Unforgettable Summer: Wild Crush, Book 1 (27 page)

Reaching out, she touched her fingers to all that hard packed muscle. He was so strong, so solid. Touching him alone made the wetness between her thighs increase, made her true feelings slip out. “Wow. You’re so sexy.”

“Hell, Lana.” His voice was raspy, making Lana aware her actions had impacted him. “You make it impossible for a man to kick you out of bed.”

“Are you trying to?”

“Yes.” He encircled her wrist with his fingers, stilling the wandering exploration of her hand. Glancing up, she met his gaze. His dark chocolate eyes shone in the dim light, their depths reflecting the battle going on inside him. Tense lines bracketed his mouth, and his heart beat a rapid tattoo against her palm. “You should get out of here while you still have the chance.”

Lana shook her head, never tearing her eyes from his. “I’ve used up all my chances tonight. If you want me to leave, you might have to carry me out.”

He snaked an arm around her back and grasped her thigh with his other hand. For a moment Lana was sure he was going to do exactly as she’d suggested. Mortification ripped through her. That would be a great look, being hauled down the wharf and unceremoniously dumped in the parking lot.

Perhaps it was his intention to get rid of her, but the instant he pulled her forward and their chests meshed together, he stilled. The action had brought their faces close, and Lana watched as the fight in his eyes turned to surrender. His grip on her thigh tightened and he drew her leg snugly around his hip. Then he made a guttural sound and leaned forward to capture her lips with his.

He devoured her mouth like a man starved. Lana tried to keep up, to give as good as she got, but the sensuous thrust of his tongue, the tantalizing scrape of his teeth overwhelmed her so all she was capable of was a primal response. Where he led, she followed. When he touched—her face, her hair, her breasts—she offered herself outright. What he demanded, she let him take.

His movements were hurried as he pulled her arms out of the straps of her dress. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve wanted to do this all night?” His move had exposed her bra, and he brushed his fingers over the lace. “Pink. You’re such a cute little surprise package.”

With a deft flick of his fingers her bra disappeared. Instinctively, Lana crossed her arms over her chest. She’d tried not to think about the part of this plan of hers that involved Brody seeing her naked. “It was padded.” From the astounded look on his face, she deduced he was wondering how her cleavage could have been so misleading. “I can eat whatever I want and I never seem to put on weight. Other women hate me for it but I always wished I had more…” She glanced down at herself. “Well, more of everything.”

Something in his eyes softened, and his smile reassured her. His touch became gentle as he uncrossed her arms and set them away from her body. Lana tried not to squirm as he looked at her. “You’re gorgeous,” he uttered.

Lana released a nervous laugh, which died in her throat when Brody dipped his head and nuzzled her breasts. His breath was hot on her flesh, the slight rasp of his chin an erotic sensation. When he took her nipple into his mouth and rolled his tongue over it, she cried out at the shock of exquisiteness. All the times she’d imagined what this would be like hadn’t prepared her for the wonderful whirlpool of pleasure that spun inside her. “Oh, I can’t believe how good that feels.”

“You’re unbelievable. Taste like honey. God, Lana.” She fell back on the bed as he moved over her, his touch growing more urgent as it skimmed down her side and tugged off her dress. He slid his hand over her hip and into the valley between her thighs. When he encountered her exposed folds, a groan spilled out of him and his teeth grazed her throat. “No panties.
Jesus.
”

Lana’s hips jolted from the mattress when he ran his finger over her clit. She clutched his shoulders and whimpered, tugging at his dress shirt. “Off. Take this off.”

With jerky movements, Brody stripped away the shirt and discarded it, falling on her once again to feast on her breasts.

Sensation burned inside her, heat mounting, spiraling from the inside out. His mouth on her flesh was incredible, the untamed desperation of his kisses exhilarating. Her hands moved to his waistband, a blatant urging that he had no trouble interpreting. He yanked down his zipper and pushed his pants down his legs.

