Veiled Seduction (18 page)

Her heart rate accelerated. Though she was careful with her love life, she’d received her fair share of admiring looks over the years. She knew what male interest looked like. But…Mason?

Well, why not? Hadn’t she spent months wrestling with her attraction and feelings for him? Why wouldn’t that desire be reciprocated?

Baby.

Sweetheart.

This is a nice thing to wake up to…

“Why don’t you call me Lee-Lee anymore?” she blurted out. Sasha had tagged her with the nickname in childhood. Though her brother had grown out of it, Mason had continued to use it affectionately. But now that she considered it, he had switched to only calling her by her given name for months.

He didn’t seem at all startled by her pulling the topic out of thin air. “Because it’s a child’s name. Neither of us are children, are we?”

She was a bit too rattled to answer. Her heart pounding, she swallowed the lump in her throat and deliberately set her fork to the side. Leyla dipped her finger in the remaining syrup on her plate. His eyes flicked down to follow the lazy figure eight she made and followed her finger back up to her mouth, where she enclosed it and…sucked.

His eyes flared, and he bit his lower lip. Hard.

Oh my. Well, this was very interesting.

Leyla had never considered herself a wilting flower, so as much as she wanted to swoon a little, she stiffened her spine at the obvious signs of desire she was suddenly noting all over him. Dilated eyes, chest rising and falling. Even his nipples were hard.

Want to taste. Then maybe he would reciprocate.

Her head was spinning from the onslaught of the sudden epiphany. Did he just want her for sex? Because that would never work. She wasn’t set up to be a fuck buddy. But if he wanted more, did she? What about Sasha? How would her brother react?

Her natural humor kicked in, and she tried to fight the sudden urge to laugh at herself. Sasha had always been the impulsive Karimi, but here she was, ready to go nuts on the basis of a couple of hot looks. Time to slow down and really think about this. He hadn’t given her that much encouragement, if she looked at it objectively.

To distract herself, she picked up her plate and stood. “You done?” Without waiting for anything more than his nod, she picked up his empty plate as well and carried them both to the sink. A small pile of dishes had already been gathered there.

As she grabbed the sponge and drizzled some soap on it, she heard the scrape of his chair behind her. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Seriously, leave it.”

Trying to diffuse some of her tension, she forced a smile into her voice and made a tsking noise. “Look at all these dirty dishes. You and I both know you’ll let these gather until you don’t have any other choice. I still have a few minutes, and I’ll just—”

Without warning, hard hands closed over her hips, and she dropped the sponge. He swiveled her around. Reaching behind her, he wrenched the water off. “Goddamn it, Leyla. Stop treating me like a kid.”

She blinked up at him, stunned at both the anger on his face and the hard tone of his voice. “I’m not.”

“You are. I’m not your son, and I’m not your brother. I can do my own fucking dishes.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t need to swear at me.”

He sneered. “Are you going to chastise me for my language now?”

“Someone needs to. You idiot. I certainly don’t think I’m your mother.”

“Then stop acting like it. You don’t have to clean up after me. You certainly don’t need to do my fu—”

She slapped her hands against his chest. “That’s a nasty swear, Mason. Say it again, and I will make you sorry. I was doing the dishes because you cooked, you ass.”

He stilled. “Do you mind if I use it and I’m not swearing at you?”

“What?”

“Fuck.”

The short, graphic word looked erotic on his full lips. She caught her breath.

“Do you object to the word or the context?”

“The-the context.”

His lips quirked. “I’ll keep that in mind. I apologize. I’m sorry if I overreacted.”

“I’m not your sister,” she blurted out.

“I know that. I’ve known that for a while. The question is, do you know it?”

“Yes.” She realized at that moment that her slightly damp hands were flat against his chest.

His naked, hard, hot chest.

Leyla had never touched him so intimately. Hugs, pecks on the cheek, pats on the back; that was it. The way she’d been raised, males and females who were platonic friends didn’t touch each other inappropriately. Mason knew and respected that.

She couldn’t look at his face. Instead, she studied her hands, so small against the wide expanse of his chest. Her one hand curved over his developed pec. She only had to move just a smidgeon to scrape the nail of her pinky over his nipple.

