Desire Me Now (22 page)

He tried to remember the last time a woman had toyed with him and came up blank. Back
home, he might as well have had the word “serious” tattooed on his forehead. Women
looked at him and saw long-term. And yeah, he liked being that guy, the one people
knew they could count on. When it came to his family, he wouldn’t have it any other
way. But sometimes—like when he wanted a chance to explore a beautiful blonde’s long
legs without worrying about the long-term picture—it was just plain lonely.

“I’m not shy,” he said.

“Then lose the clothes, Brody.”

He pulled his Moore Timber T-shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Stealing a glance
at his audience, he saw her green eyes widen. She uncrossed her legs, drawing his
attention to the smooth skin of her thighs. His gaze traveled up her body, leaving
him wondering what lie beneath her silky shirt.

“I hope you’re not shy,” he said, his voice low and wanting, a solid reflection of
how he felt. “Because I want to watch.”

An Excerpt from

The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series

by Vivienne Lorret

When Hedley Sinclair inherits Greyson Park, she finally has a chance at a real life.
The only person standing in her way is Rafe Danvers—her handsome neighbor who also
claims ownership over the crumbling estate. Rafe is determined to take back what’s
his—even if it means being a bit devilish. Knowing the stipulations of her inheritance,
he decides to find her a husband. The only problem is, he can’t seem to stop seducing
her. In fact, he can’t seem to stop falling in love with her.

“A
young woman in society usually flirts when given the opportunity.”

How was she supposed to flirt when she could barely think? He stood close enough that
she could feel the alluring heat rising from his body. She drew in a breath in an
effort to think of a response. When she did, however, her nostrils filled with a pleasant
scent that only made her want to draw in another breath. It was
his
fragrance. From their previous encounter, she recognized the woodsy essence and a
trace of sweet smoke.

Hedley caught herself rocking onto the balls of her feet to get closer, but then quickly
fell back onto her heels. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “I am not in society.
Nor am I likely to be. Therefore, I have no reason to flirt.”

“You don’t need a reason.” He leaned in, his voice low. The angular cut of his side-whiskers
seemed to direct her gaze toward his mouth. “Flirting is a skill. You use it to get
what you want.”

Hedley forgot why she’d come here . . .
to get what you want. . .

The more she stared at Rafe’s mouth, the heavier her eyelids seemed to weigh. Why
was she suddenly so tired? Perhaps it
was
too early to pay a call. Or perhaps it was because he stood so close that his warmth
blanketed her. It would take only a single step to rest her head against his shoulder.
“Like a type of currency used in society?”

“An astute observation.” He grinned.

She was definitely out of her element. The least she could do was
try
to keep her wits about her. “Then, I should assume that you want something from me.”

He moved closer, but she dared not imagine that he was under the same trance. No,
he was far too skilled in the ways of society for that.

Even so, the curve of his knuckles brushed her cheek. “What shade of pink do you suppose
this is?”

“And that was a terrible change of topic.” Believing that he was speaking of one of
the colored-glass vases in the cabinet, she looked them over. She found deep red,
the color of merlot, a blue vase, bright and clear as a summer sky, and daffodil yellow,
among other hues. “Besides, I see no pink.”

“No, this color. Here.” His thumb caressed her cheek, his fingers settling beneath
her jaw.

Was it possible for a man to have eyelashes that looked as if they were smudged with
soot, all soft and curled up at the ends? It didn’t seem possible to her. Yet, that’s
exactly what she saw as he studied her. Knowing that her skin had betrayed her thoughts
in a blush should make her want to shy away. Yet, she’d gone too long without being
noticed to feel an ounce of shame. Instead, she reveled in the attentiveness of his
gaze, the nearness and warmth of his body, and the contact of his flesh on hers—even
if it was a false show for him.

While not entirely certain that he expected her to answer, she indulged him. “Some
roses are pink.”

“True.” He tilted her chin. Four thin, horizontal lines appeared above the bridge
of his nose as if he truly were studying her. “Though when I think of rosy pink, it
is darker, redder, than this.”

She tasted his breath on her lips. Other than their clumsy spill on the ice, this
was the closest she’d ever been to a man. Heat poured from his body, sweeping over
her, compelling her to draw nearer to the source. She couldn’t help it.

“Berries are sometimes pink,” she whispered, wondering if he could feel her breath
as well.