He reached above her head to open a hideaway cabinet and rifle through it. Lana took the opportunity to satisfy her curiosity, slipping her hands down his hair-roughened chest and flat stomach until she came up against something rigid and hot. And
big.
She curled her fingers around it and her heart thundered. He was larger, thicker and more unyielding than she’d ever expected.

“You okay?”

Returning her gaze to his face she saw a sardonic smile curving his lips. Was he beginning to realize how inexperienced she was? She schooled herself to smile, hoping she would appear worldly and eager, instead of daunted by his potential to hurt her. “Never been better.”

He moved his hips a little, the action causing his hard length to tunnel through her cupped hand. His skin was so smooth and sleek, the strain of his flesh so strongly masculine that Lana’s feminine muscles quivered in anticipation, anxiety fleeing for the moment. Experimentally, she ran her fingers up and down his shaft, fascinated by the slight protrusion of veins running along the front of it. The tip of his penis was smooth and round, dampened by a drop of shiny, translucent liquid. Collecting some with her index finger, Lana brought it to her mouth and tasted him.

“
Fuck.
Lana, Christ, I need to…” He ran his hand up her thigh and dipped a finger into her moist center. “Tell me you can come while I’m inside you, because I don’t want to wait.”

Lana had no idea, but she doubted it, under the circumstances. She supposed now might be a good time to enlighten Brody of that particular situation, but somehow she knew he wouldn’t be happy to hear he was breaking new territory. It was close to dark, he was half-drunk. If she could keep it together he might never know. Lana would much prefer he never knew. “Maybe. Let’s try.”

They both lost everything, and then they found each other.

Bending Over Backwards

© 2013 Samantha Hunter

Jasmine Stanford has to be the most stressed-out yoga instructor on Cape Cod. Years after a childhood trauma left her penniless, homeless and parentless, working hard to maintain her hard-won success and security is all she knows.

Controlling her carefully rebuilt life is Jasmine’s first priority, and there’s no room or time in it for sexy former stockbroker Leo Fischer. But the more Leo comes around, the more Jasmine feels her resolve crumbling.

Leo is—or was—a hotshot investment banker until a workplace tragedy wiped out his memory and his career. On Cape Cod to recover, he’s at loose ends, his future uncertain…until Jasmine becomes his north star. But their relationship is only physical, and Jasmine keeps her distance, even when she’s as close to him as any woman can be.

Jasmine is anything but indifferent to the desire exploding between them. A summer fling was fine when she thought Leo would return to New York. But she’s falling hard—and the last thing she wants to catch her is the past…

Warning:
 
This book contains a wounded hero hotter than a summer sun and sex in very flexible positions.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Bending Over Backwards:

Leo Fischer stopped to run a hand along the edge of the massive bookshelf that he’d placed in the center of the room, measuring his progress as he removed the layers of paint and rough edges from the old, beat-up wood.

Getting there. Not bad, anyway, for a guy who’d never wielded sandpaper in his life. A spark of satisfaction lit down deep, filling a need. A gap. The space left empty when he’d lost his work. He hadn’t been a woodworker, but an investment broker.

Once, his investing must have given him the same sense of satisfaction, perhaps, but he couldn’t remember it. Not even a flicker.

He had what the doctors called a
dissociative fugue
, a form of amnesia. His memory hadn’t been completely wiped out, selectively so. As if someone had flipped a breaker on his brain that shut off the power in only one room. The one that housed any memory of his work.

Leo knew who he was and where he lived. He knew everything about his life—except for his work, how to do it, and anything or anyone associated with it. He’d awakened in the hospital with absolutely no idea why he was there.

From what he heard and read in the news, that was perhaps a lucky thing too. A former client who had suffered some big losses had come into the office with a gun. Leo didn’t remember any of it, though the pain in his shoulder reminded him.