Then he was growling, a low rumbling noise, using his tight grip on her hips to pull her closer and crowd her against the counter. He shoved one hand into her hair, tilted her head and lowered his lips to hers.

All she could think was that she no longer needed to wonder if he desired her. He didn’t bother with an exploratory foray or gentle teasing. He kissed her as if they’d been kissing for years, as if he had an absolute right to her lips and her mouth. It was hot and carnal, his mouth open on hers, his tongue stroking against hers and inside. When she twined her arms around his neck and sank into him, he made a rough noise and captured the zipper on her hoodie. One quick tug had it undone, and then it was like her shirt just magically undid itself of its buttons for him as well. He pushed it to the side with rough impatience until her breast filled his hand.

When he pinched her nipple, Leyla figured she was pretty much done for. Her breasts were sensitive, but Mason touched her with just the perfect amount of pressure. She arched her back and whimpered into his mouth. God, she wanted more.

He ripped his mouth away and studied her with hot eyes. She knew what she would see if she glanced down at herself right then. Tousled hair, unbuttoned top, her right breast plumped up by his hand, her nipple long and tight. She didn’t want to look down at herself. The reality would force her brain back into action. There was a certain comfort and simplicity in letting one’s vagina do the talking. “Mason, please…”

Slashes of red crested Mason’s high cheekbones. “You’re so beautiful.” He dipped his head, pulling her nipple into the wet cavern of his mouth.

If she’d thought that Mason knew how to touch a nipple, that was nothing compared to how well he could suck one. He was a freakin’ maestro of the nipple, suckling hard and fast, teasing her with light flicks of his tongue. She looked down at his blond head against her skin. Instantly, doubts and worries crept into her mind. She shut her eyes and they faded. She didn’t want to think. Just feel.

He drew away from her nipple. “One day, I want to spend just an hour or two sucking your breasts. Will you let me do that?”

What was a girl supposed to say to that? Yes please? She nodded, since she really couldn’t think of anything she’d rather have at that moment.

“Good.” He flicked his nail against the wet tip of her breast and she shuddered. His eyes narrowed. “Are you close? Already?”

“Mason, I need…”

“Don’t worry. I know.”

A guy. A girl. A silver pole…

To the Max

© 2010 Annmarie McKenna

As owner of Jensen Securities, Max Jensen lives by one simple rule: Never take your eyes off the target. Once he spies lithe little Jordan Landon wrapped around a pole, though, his eyes aren’t the problem. It’s keeping his mind on his job.

Her job as a pole-dancing instructor might cause a few raised eyebrows, but it’s what she does on a speeding motorcycle that kicks Max’s protective instincts into overdrive. And puts the hurt on his determination to keep his hands to himself.

Years ago, Jordan left her wealthy, disapproving family behind to pursue her dream of opening her own dance studio. Approaching a hottie in a bar was easy in her college days, but now? If she wants him, she’ll have to put her big-girl panties on and go for it.

Once alone, their inhibitions disappear faster than their clothes. But when someone breaks into Jordan’s home, Max finds himself in an uncomfortable position—as the target of Jordan’s suspicions about his real motives.

Warning: What better sexual partner than one who pole dances? Just think of the possibilities… Add in a stubbed toe, priceless Tiffany and meddling mothers and you’re all Maxed out!

Enjoy the following excerpt for To the Max:

What on earth was she doing trying to pick up a stranger at a bar?

Sex
, Jordan
. Remember the sex you wanted to have to rehydrate your parched woman’s parts? The ones currently shriveling up from lack of action?

With ultimate resolve, she lifted her face and stared at herself in the mirror.

“Jordan, you will go out there and seduce that walking sex God.”

A snicker behind her made her jump.

“You go, girl. Hey, while you’re handing out the confidence, mind sharing some with me? There’s this really hot guy out there I’d do just about anything to go to bed with.”

Jordan smiled and told herself not to punch the woman. Surely she wasn’t referring to the same guy. There were lots of other men in the bar.

But only one who’d been built specifically for causing a woman to orgasm with a simple touch. Jordan was sure that would be the outcome if she ever got the nerves to get close enough to him.

