Stephanie Bond

TOO HOT TO PRINT

By Stephanie Bond

Dear Reader,

Have you ever passed a stranger on the street and felt a connection? Did you wonder what might’ve happened if you’d said hello? Gabrielle Pope, coordinator of the Red Tote Book Club for women who read erotic fiction, is nearing forty, and wondering if she’s missed her chance at connecting with a man physically and intellectually. Her job as a librarian doesn’t put her in the path of many single men, but a chance encounter with a stranger on the train changes her sex life—at least for the week the handsome visitor is in town. But when their time is over, will Gabrielle have to settle for a few days of fantasies to last her a lifetime?

I hope you enjoy this special e-novella from Harlequin! For more stories about the women in the Red Tote Book Club, check out the October 2009 Blaze novel
Seduction
by the Book
and the February 2010 Harlequin Blaze novel
Her Sexy Valentine
.

Happy Reading!

Stephanie Bond

If you liked this story, don’t miss the other two books in Stephanie Bond’s Red Tote Book Club series from Harlequin Blaze!

Seduction by the Book

Her Sexy Valentine

Plus, indulge in these other Stephanie Bond titles always available in eBook format:

“After Hours”,
Midnight Fantasies

“Enticed”,
Sand, Sun…Seduction!

“Rex on the Beach”, Heat Wave

About Last Night

Club Cupid

Cover Me

In a Bind

It Takes a Rebel

Just Dare Me…

Manhunting in Mississippi

My Favorite Mistake

Naughty or Nice?

No Peeking

Seeking Single Male

She Did a Bad, Bad Thing

Too Hot to Sleep

Two Sexy!

Watch and Learn

Body Movers

Body Movers: 2 Bodies for the Price of 1

Body Movers: 3 Men and a Body

4 Bodies and a Funeral

5 Bodies to Die For

6 Killer Bodies

CHAPTER One

“Any big plans tonight?”

Gabrielle Pope did her best to conjure up a smile for Lewis, her coworker at the downtown branch of the Atlanta Public Library, as they exited for the commute home.

“Not really…a quiet evening with Mellors.”

Lewis gave her a wry smile. “You spoil that cat rotten.”

“He spoils me back. Do you have plans?”

“John and I are going to an exhibit at the High Museum,” Lewis said of his partner.

“You’re welcome to join us.”

Her chest squeezed with fondness—the couple was concerned she spent too much time alone and often asked her to be a third wheel. “Thanks for the invitation, but I want to finish the book I’m reading.”

Lewis wagged his eyebrows. “Is it one of the books for your red hot book club?”

“It’s the Red
Tote
Book Club,” she chided and glanced around to make sure no other employees were within earshot.

“Your secret is safe with me,” he whispered. “No one else knows you hold a naughty book club meeting in the library.”

“The books we discuss are classic erotic literature,” she said crisply.

He lifted his hands. “No need to get defensive—I think it’s great. I’m happy for you.”

Gabrielle bit her lip at the unspoken words hanging in the air.
Because you don’t have
anything else in your life.

Lewis reached over and squeezed her arm. “If you change your mind about the museum, give me a call.”

She nodded. “I will. Be safe driving home.”

“You be safe on the train.”

Lewis waved and moved in the direction of a nearby parking garage. Gabrielle turned and walked up the sidewalk toward the Peachtree Center Marta station, acknowledging the pull of melancholy on her limbs. The day after the regular meeting of the Red Tote Book Club always left her a little blue because it would be an entire month before the group convened again.

There was a whiff of truth to Lewis’s inference about the role the book club played in her social life. She hadn’t realized how dependent she’d become on the camaraderie of the five women who gathered in a forgotten room of the library to drink smuggled-in wine and eat chocolate as they talked about the changes in sexual mores and gender roles over the centuries as portrayed in classic erotic volumes.

The women—Cassie, Page, Wendy, Jacqueline, and Carol—had proved to be the ideal book club group. They were all single, in their early-to mid-thirties, with diverse backgrounds and occupations, and they all brought to the book club a healthy attitude toward sex.

Because the discussions had progressed so well and the women had grown so comfortable with each other, Gabrielle had decided to up the ante. She’d challenged the women to take what they’d learned in the pages of erotic novels like
Lady Chatterley’s Lover
by D.H.

Lawrence and
The Slave
by Laura Antoniou, and use those lessons to seduce the man of their dreams. To-date, four out of the five women had done just that and seemed delighted with the outcome. Only one of the members had balked at the challenge, but Gabrielle still held out hope that the last woman, Carol, would change her mind in the wake of the others’ success stories.

As Gabrielle descended the steps in the train station to stand on the platform, her midsection began to thrum with awareness. The success stories of the younger women had made even
her
dare to dream that someday she might find her own sexual match in a man. She glanced around at male faces in the crowd, seeking another lonely soul, someone looking to make a connection, but no one even made eye contact. When a young blonde dressed in a fitted short skirt suit and high heels stepped in place next to her, Gabrielle felt a pang for her own fading youth.

