Creative License (14 page)

Caleb crushed her to his chest and then pulled her away. “Does that mean…?”

“Of course, I’ll marry you.”

Applause echoed around them. Lily blinked as a hundred champagne glasses rose in a circle around them.

Mrs. Patterson stepped forward. “Give them some privacy now,” she said and then winked. “It’s about time, you two.”

Panic edged around Lily’s joy. She leaned over to whisper, “Oh no. What about her?”

He laughed. “I told her the whole story.”

“When?”

“Right after you left.”

“And?”

Caleb helped her to her feet and stared into her eyes. “She already knew.”

“She already knew? Will she still be your patroness?”

He nodded. “She told me if I didn’t go and get you back, I was a fool.” He smiled and shook his head. “She did have one request.”

Lily’s eyes widened. “What is that?”

Caleb’s eyes sparkled. “It seems that she writes erotic romance under a pen name. She wants to tell our story.”

Lily froze. Caleb pulled back, and his eyebrows drew together. “She’d change the names, of course.”

Laughter bubbled up from Lily’s throat. “No one would ever believe it.”

Caleb took the ring from the box and slipped it on Lily’s finger. “I do.” He took her hand that now displayed his grandmother’s wedding band and the engagement ring and kissed it, his eyes beaming with joy.

“And so were you?” she asked.

“Was I what?”

“Coming to get me?”

He patted his pocket and withdrew an envelope, handing it to her. Lily looked down at a plane ticket to Boston dated the next day. “If you hadn’t come here tonight, I’d have shown up on your doorstep tomorrow. That’s why I had the ring with me.”

“I love you, Caleb Anderson.”

“I love you too, Lily Anderson.” His lips descended in a gentle kiss that set fire to every nerve of her body. She was home.

About the Author

Lynne Roberts wrote her first story out of frustration at the age of eleven because
Gone with the Wind
just couldn’t end with Rhett and Scarlett not together.

She’s a hopeless romantic and a sucker for a happily ever after.

She’s been writing professionally since 2005 and, after reading some very talented authors, attempted her first erotic romance in 2009.

A hopeless coffee-addict, when she’s not writing, editing or on Twitter—which isn’t often—you can find her in the garden, reading or with her five children. Sometimes all of the above.

Lynne currently lives in sunny California. You can learn more about her on her website and blog. She’d love to hear from you.

http://lynneroberts.net

http://lynneroberts.blogspot.com/

He’s afraid of losing his grip. She’s about to untie his last knot…

Command and Control

© 2010 Shelli Stevens

Holding Out for a Hero, Book 2

Megan Asher has a thriving career, looks, self-confidence to spare. It all means little without the love of her life. Trevor has returned from deployment in Afghanistan a haunted man, emotionally distant and unwilling to connect—except in bed. Then even that fragile thread snaps. Brokenhearted, she is forced to call off their wedding and, after a few months’ separation, try to move on.

With every aspect of his life spinning out of his once-legendary control, Trevor Wyatt convinces himself that Megan is better off—and safer—as far away from his demons as possible. Until he comes back to town for his brother’s wedding, and discovers Megan is dating.

Suddenly realizing what he’s thrown away, he vows to breach the fortress she’s built around her heart. They come together in a cataclysm of rekindled passion that unleashes the very demons he never wanted her to witness.

Back to square one, Megan realizes she must take the ultimate risk to slip past Trevor’s defenses. Give him control in the one place she can. The bedroom. The seductive move is one she prays will be the first step in helping heal him and their love.

Warning: This book contains a tormented military hero and the sexy woman he’s determined to win back. Mild BDSM and kink, and blow jobs of the beverage and non-beverage kind.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Command and Control:

Megan’s breath hitched at his not-so-subtle implication. Her breasts swelled beneath his gaze and a liquid heat seared through her body and gathered heavy between her legs.

Keep the control, Megan. You can’t let him see how much he affects you still.

“Perhaps you could be more specific?” She arched a brow. “And if this is legal advice, you realize I have a fee.”

He laughed, the deep, sexy sound sending a wave of shivers down her back.

“I’m not here for legal advice, Megan.”

