Anything You Want (36 page)

“Yes, it is.” She could admit that. What she couldn’t admit was that it wouldn’t be
nearly
this hard with anyone else on the planet. “Only because it’s been built up so much.”

It felt as though Max had been warming his hands by a fire, his skin was so hot. “I hope it is not triggering any bad memories.”

“No.” It was triggering something much different. A breed of sensation Fallon had spent her entire adult life avoiding.

“You’re very cold.”

“I have low blood pressure,” Fallon offered. “Unless you meant that figuratively.”

“No, just your hands,” he said carefully, focused on their point of contact. His fingertips traced small circles over her knuckles. He slid them up to her forearms, raising all the tiny hairs, raising the fear bubbling in her core. She began to shake hard.

“Oh.” Max’s eyes widened and he yanked his hands away, holding them at a safe distance. “You’re not ready for this,” he said, alarmed. It wasn’t an expression she’d ever seen him wear before.

“No, I can do it. I have to. I’ll do whatever we have to do to get this statue made. Keep going.”

“That’s enough for today.”

“No. It’s
fine
.” Fallon’s anxiety spiraled. “If this ridiculous project fails, it’s not going to be because of me.”

“I understand. But understand too, that this is useless to me right now. I don’t need to feel your
body
. I need to feel
you,
all that energy. I cannot do this if you are a mess. You’re not ready yet.”

Anxiety spiked to anger. “I’m doing my best.”

“Well I’m not carving you when you’re like this. I may as well sculpt you out of sand, you feel so unstable.”

Fallon pressed her palms to her neck. “God, this is so stupid.”

“What is stupid?”

“This. All your energy nonsense. The way you make everything so freaking intense and complicated and
weird
.”

“I can’t help that.” His calmness looked as if it was taking a concerted effort.

Fallon groaned.

“Why are you angry?” he demanded. “I’m trying to make you as comfortable as I can, yes?”

“Well, you’re failing.” Fallon narrowed her eyes. “You make me very, very
un
comfortable. You’re going to have to work around it, because it’s not going to change.”

Max stepped away, scraping a chair across the floor and sitting, burying his head in his hands, defeated. He rubbed his eyes and stared up again. “I thought we were making so much progress.”

“We still would be if you’d just keep going. I’m going to be uncomfortable, doing this. Deal with it.
I
am.”

“You have no clue what this is about, do you?”

“I’m proud to say that everything about you is incomprehensible to me,” Fallon cut back. “Especially all this touching BS. But I’m going along with it. Try and extend me the same courtesy, okay?”

Max stood, face steely, patience abandoned. He leaned his back against the rail of the spiral staircase and held Fallon’s eyes.

“What?” she said.

“Touch me, then.”

“You?”

He nodded, neutral.

“That’s supposed to help?” Her gaze zigzagged over him.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But try it, Little Miss Scientist. Suspend your empirical disbelief for me.”

“If that’s what it takes to keep this project moving forward, fine.” She nodded and took a couple of steps closer, studying his face, his arms, the black hair at the collar of his shirt.

“Fine,” Max agreed, that wicked gleam coming to his eyes. “Fair is fair.”

He peeled his shirt up from the waist, revealing that body so maddeningly adept at making Fallon’s heart skip a beat. Tossing it aside, he reached down and unbuckled his thick belt. Fallon felt her eyes widen, embarrassed but transfixed as he lowered the zipper and eased his jeans down over slim, toned hips. The garment dropped to the floor and Max stepped out, toying with the waistband of his gray boxer briefs, eyes glued to Fallon’s, demanding her answer to an unspoken question.

Want to make Fate laugh? Try telling her who’s in charge.

Hands On

© 2010 Christina Crooks

Talented, down-on-her-luck puppeteer Ginnie Anderson’s life seems destined to fall down around her ears. Much like the rented bungalow that’s just collapsed in a heavy rainstorm, endangering her precious collection of marionettes.

Her livelihood in need of protection and repair, she can’t refuse her landlord’s offer of temporary shelter in his magnificent home. Under his roof, though, she finds her hard-won grasp on her independence slipping—and herself falling into his arms.