She took care of herself, but forty had come and gone and instead of sky-high heels and short skirts, she now favored sensible wedges and light cardigan sweaters to navigate the workday and ward off the chill that seemed to permeate the library. Smart, trendy clothes tended to fall victim to messy printer cartridges and broken ink pens, but Gabrielle conceded that the practical outfits had robbed her of some of her feminine sparkle. She tugged at her demure neckline. What kind of man would find her attractive in her stretch slacks and shapeless beige sweater?

Certainly not the sexual dynamo she craved as a bed partner.

The northbound train rumbled into view and pulled alongside the platform with a whoosh of cool air in the underground tunnel. When the doors opened, she boarded with other passengers and, because the library opened and closed later than most business offices, had no problem finding an empty seat.

After settling in, she pulled the book she was reading from her tote and turned to the page marked with a tasseled bookmark. The story was an erotic romance novel about a woman and her sometime lover. Although it was clear to the reader the couple was perfect for each other, the characters had not yet reached that conclusion and were mulling the alternatives while falling in and out of bed with each other. Gabrielle smiled to herself. Erotica writers of centuries past would be pleased to know that book guidelines regarding content and language had relaxed greatly. Readers could now enjoy story lines that reflected contemporary attitudes toward sex, especially where women’s roles were concerned.

Soon Gabrielle was immersed in the characters’ lives and the lush love scenes that left her body temperature elevated and her breathing intensified. She found herself envying the woman whose lover plied her body with unmitigated pleasure. As the woman strained toward climax, Gabrielle’s thighs quickened.

A body settled into the seat next to her. She squashed a flash of irritation at the distraction and kept reading, but the scent of masculine cologne tickled her nose. In her peripheral vision, she noticed the man was well-dressed, his brown slacks neatly cuffed and creased, his camel-colored jacket of good quality. The hand resting on his knee was large and square, the fingers long and blunt-tipped.

And thick.

Gabrielle forced her attention back to her book and reread a paragraph. The man shifted in his seat, brushing his arm against hers, jostling the book she held.

“Pardon me,” he murmured.

When she slid her gaze sideways to take in the stranger’s profile, her mouth went dry.

The big man sported close-cropped light brown hair, a square jaw, and a sun-tinged complexion. The crow’s feet at the corners of his light-colored—hazel?—eyes said he was a sportsman, perhaps in his late forties. Indeed, he had the boxy build and erect carriage of an athlete. Probably football, given the size of the man’s shoulders…and hands.

A hand naked of a wedding ring.

“No problem,” she murmured, then looked back to her book and reread the paragraph for the third time.

He shifted again to retrieve something from the floor. “That must be some book,” he said in a distinctly Texan drawl.

Gabrielle swung her gaze up to his, her jaw set in consternation. “I’m not ashamed of my reading choices,” she chirped. “Besides, it’s none of your concern, sir.” It wasn’t the first time someone had made a comment about the provocative cover of a book she was reading.

“I couldn’t agree more, ma’am,” the man said, then held up her tasseled bookmark. “I only meant that you dropped your page marker.”

“Oh.” She swallowed and took the proffered bookmark that she hadn’t even missed.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Feeling contrite, Gabrielle cast about for conciliatory small talk. “This is my favorite bookmark,” she said, caressing the thin piece of plastic that announced there were too many books, and not enough hours in the day to read them.

“Nice,” he said, nodding. “What do you do?”

Heat climbed her neck. No man’s eyes ever lit up when she announced her occupation.

“I’m a librarian.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled with a smile. “Ah…that explains the stained fingers.”

Gabrielle glanced at the perennial dark smudges on her fingers—a result of handling publications all day. She curled her fingers in embarrassment. “Washing my hands a dozen times a day doesn’t seem to help. Some of my coworkers wear cotton gloves, but I confess that I like the feel of the paper.”

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about it much longer,” he offered.

Gabrielle frowned. “What do you mean?”

He reached inside his jacket pocket and withdrew a slim electronic device with a screen the size of a paperback. “Electronic books are going to eliminate the need for paper books.” He chuckled. “No offense, but your job is almost obsolete.”

Her mouth tightened—he’d managed to push her number one hot-button. No one was more aware than she that library circulation numbers slid more every day as people turned away from books to other forms of entertainment, or away from printed books to other mediums. Her own branch was desperate to find a way to bring more traffic through the doors. “I’m well aware of the e-book craze,” she said, trying to keep her temper at bay. “I’m also convinced that there will always be a place for paper books.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” he said lightly. “I have over a hundred books on this device.

How many books do you have with you?”

She straightened her shoulders. “One.”

“What happens if you get tired of it and want to read something else?”