“No? Then what are you here for? Because, in case you haven’t noticed, Trevor, I’m working. And I can’t spend my time—”

“Planning dates with a guy named Henry?”

So he’d heard that? A flush worked its way up her neck, but she kept her expression impassive.

“Why are you here, Trevor?” she asked again.

“You’ll have to tell him no.”

Megan stilled. “Excuse me?”

“Henry boy. You’ll have to tell him that you can’t have dinner with him tonight.”

This time she let out a slow, throaty laugh that had his eyes darkening further.

“And why is that?” she asked.

“Because you’re having dinner with me.”

The hell she was. Megan let the smile on her face become a bit sympathetic.

“I find it best not to go to dinner with my exes,” she murmured and pushed back her chair to stand. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”

“Because there’s so many of them? Exes?” Trevor asked, standing as well and blocking her escape from where she’d been about to slip past him. “We were together for two years and before that, I remember you saying there was no one serious.”

Annoyance sparked in her belly and it pricked her to realize she probably wasn’t hiding it from her eyes now. “This is all a bit irrelevant, Trevor. I’m not having dinner with you.”

He slowly made his way around her desk, and she took a few steps backward, her pulse quickening and her mouth going dry.

“Come on, angel, just admit it,” he said softly, advancing upon her. “The idea of dinner with Henry does nothing for you.”

“Henry happens to be a very nice man,” she said quickly, her back literally against the wall now.

Oh God, if he came any closer—and there, damn it he did! Their knees were nearly bumping now. She drew in a sharp breath, but it only filled her head with the scent of him. His shampoo and soap that was painfully familiar. The faint hint of his cologne. Megan had the urge to nuzzle his neck, to flick her tongue and see if he still tasted the same.

You’re crazy, Megan, get it together.

“Tell me about this Henry guy,” he commanded softly, his gaze sliding over her face, searching her eyes. “Does he wear starched suits and bowties?”

“Actually, he doesn’t.” They were just regular ties.

Her heart thumped wildly against her rib cage and the proximity of his body to hers had every tiny hair on the back of her neck lifting up in awareness. Why oh why didn’t she share an office with anyone? Most of her days were spent on the phone with clients, answering e-mails or doing paperwork, but very rarely did anyone come in.

She was alone with Trevor unless she forced him to leave. And right now—though her brain was screaming at her to throw him out on his cocky ass—her body was begging him to stay. To stop just looking at her and to touch her. Because she missed him so much. She missed being held in his arms and kissing him. Touching him. Talking…though the talking had ended long before the kissing had.

Every muscle in her body was coiled with tension. With need.

“I’ve always loved you like this, Megan.” He reached out and traced the lapel of her blazer. “But you know that, don’t you? All prim and proper in your trim little suits.”

“Trevor—”

“Nobody could possibly know by looking at you just what a little animal you are in bed,” he muttered thickly, his fingers gliding back up her lapel and then inward, to trace the neckline of her silk camisole. “How when you come hard you can scar up a man’s back with those claws of yours.”

His words had her biting back a throaty moan. Even as her nipples tightened and dampness gathered in her panties. She could see it in her head. Could almost feel his cock pounding into her again as the weight of his body pinned hers to the bed.

No, sex won’t fix anything.

“Remember that time when we first started dating, when I fucked you in this office?” he asked. “When I bent you over that desk right over there, lifted your skirt, pushed those tiny panties you love to wear aside and just took you?”

Her sex clenched with an ache to be filled, because she did remember. But she shook her head, trying to make him stop verbalizing such a sensual memory.

“Remember how you begged me, angel?” He smiled. “’Cause I sure do.”

“Please…”

“Does Henry make you feel like this? Does he know that kissing the small of your back makes you whimper like a bitch in heat?” His voice dropped an octave as his finger dipped under the neckline of her top to caress the swell of her breasts.

Push him away. Tell him to stop
. But she couldn’t. Didn’t want to.

“Or when he’s sucking on your tits, are you biting your tongue not to call out my name?”

“Trevor,” she pleaded huskily, arching into his touch.

“Yeah. Just like that.” And then his head descended, his mouth slanting across hers.

