Authors: Helenkay Dimon
Running Hot (16 page)
His touch had her stretching up on the tips of her toes to brush her lower body against his. Not her most subtle move, but then nothing about them being together was. They'd shifted from simmering to raging heat from the beginning. Skipped right over the get-to-know-you phase on the way to the bedroom.
She knew about his job and tried to keep a handle on his erratic schedule. His renter's application included his social security number, which led to his impressive credit score and the glowing report from his last landlord in Virginia. The rest remained a mystery . . . except for the information she found in a few hundred Internet searches trying to make sure he wasn't a wanted serial killer. Or married.
A woman had to be smart about these things. She refused to feel guilty about the dating recon after hearing one horror story too many from her friends. A guy with a hidden wife and an anger complex here. A guy who liked to wear women's bikini underwear over there. Then there were the looking-for-money types. Yeah, no thank you.
Playing coy wasn't her thing, and the attraction between them that sparked on the initial walk through the condo had burst into full flame by the time she handed over the keys. She refused. Two days later he brought pizza over, and they'd been seeing each other ever since.
Seeing as in sex. Lots of sex. The guy might work with computers but he knew his way around a woman's body. Hands, tongue, mouth . . . Lord.
After a rocky last relationship, the physical play with him and limited dating contact due to his work schedule appealed to her. It didn't matter that the need to know more about him kept picking at her. She'd vowed to turn off her preference for being prepared for anything and just let things unfold without trying to steer them.
In that spirit, she said, “I thought you were blowing out my pipes.”
He chucked in the middle of nibbling on her ear. The sound was so rich and deep, so sexy it hit with the force of a superpower. “I would love to do that, yes.”
She felt his arms around her waist with hands caressing her ass and the back of her thighs through her jeans. The dual blast of touching and closeness had her breath stuttering in her chest. She inhaled and caught his scent, the same hint of black pepper she associated with his soap.
Unable to resist his face and that firm chin, she smoothed her fingertip around his mouth, letting the stubble of hair tickle her skin. “You should be resting from your boring conference and long flight.”
“That is not what I had in mind when I came over here.”
“My pipes, right?” She'd given him a key and the alarm code before he left on his latest trip. He'd been in and out working on the steps to the front door of the building. The argument about needing to get to the supply closet without tracking her down proved compelling. And the idea of him spending his first few hours back in DC fixing the plumbing problem she mentioned on his way out was just about the sexiest damn thing ever.
“Do your pipes need blowing?” He kept a straight face.
She had no idea how. “You make everything sound dirty.”
“Give me ten minutes and I'll show you how dirty I can be.”
There it was, the flirty talk that drove her doubts away and had her handing over keys even though a little voice inside her head told her to be more careful. But there was no need to fight it. She didn't plan to make him wait or work for it. Those days were behind them, and they had passed fast.
That left only one thing. “I have two words for you.”
One of his eyebrows lifted. “Which are?”
She leaned in until her mouth hovered over his. “Green light.”
He pulled back as his gaze searched hers. “You sure?”
Since she'd been giving him the go sign pretty much from the beginning and he'd been speeding ahead with her, his hesitation now struck her as odd. But those knowing hands skimming along her sides let her know he was ready when she was.
The answer was now.
“Are you playing hard to get for, like, the first time ever since I've known you?” She pulled him in tighter, rubbing her body against his until his mouth dropped open and a sharp exhale escaped.
His hands clenched against her sides for the briefest of seconds then relaxed again. “Never.”
“You know . . .” She kissed her way down his throat to that delicious spot just above his collarbone. “I think there's something in the bedroom that needs your attention.”
His fingers went to the button at the top of her jeans, then the screech of her zipper filled the room. Her mouth covered his just as his fingers slipped inside her underwear. Down and over her. Into her.
She held the back of his neck as her mouth slipped over his again and again. The counter dug into her lower back as his body rocked against hers. None of that mattered. Just his heat and those fingers and his warm breath brushing against her.
When he lifted his head again, he was on the verge of a full-fledged pant. Balancing his forehead against hers, he went to work on the white buttons of her oxford shirt. “What do you need in your bedroom?”
“Just you, Ford Decker.”
HELENKAY DIMON
spent the years before becoming a romance author as a . . . divorce attorney. Not the usual transition, she knows. Good news is she now writes full time and is much happier. She has sold over thirty novels, novellas, and shorts to numerous publishers. Her nationally bestselling and award-winning books have been showcased in numerous venues, and her books have twice been named “Red-Hot Reads” and excerpted in
Cosmopolitan
magazine. But if you ask her, she'll tell you the best part of the job is never having to wear pantyhose again. You can learn more at her website: www.helenkaydimon.com.
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Give in to your impulses . . .