Enough. She was here for sex, she was going to get some. Self-doubt was not going to dissuade her.

“Sure,” she said to the woman washing her hands. “As long as we’re not after the same one. I’m not into threesomes.” And I really don’t want to go to jail for breaking your neck. Tall, dark and drool-worthy is mine, mine and all mine.

The woman’s laugh grated on Jordan’s nerves, tempting her to strangle the bleached blonde’s neck just to get her to tell her who she was lusting after.

“Oh, my God, he’s like, so cute. Red hair…”

Jordan didn’t hear another word over the breath she let out. Time to buck up and become a woman all over again. If luck was on her side tonight, the stud at the bar was going home with her.

Or she was going home with him.

She’d lived the last few years in anonymity, surely she could pick up one man and not be found out. He hadn’t seemed to recognize her at least.

Jesus, she was doing it again. The urge to slap herself grew. Where was the set of cojones she’d used to move out of her parents’ and live her own life away from all the crap money entailed? She straightened, flipped her hair over her shoulder and checked to make sure she didn’t have anything green between her teeth. That’d be a mood killer for sure.

She was here to get her sex on.

“Good luck.” Jordan shoved through the door and headed straight for the bar. If he wasn’t still sitting there, she would cry.

“Go get him, Jordan,” she heard from the friends she’d come with. It gave her courage. Hell yes she’d get him. She’d use his body as her pole and show him all kinds of new moves.

His closely shaved dark brown head hung over his beer and his shoulders were slumped. Damn. She’d thought he’d been interested. She hadn’t mistaken the way his nostrils had flared when she’d started toward him earlier or the way his eyes had widened. There’d been a flash of lust, damn it. On both their parts.

Jordan was suddenly close enough to reach out and touch him. Mmm…he smelled so good. Like man and cologne and yum all rolled into one, and she smelled it even over all the combined alcohol and smoke odors of the bar.

It was do-or-die time. Jordan tapped him on the back. “Hello.”

His head whipped back so fast she was amazed he didn’t give himself whiplash or fly off the stool. Catching himself before that happened, he darted a glance between her and her friends before settling on her face.

His eyes were green. Pale green. Beautiful. Her panties went wet just looking into his gaze.

At least she knew she hadn’t dried up quite yet.

“Hello.” Oh man, the sound of his voice made her shiver. Deep and sensual. It curled around her to the point she swore she could feel his mouth moving on her throat.

“I’m Jordan.” Did she stick out a hand to shake? Where the hell was her inner college chick?

“Max.”

Max. Perfect. She wanted Max. Right here, right now. If only clicking her heels together and pronouncing, “There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home,” would get her anywhere.

He seemed to contemplate something. It made her nervous. Picking up men used to be so easy. Of course those were the days of trying to attract the media attention just to piss her mother off. Right now, Max was going to give her a complex.

“You wanna dance, Jordan?” He said her name like he was trying it out on his tongue.

She wanted to shout, “Try my clit out with your tongue too, please.”

She refrained. No use scaring the man off before she’d gotten out of tonight what she wanted.

He hopped off the barstool—or stood at any rate—and towered over her five-foot-six frame. Maximillian. Maximillian? Is that how she saw him? Appropriate because right this second she felt like she’d just won a million bucks. He had to be a good few inches beyond six feet, muscular too, as evidenced by the fit of his shirt beneath his leather jacket. She wanted to rip the shirt off and lick his abs, see if he tasted as good as he smelled.

Please God let him be this big across the board. She needed big. Needed to be filled to capacity plus some. Her clit actually ached at the thought of him between her legs.

She’d turned into a hooker. A pole-dancing, stranger-picking-up, begging-for-big hooker.

She’s dead-set against him. He’s dead certain he can change her mind…

Position Secured

© 2010 Olivia Brynn

Marienna Valdez has a cop allergy. Their cocky, superior attitudes never fail to turn her stomach. How fitting that her reward for enduring a perfectly sucky work week is a traffic ticket from one that’s on the kind of overblown power trip she learned to hate when she was growing up surrounded by boys in blue.