The hallmark of Harry Barrett’s business success: he never makes the same mistake twice, particularly when it comes to manipulative women. So why is Ginnie, who pulls strings for a living, like a siren’s song in his blood? It’s best to put temptation as far out of reach as possible.

Yet when Ginnie’s past threatens to destroy the life she’s built for herself, Harry must decide which is more important. Holding tight to his sense of self preservation, or letting go to capture Ginnie’s fragile heart—before it breaks into a thousand pieces.

Warning: Contains sizzling sex between a powerful hero who likes to be in control, and a heroine whose talented hands teach him the pleasure of giving up the reins.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Hands On:

The man clearly had no idea how unusual this was for her.

Ginnie shifted her body, expediting Harry’s removal of her panties. And socks. He was taking the time to remove her socks. If just the skimming of cotton over her feet made her shiver with want, what would a more direct caress do to her?

His touch promised patience. Expertise. Sensuality. The fine hairs on her body rose with anticipation.

And the thing of it was, she felt perfectly shameless sitting there on the side of his large bed, naked. She wasn’t sure if it was the near-death experience in her destroyed house, or some kind of vibe he was putting out. Or maybe both. She simply wasn’t
like
this.

Ginnie grinned, ran her fingers through his hair. She felt positively wanton. The nude woman who currently watched a sexy-as-hell man—a near stranger, for god’s sake—rise from his knees to unzip his jeans, bore no resemblance to the woman who played the docile role of Rick’s fiancée for so long. But Harry was no Rick.

Her breath caught. With his pants off, he especially bore no resemblance to Rick.

“Lie down,” Harry commanded, one warm hand sliding up her calf. She felt his breath against her thigh. He kissed her just above the knee, tongued her lightly.

“Oh boy.” A zing of pure lust shot through her, lodged in her stomach. Her head felt pleasantly swimmy as she decided whether or not to obey orders. She wanted to lie back. Badly.

She also wanted to touch him. To push him onto his back and jump his bones. It felt easier, better, to be in control.

“Please,” she said.

He looked at her inquiringly.

“Can I…touch you?”

He closed his eyes. Movement caught her eye as his penis bobbed once, heavily, as if in answer.

She glanced back up. “I take it that’s a yes,” she said dryly and felt her heart give a small shimmy at the sight of his tight, pained smile.

“You.” Harry pinned her with a gaze that spoke of frustration, humor and lust all at once. “You’re unbelievable. I haven’t been so—oh. Ah.”

She cupped him with one hand, grasped and released with the other. “Impressive,” she declared. Not that she was an expert or anything. Rick had been her one and only. But comparatively speaking, Harry was magnificent.

But it wasn’t only Harry’s size and readiness. It was his sensual abandonment to her touch. He moved with her, thrusting deliberately, as if demonstrating what he would do to her. Her breath caught, and tingles shot up her spine. She could almost feel him inside her, though she hadn’t even felt his body against hers yet.

“I need you now,” she said, pulling him toward her.

He grinned. “I know.” With a quick movement, his fingers found and caressed between her legs, then withdrew. His smile widened at her cry of pleasure. “It’s not a leash, sweetheart. Let me have it back now.”

She let go, uncertain. Suddenly anxious.

He looked at her. “You’re worried,” he said softly. “Your face changed. Just in the last few seconds.” He reached to touch her head, but halted the movement before contact. “I won’t hurt you, Ginnie.”

“I know.” She said it automatically, but her heart leapt into her throat, making her feel a strange prickly tension. He said he wouldn’t hurt her. Rick used to say that. But Harry made a wild hope beat in her breast, fueling her desire until she shifted uncomfortably. She wanted to straddle him. She wanted to keep being the wild new woman he brought out in her.

Her body ached to jump on him, take him in. She also wanted to simply lean into his hand. Why hadn’t he taken her suggestion to move onto her, into her? His delay made her ache. It also made her increasingly nervous. How could he have such control? She could see how much he wanted her. “I just… I don’t know.”

