The Saint's Wife (21 page)

About the Author

Lauren Gallagher is an abnormal romance writer who has recently been exiled from the glittering utopia of Omaha, Nebraska, to an undisclosed location in South America. Along with her husband, a harem of concubines, and a phosphorescent porcupine, she remains, as always, in hiding from the Polynesian Mafia. For the moment, she seems to have eluded her nemesis, M/M romance author L.A. Witt, but figures L.A. will eventually become bored with the wilds of Spain and come looking for her. And when that time comes, Lauren will be ready. Assuming L.A. doesn’t have her hands full keeping track of Lori A. Witt and Ann Gallagher, which she probably will.

For info about Lauren and the rest of the Gallagher-Witt quad, check out
www.gallagherwitt.com
or
@GallagherWitt
on Twitter.

Look for these titles by Lauren Gallagher

Now Available:

Who’s Your Daddy?

All The King’s Horses

The Princess and the Porn Star

I’ll Show You Mine

Coming Soon:

Kneel, Mr. President

Writing as L. A. Witt

Nine-tenths of the Law

Out of Focus

Conduct Unbecoming

General Misconduct

The Walls of Troy

The Distance Between Us/Wilde’s Series

The Distance Between Us

A.J.’s Angel

The Closer You Get

Meet Me in the Middle

No Distance Left to Run (with Aleksandr Voinov)

No Place That Far (with Aleksandr Voinov)

Tooth & Claw

The Given & the Taken

The Healing & the Dying

The United & The Divided

The Only One

The Only One Who Knows (with Cat Grant)

The Only One Who Matters (with Cat Grant)

They could be each other’s second chance…unless their mistakes are too big to overlook.

I’ll Show You Mine

© 2014 Lauren Gallagher

When Alyssa Warren meets Shane McNeill at a wedding, sparks fly. Despite a litany of mistakes no one will let her forget, she can’t resist indulging in one hot night…one that leaves her hungry for more.

Alyssa’s not ready to let her past scare Shane off, though, so she proposes a casual arrangement—live in the moment, no discussing ancient history.

Shane’s on board with that. No-strings, kinky sex with a beautiful woman who has no interest in his past—and with a libido that matches his own? Hell yeah. If she knew about the monster mistakes he’s made, she’d run for the hills, so he’s all for enjoying this wild ride for as long as it lasts.

As they delve deeper into each other’s kinks, though, it’s only a matter of time before trust and intimacy start entangling their hearts. But before a future can take shape, they’ll have to come clean…and hope their confessions don’t drive them apart.

Warning: Contains a woman who knows what she wants in bed and isn’t afraid to demand it, and a man who’s more than happy to give—or take—anything her body desires. In between making deliciously dirty demands of his own, that is.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
I’ll Show You Mine:

Alyssa threw a wary glance over her shoulder, inspecting the empty deck for anyone who’d followed her out to give her a disapproving look. Hell, let them look.

Small wonder she always seriously considered blowing off social engagements when they included anyone she hadn’t met within the last few years. She’d lost enough sleep over mistakes she’d made—the last thing she needed was self-righteous assholes insisting she wear a scarlet goddamned letter any time she breathed the same air as a man.

She glanced back at the party going on inside, at the people dancing and laughing, and her heart sank. It had been three and a half years since the truth had come out. Three and a half long, lonely years. How many more before people who knew didn’t feel the need to warn men away from her?

Grumbling to herself, she pushed herself away from the railing.

Restlessness took over, so she started wandering. There had to be somewhere on this damned boat where she could move around and get some air and just escape for a little while.

She followed the walkway from the deck to the side of the cabin, where it narrowed and continued toward the other end of the boat.

And she stopped dead.

There he was.

She stopped so abruptly, she almost stumbled again, and stared at him. And for the second time today, she was genuinely surprised to see him without a cigarette between his lips. Instead, he rested both hands on the railing, eyes closed as the wind played with his hair.

Get out of here. Back to the party. Go. Go now!

But her legs wouldn’t obey.

And then he turned his head.

His posture straightened as if she’d startled him. “Oh. Hey.”

“Hey.” Her legs were apparently still good for something—moving
toward
him. “You’re missing the party.”

He chuckled, turning toward her and resting his elbow on the railing. “So are you.”

Oh, I’m not missing anything important right now.

She shrugged. “You’ve been to one wedding, you’ve been to them all.”

Shane threw his head back and laughed. “Isn’t
that
the truth.” He gestured at her hand. “Gave up on the suicide heels?”

She glanced down at the strappy shoes dangling from her fingers. “Are you kidding? I can wear them, but not on a boat.”

