed that number, and Terry Cahill had been trying since year nine.

Shouldn’t you be more worried about how everything that last caller said made you feel?

She pulled a face, dropping the handset back into the cradle once more and blowing at the fringe of her bangs. Probably yes, but two things kept the worry at bay.

A) She was a black belt in Tae Kwon Do and could, if needed, kick some serious ass.

And B) The explicit nature of the phone calls made her, well…kinda horny.

Okay, that’s it. You’re officially insane. This is why Vivian calls you oversexed. You get, let’s face it, a mildly disturbing call and instead of being scared, you’re bloody well excited.

Darci blew into her fringe again, a frustrated exhalation that did nothing except contribute to the unruly mess of curls falling over her forehead. She shouldn’t have thought of her older sister. Whenever she thought of Viv, she got antsy. Viv was the achiever in the family—the famous literary novelist who followed in their father’s famous shoes. Viv had the doting doctor husband, the two med-school-grad children, the well-trained, pedigreed King Cavalier Spaniel and the three-story mansion overlooking Sydney Harbor.

Darci, as Viv often pointed out, was a forty-year-old, unmarried high-school teacher who still went out to bars on the weekend, wrestled on the beach with her totally untrained mutt, Jay Jay Jones, ate carbohydrates until they came out her ears, drank beer straight from the bottle and often forgot where she’d left her one tube of lipstick.

Darci also, much to Viv’s dismay and shame, had no qualms about her relationship with Mr. Tibbs, her rabbit (the vibrating variety, not the furry kind), and still enjoyed flirting when given the chance—especially with sexy young men.

Which is why she calls you oversexed. God, if she knew you were getting excited over an obvious case of mistaken identity, she’d throw a pink fit.

With one more huff into her fringe, Darci walked away from the phone. She probably should do something about the calls, but not now. Now she wanted to connect with someone who didn’t care if she flirted with strange—but always handsome—men in bars.

Dropping into the worn, comfortable leather recliner tucked under a low reading lamp in the far corner of her living room, Darci woke her laptop and opened iChat. If she was lucky, Rachel would be online. The American knew how to make her laugh and didn’t care one iota if she owned a rabbit. In fact, Darci was pretty damn certain the physical therapist owned one herself.

Rachel, however, wasn’t online, her little Bugs Bunny avatar just a ghosty-gray image in the buddies list, which probably meant Rach was still in bed. Darci grimaced. “Bum.” She dragged her hands through her hair, which disturbed the curls even more than her earlier melodramatic hyperventilating. She should close her laptop and get to marking assignments. She had a pile the size of Ayres Rock waiting for her, itching at her subconscious, but she just wasn’t in the mood. For starters, the three phone calls this morning were still affecting her and she just felt…unsettled.

Don’t you mean horny?

Rolling her eyes at her own ridiculousness—oh yeah, that’s an elegant word for an English teacher should use, Darc—she shut down iChat and opened her email instead. She’d check her inbox, answer what needed to be answered and then give Jay Jay a bath. The pair of them had spent yesterday afternoon surfing and the dog still smelled like a seaweed farm.

“Ah,” she murmured, spying Rachel’s name in the From column. “Talk about freaky.” Wriggling her butt deeper into the recliner, Darci toed off her flip-flops and opened Rachel’s email, the mysterious subject header making her grin—Go here now!

The email opened and Darci’s eyebrows lifted. Unlike Rachel’s normal emails, which provided lovingly detailed descriptions of what Rach had been up to, what book she was currently reading as well as what hero she was currently in lust with, all info Darci loved to read, this email contained just two things.

A web address.

http://temptthecougar.blogspot.com/

And the words, You’re invited to become a Cougar, Darci. Join us.

Darci frowned. “What the hell?”

Moving her finger over the laptop’s trackpad, she clicked on the link.

And double blinked when a website unlike any she’d been to opened.

“Bloody hell, Rach,” she muttered, her gaze flicking over the various images of very hunky, very naked men filling her screen. “Where have you sent me?”

She studied the men before her, her pulse quickening. There was text to go with the images, but for the moment it may as well have been ancient Mandarin for all it meant to Darci. What held her attention were the men.

The young men.

She shook her head, unable to drag her stare from her screen. “Oh my…” Sculpted muscles Michelangelo would have been proud to create defined bodies devoid of any middle-age spread. Artfully messy hair tumbled over foreheads free of wrinkles, not a gray strand to be seen in the thick, glossy locks. Clear, direct eyes gazed out at her—blue, black, green, hazel. Eyes smoldering with open desire and seduction.