Harry stared at her, thoughtful. It didn’t make her at all self-conscious. Oddly, it made her hopeful.

“Hmmm.” Harry let just the tips of his fingers brush the ends of her hair. Her scalp tingled pleasurably and her nipples tightened. “You like this, don’t you. And you like touching me. Yes?”

She was already nodding, emphatic.

“Then touch me.” When she hesitated, he gave her a small smile. He didn’t move against her suggestively, or otherwise direct her. He just waited, hard, magnificent…

Ginnie groaned. Her insides felt on fire, and her mind was full of wonder. How did he have such exquisite control? She sure didn’t seem to, not with him.

With a growl that sounded feral and aggressive to her own ears, she reached for him, first with her hands, then with her mouth.

Harry drew in a shocked breath at the feel of her hot mouth on him. He’d asked her to touch him. But this—this threatened his already shaky control over himself.

He saw the way her nipples had hardened and her breath came quicker at his suggestion she take charge.

Control.

It was the key to her.

Another time, he might have been more curious about it.

He let his breath go in a hard exhale. Very hard. How did she do that with her tongue…?

Control! He had plenty over himself. His numbers. He’d be saved by the numbers.
One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight…

No. A countdown as if to ignition didn’t help his concentration. He was anticipating it way too much. Interest calculations instead. Four thousand three hundred forty-six rounded off to the…no, he never rounded. Rounding resulted in a number that was less precise.

But easier and quicker to use.

He wanted to use Ginnie. Quickly. Her fingers on him, sliding up his thighs to cup him, were not subtle. He liked that. What was this…? Was she tugging him as if it were a leash again?

Harry laughed, a choking sound. She was.

He fell onto his own bed. Felt her slide atop him.

She needed to feel as if she were in control. That much was obvious.

That was fine, for the moment. She was doing a fine job. Better than fine. A little too damn fine.

But at some point, he would need to wrest that control back from her. He knew it, and knew some part of her knew it too.

For now, he certainly wasn’t complaining.

He gasped as the friction of her sliding body moved first up, then down him. She didn’t immediately seat herself atop him, though he wanted it desperately. Whatever past experience had put uncertainty in her movements and apprehension in her eyes wasn’t any part of her at the moment.

Her teasing movements jerked a groan from him.

Her hair, dry now, brushed against his shoulders. Strands trailed over his chest, a sensual caress where it touched the small hairs on his body. Ginnie’s quick little intakes of breath made him smile with pleasure. She was so sensitive. So wanton and erotic—when she wasn’t worried about issues of control, of course.

His hands itched to grab her sweetly rounded hips, jam her down onto him. His mouth craved the smooth, firm heaviness of her breasts. He needed more of her. It would be so easy to place her right where he wanted her.

He clenched his fists instead.

Anything You Want

Erin Nicholas

Suppose the solution to all your problems is the one thing you never wanted…

It figures the one time Sabrina Cassidy is determined to do the responsible thing, karma kicks in. After four years on the road chasing her musical dream, she’s stranded six hours from home with no money, a ruined credit history—and morning sickness.

Out of options, she swallows her legendary independent streak and calls the only person who won’t hang up on her. Luke, the man she left behind.

Marc Sterling’s first instinct is to protect his business partner and best friend from another broken heart. That means letting her think she’s talking to Luke, then finding a way to send her in the opposite direction.

When he shows up at her hotel room, there’s something in the air beside their customary insults. Sure, her rebellious attitude, smart mouth—and purple panties—still drive him crazy, but now it’s a different kind of crazy. The kind that has him driving her home instead of to the nearest airport.
 

And when Luke offers to solve all her problems if she’ll only say “I do”, Marc realizes he’s just crazy enough—about her—to forget whose heart he wanted to protect.

Warning: Contains two people who don’t like each other very much, a Toyota that can’t quite handle the road trip home, and a spontaneous proposal. Or two. Or three. And foreplay with—what else—pie filling.
 

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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.