Megan couldn’t have resisted even if she’d wanted to. She cried out as his lips plundered her, as his tongue thrust fiercely against hers as if to remind her just who was kissing her. As if she could ever, ever forget.

From zero to sixty in a heartbeat—if she doesn’t throttle him first.

Playboy Prankster

© 2010 Pamela Britton

Extreme Racing, Book 1

When CJ Randall arrives in Nevada to cover the Celebrity Pro/Am Off Road Rally for DRIVE Magazine, she’s already stuck between a cactus and a hard place. Her boss has made it clear if this article doesn’t measure up, her job is wrecked. Then she gets a look at the “pro” half of her “am”: Tan. Rich. Overconfident. Unsuitable. Bachelor. Lacking. Ethics.

T.R.O.U.B.L.E.

She’s sworn off tall, dark and handsome men. Too bad the desert heat is making her hyperventilate like a hormone-crazed teenager.

Despite her makeup-free face and ready-to-go attitude—a far cry from the high-maintenance women he’s used to—Bryce Danvers doesn’t expect CJ to last an hour. To his surprise, she toughs out the entire day. The least he can do is show his appreciation with some fast food and a friendly kiss.

The instant their lips connect, warning klaxons go off in CJ’s head. He’s a taste of heaven she can’t afford to sample again. Bryce finds himself wanting to give her generous curves a bumper-to-bumper inspection. And his focus on the checkered flag shot all to hell.

Warning: If you like your stories PG-13, this is not the book for you. If you like Boy Scout race car drivers with clean-cut reputations, you should pass. And if you like to breathe while reading, steer clear. Love, laughter and hot, hot, hot sex scenes will leave you gasping for air.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Playboy Prankster:

“Ohmigosh,” she screeched, her hand on the handle of the bathroom door and staring at Bryce in disbelief. She glanced down at the towel barely covering her private parts and darted back into the bathroom. “Bryce Danvers, you creep, how the heck did you get in my room?”

“You left your window open. I stuck my hand in and unlocked the door.”

She felt her mouth flop open, then closed it, then opened it again. She couldn’t believe he was telling the truth, had to resist the urge to call him a liar.

“Well, you can just walk right back out.” She clutched the towel around her more firmly, closing the bathroom door until there was just a crack to peek out and hoping upon hope that she was suffering a Dramamine induced hallucination and not facing the reality of Bryce Danvers in her hotel room.

“Ah, honey, you don’t really want me to leave, do you?” he drawled in his mint julep voice.

“Don’t you call me honey, you…you pervert,” she opened the door a bit more. “What’s the matter, the woman in pink lose your room number?”

“Who?”

“Never mind. Get out of here before I call security.”

“CJ, this place doesn’t have security.”

“How do you know?”

“’Cause I caught a look at the guy at the front desk. The closest that man had come to security is the maximum security kind.”

He must mean that god-awful man at the registration desk, the one with more ink tattooed on his arms than a printing press. “Well, then I’ll call the police.”

“You’ll have to come out here to use the phone.”

“That won’t be a problem since you’re leaving.”

“Why? Are you afraid I’m going to bite?”

“I’d need a rabies shot if you did.”

He groaned. “Ooo, a low blow.”

She didn’t say anything. Trouble, she reminded herself.

“And to think, I was going to ask you out to dinner.”

“Sorry. I have other plans tonight.”

“What plans?”

“None of your business.” She heard a rustling sound and stiffened. “Don’t you come near me, Bryce Danvers.”

Silence.

“Bryce?” she called warily. Maybe he was leaving. She opened the door another notch.

Nothing.

She peeked her head out the door.

“Boo.”

She jumped. The brat stood right by the door frame wearing a white polo shirt and tan slacks, looking entirely too good for her peace of mind. “You…You…” She hissed, all the while trying not to gawk. Bryce, without his firesuit, was a sight to behold. The shirt clung to his muscular frame, the white contrasting with his tan and making his eyes stand out even more. She clutched the towel around her more firmly.

“Are those bruises on your shoulder?”

She looked down, startled out of her salivating. Bruises? What bruises?