Darci sucked in a sharp breath. “Twenties. Can’t be any older than mid-twenties.”

And so yummy your knickers are growing damper by the second.

The unexpected thought took her by surprise and she sucked in another breath, this one a little less sharp and a little more…ragged. Pulling at her bottom lip with her teeth, Darci read the blog’s header—Tempt The Cougar—and then the first post. She half-frowned, half-grinned at a section of the first paragraph.

“…women who dare to take the challenge and experience the delights of sex with a younger man. Women who cast off their cloaks of conventionality and indulge their inner wild woman.

“Stay tuned for updates!”

“Oh, Rachel Bridges,” she chuckled, returning her attention to the gorgeous men clearly a decade younger than her. “You bloody naughty girl.”

Sooo? Did you like it?

To celebrate my first ever contemporary rom-com, Copping A Feel I’m going to be running amuck on the International Heat’s reader’s yahoo group, Heat Wave Wednesday night (7:30pm – 9:30pm USA EST).

I’m going to be giving away participation prizes plus some of the other International Heat authors are going to pop by and who knows what they’re going to do *grin*)

I’d love you to join me. Head over here and join the Heat Wave group if you’re not already a member and get ready for some fun on Wednesday night!

Copping A Feel

A standalone title in the Cougar Challenge series.

Darci-Rae Whitlam doesn’t know which is more disturbing, receiving scads of obscene phone calls—or getting so turned-on by said phone calls. Then there’s the email from her American friend, Rachel, taunting Darci with something called a Cougar Challenge. Just the thought of seducing a younger man is enough to permanently soak her knickers. No wonder her ever-disapproving sister thinks she’s oversexed!

Cybercrime Detective Jarrod St. James is investigating a case of stolen identity. He quickly learns the fiery redhead claiming to be Darci-Rae Whitlam is the real deal (his shoulder trapped in the jaws of her gargantuan dog might have sped that decision along). He really should go back to Sydney, continue tracking the imposter who’s operating a phone-sex business in Darci’s name…but the woman proves too tempting. Job be damned, he has to have her. The fact she’s got a titillating challenge to complete only helps his case.

Darci just may be the fastest cougar to snag her cub yet. Being the victim of a crime has never been more fun!

Check this out: Rhys McDonald has worked his amazing, awesome talent again for me and created the most delicious image of Declan and Regan from Savage Retribution. Isn’t it just GORGEOUS!! I’m going to be adding it to my Zazzle store soon, so if you want to be seen in some sexy threads, head over and have a look in the next couple of hours

For now, just sit back and gaze…

(And if you want to do more than gaze, here’s a snippet from Savage Retribution, the book Declan and Regan are from…)

Savage Retribution

An animal rights activist is about to get a crash course in werewolves. One she may not survive.

Lone Irish werewolf Declan O’Connell has lost everything—his family, his clan, even his freedom—to his arch-rival, Nathan Epoc. The head of an underground werewolf clan and a brilliant scientist, Epoc plans to use Declan to create a super-wolf, a creature capable of shifting the balance of power in the lycanthrope world. But Epoc’s plans are about to be thwarted.

Regan Thomas, a determined animal rights activist, rescues what she thinks is an ordinary wolf from his notorious animal testing facility in Sydney, Australia. She gets more than she bargained for when the wolf turns into an extremely hunky, extremely naked man who immediately drags her into a world where the clash between two opposing werewolf clans could spell the end of humankind.

Declan has survived without a clan for more years than he cares to remember, but sexy Regan stirs up all his fierce, alpha-wolf instincts. Now Declan has one last chance at revenge. But can he keep Regan alive, and resist the overwhelming attraction between them, long enough to stop Epoc?

Summer in Australia has never been this hot… or this dangerous.

Excerpt

Regan opened her eyes. Slowly. She peered around the dark room, squinting at the thin shards of bright light pushing through a narrow crack in the curtains on the far wall. Where was she?

She pressed her palms to the spongy mattress beneath her and struggled into a sitting position, taking in the kitsch, framed prints on the wall and the sunken bed beside her. A hotel room? Was she in a hotel room? The sound of traffic hummed beyond the walls; cars, trucks, motorcycles, and behind those typical urban noises the distant cries and squawks of seagulls. God, she could be anywhere.

Swinging her legs around, she placed her bare feet on the floor and pushed herself upright. Black swirling stars filled her head immediately and she flopped back down to the bed, a dull throb pounding up her jaw into her temple. She lifted her hand, running her fingers along the aching beat.