Read on for a sneak peek at six brand-new
e-book original tales of romance from Avon Impulse.
Available now wherever e-books are sold.
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By Sophie Jordan
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By Charlotte Stein
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By Jennifer Ryan
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By Gwen Jones
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By Cynthia Sax
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By Candis Terry
An Excerpt from
A Debutante Files Christmas Novella
by Sophie Jordan
Feisty American heiress Violet Howard swears she'll never wed a crusty British aristocrat. Will, the Earl of Moreton, is determined to salvage his family's fortune without succumbing to a marriage of convenience. But when a snowstorm strands Violet and Will together, their sudden chemistry will challenge good intentions. They're seized by a desire that burns through the night, but will their passion survive the storm? Will they realize they've found a love to last them through all seasons?
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H
is eyes flashed, appearing darker in that moment, the blue as deep and stormy as the waters she had crossed to arrive in this country. “Who are you?”
“I'm a guest here.” She motioned in the direction of the house. “My name is Vâ”
“Are you indeed?” His expression altered then, sliding over her with something bordering belligerence. “No one mentioned that you were an American.”
Before she could process that statementâor why he should be told of anythingâshe felt a hot puff of breath on her neck.
The insolent man released a shout and lunged. Hard hands grabbed her shoulders. She resisted, struggling and twisting until they both lost their balance.
Then they were falling. She registered this with a sick sense of dread. He grunted, turning slightly so that he took the brunt of the fall. They landed with her body sprawled over his.
Her nose was practically buried in his chest.
A pleasant smelling chest
. She inhaled leather and horseflesh and the warm saltiness of male skin.
He released a small moan of pain. She lifted her face to observe his grimace and felt a stab of worry. Absolutely misplaced considering this situation was his fault, but there it was nonetheless. “Are you hurt?”
“Crippled. But alive.”
Scowling, she tried to clamber off him, but his hands shot up and seized her arms, holding fast.
“Unhand me! Serves you right if you are hurt. Why did you accost me?”
“Devil was about to take a chunk from that lovely neck of yours.”
Lovely?
He thinks she is lovely? Or rather her neck is lovely? This bold specimen of a man in front of her, who looks as though he has stepped from the pages of a Radcliffe novel, thinks that plain, in-between Violet is lovely.
She shook off the distracting thought. Virile stable hands like him did not look twice at females like her. No. Scholarly bookish types with kind eyes and soft smiles looked at her. Men such as Mr. Weston who saw beyond a woman's face and other physical attributes.
“I am certain you overreacted.”
He snorted.
She arched, jerking away from him, but still he did not budge. His hands tightened around her. She glared down at him, feeling utterly discombobulated. There was so
much
of himâall hard male and it was pressed against her in a way that was entirely inappropriate and did strange, fluttery things to her stomach. “Are you planning to let me up any time soon?”
His gaze crawled over her face. “Perhaps I'll stay like this forever. I rather like the feel of you on top of me.”
She gasped.
He grinned then and that smile stole her breath and made all her intimate parts heat and loosen to the consistency of pudding. His teeth were blinding white and straight set against features that were young and strong and much too handsome. And there were his eyes. So bright a blue their brilliance was no less powerful in the dimness of the stables.
Was this how girls lost their virtue? She'd heard the stories and always thought them weak and addle-headed creatures. How did a sensible female of good family cast aside all sense and thought to propriety?
His voice rumbled out from his chest, vibrating against her own body, shooting sensation along every nerve, driving home the realization that she wore nothing beyond her cloak and night rail. No corset. No chemise. Her breasts rose on a deep inhale. They felt tight and aching. Her skin felt like it was suddenly stretched too thin over her bones. “You are not precisely what I expected.”
His words sank in, penetrating through the fog swirling around her mind. Why would he expect anything from her? He did not know her.
His gaze traveled her face and she felt it like a touchâa caress. “I shall have to pay closer attention to my mother when she says she's found someone for me to wed.”
Violet's gaze shot up from the mesmerizing movement of his lips to his eyes. “Your
mother?
”
He nodded. “Indeed. Lady Merlton.”
“Are you . . .” she choked on halting words.
He couldn't be
. “You're theâ”
“The Earl of Merlton,” he finished, that smile back again, wrapping around the words as though he was supremely amused. As though she were the butt of some grand jest. He was the Earl of Merlton, and she was the heiress brought here to tempt him.
A jest indeed. It was laughable. Especially considering the way he looked. Temptation incarnate. She was not the sort of female to tempt a man like him. At least not without a dowry, and that's what her mother was relying upon.
“And you're the heiress I've been avoiding,” he finished.
If the earth opened up to swallow her in that moment, she would have gladly surrendered to its depths.
An Excerpt from