He didn’t recognize the people whose funerals he attended, nor his boss or any of the survivors. He couldn’t make any sense of stock prices or financial news on TV, not any more than your average person could. It was all gone. Or, buried. Deep.

The doctors said the fugue could lift at any time or not at all. The brain was a funny thing.

Leo didn’t
feel
like an investment banker, but the proof was all there. He had the midtown Manhattan condo, the closet full of suits and the bank account to prove it. There were pictures of him on the office walls for hitting various investment records and all of the files on his computer. His boss, Neal, who owned this beach house, said he was in line to make associate partner sooner than later. He’d told Leo to use the beach house for as long as he needed to when the psychologist said maybe getting out of town would help.

So here he was.

Leo wondered if maybe he didn’t want to remember. Some things were better to forget? The news reports, the pictures in the paper, seeing the anguish of people in the aftermath, were all bad enough.

Except that now he was drifting somewhere between his past and his future, waiting for one or the other to take shape. How long did he wait?

Heading into the shower, he shaved and pulled on some cargo shorts and a white tee shirt. He’d had to buy a bunch of new clothes. Back in New York, except for some workout clothes and one pair of designer jeans, all he had were suits. How sad was that?

He didn’t even like suits. He wasn’t sure he remembered how to tie a tie. His ruminating stopped when he walked back to the deck and
she
was there.

She stood facing the water and the sun, and then started moving gracefully, working through a routine of poses he knew was yoga.

Watching this woman move was extraordinary. Everything so smooth, easy and precise, seemingly timed with the waves hitting the shore. Her copper hair broke loose from its coil and moved around her face, the wind making her part of the scene. The body-hugging, scant yoga gear she wore drove his imagination wild—not that he needed much imagination. He could make out every curve, every contour of her lovely shape.

Desire, he realized, was still alive somewhere down deep in his blood; at least that hadn’t died inside of him.

His last sexual encounter made him frown. A blur of limbs and release, but nothing that made any lasting impression. He couldn’t remember the name of the woman he’d been with.

Looking at the woman on the beach, sex was all he could think about. It made him feel alive, normal. He grasped on to that. There was life somewhere, waiting for him.

As usual, one by one her group would show up. Some older, some younger. Men, women, heavy, thin. They all followed her as she helped them, correcting their posture.

He couldn’t hear her, but he wanted to. What did her voice sound like? Would it be as sensual as her moves, her shape? Or strong and steady like her stance?

She stood at the back of her group, suddenly turning to meet his gaze, as if she knew he was watching. He did the stupidest thing possible and put his hand up, offering a short wave.

She stared for another second and then looked away without returning his gesture.

He felt like an idiot.

Leo knew the routine as well as they did. There were moments he felt his muscles twitch in sympathetic movement, his body wanting to join in as his mind held it back.

Maybe it was time to change that. He’d been sitting in this house for two weeks, waiting for what? Waiting for his life to come back? He wasn’t even sure if he wanted it to. His shoulder ached all the time, and his physical therapist had urged him to do some kind of therapeutic exercise, including yoga.

He’d dismissed the idea until this moment.

Why not? Leo waited for the class to end, and when she was alone, he headed down to the beach.

Jasmine Stanford pretended to be busy packing up her gear, but she knew he was heading directly for her. It was inevitable, she supposed. He’d been up there gawking for the last week or so, eating his breakfast and enjoying the show.

Normally, she didn’t mind if people observed her classes, she even liked and encouraged it. She found a lot of new students that way, but she didn’t really care for serving as some trust-fund guy’s morning entertainment.

“Hi.”

It was him. She realized that he was right behind her.

She straightened, turning as she prepared to give him a quick brush-off—but stopped when she met his eyes. Jasmine had never seen quite that combination of brown and gold—caramel and chocolate—two of her favorite things. Any response choked in her throat. She couldn’t quite name it, but she could
feel
the emotion radiating through those gorgeous eyes. A deep sadness reached out and touched her.