Damn it! He’d hit her! He’d actually hit her.

“I’m sorry about that.”

The softly spoken words with their even softer accent caressed her ears and she spun around, staring through a fresh wave of black stars at the man sitting in the armchair behind her.

At some stage he’d found himself some clothes. A pair of very faded blue jeans hugged his long, lean legs, emphasizing the corded strength of his thighs and impressive bulge between them, and a black Ramones t-shirt covered a torso Regan remembered being hard and smooth and wonderful to touch. A squeezing sensation rolled through her belly into the warm centre between her legs. Regan scowled. Goddamn it! The man had kidnapped her and here she was feeling horny? She steadied herself on the bed, giving her abductor a mean glare. “Yeah, well sorry doesn’t cut it, mate. If you wanted me to leave that badly you could’ve asked.”

To her surprise, the man laughed, the sound rich and relaxed. “I did ask. You decided to make a phone call, remember?”

Regan closed her eyes. Shit. Peter would be going out of his mind. Probably had the entire Sydney City Police Force out looking for her.

And with good reason?

She flicked a shuttered gaze to the man watching her. She didn’t know. Yet.

“I truly am sorry about the jaw.” The Irish lilt played over her senses like a feather and she suppressed a shiver. She really needed to get her act together. Who knew what he had in store for her? “But we had to go. I couldn’t wait.” Grey storm-cloud eyes grew intense. “We couldn’t wait.”

Regan edged into a more comfortable, but easy-to-spring-from position on the bed, checking out how close and easy to reach the phone was in case she needed to swing it. “What are you?”

The blunt question didn’t seem to offend him. In fact, those defined lips curled into a small smile. “Apart from a freak, you mean?”

Regan didn’t bat an eyelid. “Yes. Apart from that.”

“A werewolf.”

It was Regan’s turn to laugh. “Oh, right. A werewolf. Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?”

The man’s smile stretched wider. “I thought it was pretty obvious myself, love. Considering one minute you were stroking my fur and running your fingers up and down my four legs—which I enjoyed immensely, I might add—and the next I was standing before you on two. Furless.”

A very large, hard lump suddenly stuck in Regan’s throat and her head swam again. The memory of the wolf’s unusual humerus and pelvic bone crashed over her, as did her surreal response to the animal’s inherent power. Her skin prickled into clammy gooseflesh. She stared at the man still watching her from his chair, her pulse a rapid hammer pounding in her neck. “Holy shit.”

The man’s smile turned dry. “There’s nothing holy about werewolves, love.”

Frazzled anger shot through Regan and she gave her abductor a glare. “Stop calling me love.”

Even blacker eyebrows shot up, a light she could only describe as mischievous glinting in his grey eyes. His smile grew wider. Wolfish. “And what would you be having me call you, then?”

“My name’s Regan.”

With a speed she’d seen from him before, both as man and wolf, he was on his feet, across the short distance between them and beside the bed. He extended his right hand, the mischievous light in his eyes now devilish. “Declan O’Connell. Your kidnapper for the day.”

Regan ignored his hand, even as a tight, wet heat unfurled in the pit of her stomach at his proximity. His clean but musky scent threaded through her breath and she pressed her thighs closer together, trying her best to ignore the constricting pressure between them. “For the day?” she repeated, looking at him squarely in the face. “So this is just a twenty-four hour thing? Like a twenty-four hour flu?” She paused. “Only more annoying?”

The man—Declan—chuckled, but Regan didn’t miss the dark tension in his gaze. “Perhaps ‘for the day’ was a poor choice of words.”

Regan clenched her fists and jaw. “Perhaps you should tell me what the hell is going on. Because at this point in time, I’m very close to picking up the phone and braining you with it. Hard.” She narrowed her eyes. “I’m still not convinced this isn’t all just a bad dream left over from my run-in with Epoc’s security guards.”

Strong fingers pinched her shoulder before she could move. “Feel that?”

Damn, he’s fast. The thought sent a chill straight up her spine. How the hell was she to get away when he moved like a…

Like an animal?

Stomach fluttering, Regan looked up into the smoldering grey eyes. Damn it, she was in trouble. A heavy lump formed in her throat again and she swallowed. “What’s going on? No bullshit, no Irish charm, okay?”