“I
always
finish a book.” She tried to keep the exasperation out of her voice.

“What happens if you’re finished and you need something else to read?” he pressed.

“What if this train broke down and you had finished reading the one book you had in your bag?”

“I’d read it again,” she said triumphantly.

He laughed, a big rumbling noise that mimicked the sound of the wheels beneath them moving along the track. He looked up as the train began to slow. “This is my stop. Enjoy your
paper
book.” His eyes twinkled. “Ma’am.”

Gabrielle bristled at his mockery. “I will.”

He stood and she realized he was very tall, maybe six-three or -four. He was handsome, ruggedly so, and everything about him so blocky and male, she felt a pull on her body as he moved away. She opened her mouth to say something—
goodbye…who are you…don’t
go
—but the train doors opened and he was gone, swept up in crush of bodies. Gabrielle craned for a glimpse of him in the disappearing crowd, but her view was obscured by passengers boarding.

Then the doors slid closed and the train sped away.

CHAPTER Two

Gabrielle stared after the handsome stranger in vain. Her skin tingled, as if something extraordinary had just happened—a brush with fate. And when she could breathe again, she felt bereft, as if gold dust had slipped through her fingers.

Gabrielle tried to read her book, but her concentration was shot. Finally admitting defeat, she sat in a daze, replaying the brief encounter in her head until she reached her stop at Buckhead and walked the short distance to her historic brick townhome.

Mellors was meowing before she unlocked the door, and was so thrilled to see her that he almost tripped her rubbing his orange head against her shins.

“Let me get in the door, sweetie.” She set down her bags and crouched to pick him up, cradling the fat feline as she walked through the foyer and into her bedroom. His deep purr was always music to her heart…but today it reminded her of the rumble of the stranger’s laugh. As she stroked her warm pet, she reviewed what she knew about the man.

He had gotten on the train at the North Avenue station, near Georgia Tech University.

Was he a professor? His enthusiasm over the e-book reader certainly fit the profile of an early gadget adopter. He’d gotten off at the Lindberg Station, which could’ve been a destination, but was also the transfer point to another northbound train line.

So…she knew nothing about him, other than he had an aversion to paper books.

And he had the sexiest hands she’d ever seen on a man.

She set Mellors on the floor and changed out of her work clothes into exercise pants and bra. A few minutes of yoga always relaxed her while leaving her pleasantly tired, and hungry for dinner.

But even as she padded into the den and unrolled a yoga mat, Gabrielle could feel a flowering heaviness in her breasts and thighs. The lingering impact of the chance meeting with the stranger, which couldn’t have lasted more than ten minutes, was sad proof of how long it had been since she’d had sex. As she lay on her back and began a series of leg lifts, the unrest in her womb couldn’t be denied. The image of the stranger’s hands kept coming back to her. She imagined the long, thick fingers roaming over her body, finding pressure points and secret places to delve. The thought sent moisture and heat rushing between her thighs.

Gabrielle lifted her legs and arms and held her body in a vee position that strained every core muscle and sent tingling sensations shooting to her engorged sex. The result was an exquisite precipice of torture she maintained until her fatigued muscles gave out. She lay on the mat, limp and recovering, then struck the position again and held it as long as she could. Each time the contraction sent her body closer to climax, each relaxation leaving her boneless and gasping for breath. Excitement churned in her stomach because she felt a massive orgasm building. When she lifted her legs into the exerting pose for a final time, she imagined the handsome stranger supporting her with those big hands, urging her to take her pleasure.

Her body began to spasm as the climax exploded like a broken spring, vaulting through her midsection and rippling out to her trembling limbs. She slid her fingers into her panties and massaged the swollen nub of her clit to milk the orgasm. The intensity of the pleasure shocked her, sending her body bucking with abandon. She cried out, wishing she knew his name, the name of the man who sent her soaring to unknown heights with a pocketful of conversation and a teasing smile.

Gabrielle lay there for the longest time, wracked with sadness because she knew she’d probably never see him again.

******************

Henry Wells tried to prolong the pleasure for as long as he could, but knew he was reaching his limit. He stood in the shower and stroked his rigid cock with a slow, even grip, imagining the prim librarian astride him, her classically beautiful and strong features changing as he pumped into her with a languid rhythm that countered the urgency building in his balls. He’d thought of little else since meeting her, of the wallop of attraction he’d felt at their fleeting encounter on the train.

There was something about her that seemed untapped…pent up. And her voice was sexy as hell, so rich and mellow. He imagined her whispering in his ear, urging him to completion. Henry finally relented to the insistence of his body, giving in to the surge of lust that pulled his life fluid from him in sticky ropes that left him sagging against the wall, drained.

Before his breathing had recovered, he’d made up his mind.

He had to find the mystery woman who had his body on tilt…and find out if what she was hiding under her bulky cardigan was as mind-blowing as he suspected.