He licked his lips. “Only
unripe
berries are pink, and you are a most decidedly ripe fruit, sweeting.”

The tone of his voice changed ever so slightly. The silky timbre turned deeper, indulgent,
like slipping into a pair of warm velvet slippers.

She wanted to sink into that sound. “Pink carnations.”

“Yes. That’s it.” His hand slipped away. “A carnation pink blush, and berry-stained
lips.”

Missing the contact, her chin tilted of its own accord. His gaze slowly dipped to
her mouth. Whatever this game was, she wanted it to continue. “Is this a lesson in
flirting or is the color of actual importance?”

Abruptly, he turned from her and headed toward a tasseled bell-pull on the far wall.
It was almost as if he suddenly wanted to put as much distance between them as possible.

She had her answer. He was only flirting in order to gain something. The only thing
she possessed that Rafe Danvers wanted, however, was not for sale. No matter how tempting
the currency, she would not give him Greyson Park.

An Excerpt from

A Broke and Beautiful Novel

by Tessa Bailey

In the second
Broke and Beautiful
novel, college student Honey Perribow can’t stop fantasizing about her sexy, young
English professor, Ben Dawson . . . and forbidden love has never been so hot.

W
hen choosing the perfect panties for a seduction, one couldn’t be too selective. Careful
consideration had to be given to the cut, the style, and, most importantly, the almighty
color. Honey Perribow rifled through her underwear drawer from her position on the
rug, picking up and discarding undies with the efficiency required of premed students
the world over. Red silk was a little too on the nose. It didn’t give the guy any
credit. Blue? Hinted at mood swings. Yellow with a strawberry pattern . . .
what am I, five
?

There was no help for her. She had to call in the big guns. “Roxy!”

Her roommate of one month propped a hip on the inside of Honey’s door a moment later,
biting into a piece of toast. “Did you lose your indoor voice in that pile of underpants?”

“What color would you wear if you wanted to seduce your English teacher?”

The toast paused halfway to Roxy’s mouth. “Aw, shit. Today is the day?”

Honey took a deep breath and nodded. “I’ve finally worked up the nerve. No more hiding
under my hoodie in the back row. Professor Dawson is going down to Honey town.”

“How long have you been waiting to say that?”

“A while. How was my delivery?”

“Not too shabby.” Roxy shoved the remainder of the toast in her mouth and plopped
down onto the floor, cross-legged, eyeballing the mountain of panties. In the month
since they’d become roommates in one of the oddest interview processes of all time,
they’d formed a friendship that sometimes seemed as if they were feeling their way
in the dark. Honey could still sense some hesitancy on Roxy’s part to open up completely,
but Roxy’s new boyfriend, Louis, seemed to be unlocking a new part of her. Considering
Roxy had hidden out in her room at the outset, commiserating over panties was a vast
improvement. “All right. So, we know he’s studious. He teaches Intro to Literary Theory.
How does he dress?”

Honey hid her swoon by turning and pressing her face into the rug. “He has this tweed
jacket. It’s like a greenish-brown, which should be ugly, but it looks so dang
amazing
on him. If I got up close, I bet it would smell like honest-to-goodness man mixed
up with old book leather. He keeps candy in the pockets, too. I can’t tell from the
back of the room which kind of candy he always pops into his mouth, but if I had to
guess, I’d say butterscotch. So the jacket might have a hint of butterscotch smell
going on, too.”

“Are you telling me
tweed
inspired all that?”

“It’s crazy, right? I know it. I can hear myself.” Honey rolled back over and stared
up at the ceiling. In the few weeks since she’d started courses at Columbia University,
Professor Dawson had wiggled his way under her skin like a splinter from a yellow
poplar tree. No one back home in Bloomfield, Kentucky, would ever have accused her
of being shy. In fact, they would have laughed over the very suggestion. But the day
she’d walked into the lecture hall and seen Professor Dawson, quietly gorgeous, in
his tweed jacket and black-rimmed glasses, a mixture of confidence and nerves, she’d
slunk into the back row like a scolded basset hound.

Starting today, she would seduce Professor Dawson. Just the thought of it raised goose
bumps all over her arms. From the back of the room, he was a movie star. Like something
she watched on a screen from a safe distance. What would he be like up close?

“If you rub your thighs together any harder,” Roxy broke into her thoughts, “this
pile of panties is going to turn into a bonfire.”