Jambrea Jo Jones has fantastic taste in clothes. I know this because she left hers in my hotel room at Ohio (RT2010) when she went out for dinner with Total-E-Bound publishing (I wanted to steal them, but I thought she may notice she had nothing to change back into when dinner finished *grin*). She also is one of the sweetest and nicest people I’ve ever had the good fortune to meet. She writes hot hot hot hot m/m erotic romance (and when I say hot hot hot I mean hot hot hot). There are so many of her books I could show you, but I’ve picked Retribution for two reasons: 1/ I love the cover (see? Isn’t it mouthwatering?) and 2/ I love the word ‘retribution’.

Enjoy…

Retribution: Is love worth the cost?

Rave Anders lost everything – his job, his lover, and part of his soul. Accused of a crime he didn’t commit, it’s taken him years to build up a respectable intergalactic transport business. Pulled into a web of intrigue and espionage, Rave is forced to face ex-lover Kain Sims, the one man he no longer trusts.

On a mission for the Alliance, Kain must convince Rave the fate of a world rests in both their hands. Kain needs Rave to help to destroy a deadly weapon before it can be used to eradicate a planet. But that’s the easy part; the hard part is making Rave believe he never wanted to leave him in the first place.

Can they save a world and reclaim the love they once shared, in a galaxy of deception?

Threshold is an ongoing, free story that tells the tale of a forbidden desire that can not be denied. I will post an installment here on my blog every week or so. This is the beginning of the tale…

His dark-eyed gaze moved over her, a slow caress she felt all the way to the very centre of her heat. Her sex constricted, her nipples pebbled. She stood on his front door step, knowing she shouldn’t go inside. What waited for her within was dangerous. More than dangerous. Life changing. She shouldn’t go inside.

The corner of his lips – lips she’d long dreamed of claiming hers – curled into a knowing smile. He knew why she was there. Her flimsy excuse wasn’t fooling anyone. “Are you sure?”

She shook her head. No. She wasn’t.

Her sex pulsed, damp and eager. Her head may know what she should do, but her body hungered only one thing. One thing.
His dark eyes held hers captive as she stood motionless before him. “Are you sure?”

She swallowed, her pulse rapid, her mouth dry. “No,” she murmured. “But I can’t…I can’t stop thinking…”

His nostrils flared. “Of us? Together?”

“Yes. Damn you.”

For a moment, the smug arrogance left his eyes and he stood before her, exposed and as vulnerable as she. The boy she’d known twenty years ago in the man he now was. And then his jaw bunched and his gaze burned with undeniable promise. “I want you. I always have.”

She drew in a shaking breath, her heart pounding in her throat, her nipples so hard they ached, and stepped over the threshold into his home.

“This is dangerous,” she murmured, turning her head to gaze blindly at nothing. “Oh, fuck, what am I doing?

Instead of answering her, he cupped her jaw in his hand, his fingers resting behind her ear. The simple contact sent a shiver through her, pinching her nipples hard. She bit back a hitching gasp, determined to control herself. Damn it, this wasn’t her. Even if she shouldn’t be here, she wasn’t this woman – this nervous, shy creature standing before him.

Lifting her gaze to his, she straightened her spine. “Do you know where this will lead us?”

A lop-sided smile pulled at his lips. “I’m hoping to the bedroom.” Perfect white teeth glinted at her as his smile stretched wider. “But if you make me wait much longer, Ali Gardner, it may very well be right here on this spot.”

The raw promise in his voice made her sex constrict, squeezing a cock that wasn’t there. Yet.

“That’s not what I mean, Mike.” She shook her head, struggling to control the desire threatening to overwhelm her. After all these years, she was here. Why was she waiting?

Because it’s dangerous. So bloody dangerous.

The smile faded from Mike’s lips and a small part of her wanted to whimper with dismay. When he smiled, her heart sang. “I know.” His dark eyes grew serious. Unreadable. He brushed the pad of his thumb over the swell over her bottom lip, his jaw muscles bunching. “But you’re finally here and there’s no way in fucking hell I can let you walk away now.”

Before she could respond – and really, what could she say to such an admission – he lowered her head and touched his lips to hers.

Oh, Ali, stop him. This is dangerous. You know it is.

Her own stunned voice whispered through her head, a warning she recognized deep in her soul. A warning she could not heed.

Yes, it was dangerous. More dangerous than imaginable. But for this one moment, she didn’t care.

His hips brushed hers, the rigid length of his desire nudging her belly, and for the first time in her life, she stopped listening to her head and obeyed her body’s demands, parting her lips to meet his hungry kiss.

God help them both.

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