He grimaced. “I don’t know how anyone walks in them in the first place. Out here?” He gestured at the water and shook his head. “Seems like pain waiting to happen.”

“You have no idea. And I got tired of stumbling all over the place every time the boat rocked. I swear, I still have my sea legs.” She held up her high heels. “Damned shoes were trying to kill me.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Your sea legs?”

“Yeah. You know, being able to—”

“Yes, I know what they are,” he said, chuckling. “I’m assuming you’ve spent a fair amount of time out on the water, then?”

Alyssa nodded. “Eight years in the Navy.”

“Really?” He rested his elbow on the railing. “That must have been an interesting career.”

“Wasn’t interesting enough to keep me past the eight-year mark, but it gave me a chance to grow up before I had to get out on my own and be an adult.”

Shane laughed dryly, shifting his gaze out to the water. “There’d be a lot fewer problems in this world if more kids went that route.”

“I don’t know. You didn’t see some of the guys on my last ship.”

“No.” He turned toward her again, an odd expression—somewhere between amused, sad and secretive—tightening his features. “But I’ve seen plenty of the idiots who never even made it that far.”

“Good point.” She leaned on the railing and let her shoulders slouch just a little. As soon as she’d relaxed, one of the straps on her dress made a quick escape down her arm. She reached for it, but Shane was faster.

He hooked his finger under the strap and drew it back up, letting the backs of his fingers trail across her skin. As the strap settled onto her shoulder and he pulled his hand back, a shiver went through her, all the way down to her toes.

“Uh.” She swallowed, resting her arms on the railing again now that his brief, soft touch had messed up her equilibrium. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

She looked up at him and realized just how much taller he was without her high heels to make up the difference.

He craned his neck and furrowed his brow. “That’s an interesting tattoo.”

She self-consciously reached back. “I totally forgot it was showing.”

“I like it.” He smiled. “It’s nice.”

“Thanks.” She returned the smile. “Some people aren’t big on girls with ink.”

He shrugged. “I’m not some people.” He gestured at her tattoo. “Is that your only one?”

“No, I have more.”

“I have a few myself.” His smile turned to a mouthwatering grin. “Show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

“I’ve already shown you one of mine. I think you owe me one.”

Disbelief flickered across his expression, as if he wasn’t used to women who could keep up with him. “I suppose I do, don’t I?” He glanced toward the glow coming from the party they’d left behind, and then undid his bowtie. His long fingers mesmerized her as he opened the first few buttons of his shirt, and the glimpse of skin underneath sped up her pulse.

He tugged his partially opened shirt aside, along with the collar of the white T-shirt beneath, and revealed a somewhat faded wolf etched into his left pec. As she stared at it, Alyssa almost convinced herself it was the tattoo she wanted to reach out and touch. Somehow she doubted he’d believe that excuse.

“Very nice,” she said.

“Thank you.” He fixed his bowtie and collar.

A cool breeze rushed past them, and she folded her arms tightly across her almost-exposed chest.

He raised his eyebrows. “Want a jacket?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” She hugged herself a little tighter. “I’m okay.”

Shane smirked, then unbuttoned his jacket and shrugged it off. Holding it out, he said, “Here. No sense freezing to death.”

“So you’ll freeze for me?”

He laughed. “I have a shirt on.” His gaze slid down her mostly exposed chest, then rose to meet her eyes again. “You, on the other hand…”

Trying not to laugh, Alyssa reached out and took the jacket. She pretended the soft fabric—cool from being out here in the wind, but still holding some of his body heat—didn’t remind her of their walk down the aisle earlier.

Pulling it around her shoulders, she shivered again, this time because of the warmth. No, no, it did not feel like his skin against hers. It didn’t make her wonder at all what it would be like to have his arms around her instead of his jacket. It
didn’t
.

“Hmm,” Shane said, thumbing his chin, “this does mean I have a more obscured view now, doesn’t it?”

She laughed in spite of her burning cheeks.

“I mean, Hannah does have damned good taste in bridesmaid’s dresses,” he said. “Color aside.”

“Oh, so it’s the dress you want to look at?”

“Well, yeah.” He batted his eyes. “What did you think I meant?”

Alyssa clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Let me guess. This is the part where you tell me my dress would look better in a rumpled heap on your bedroom floor?”

“Nope.” He gave her another down-up glance, then met her gaze. “This is the part where I tell you that dress would look a hell of a lot better with the skirt shoved up over your hips.”

Her lips parted.

He grinned. “I like to have something to hold on to.”

Alyssa gulped. “You’re very direct.”

“When I see something I want, yes.” He paused. “You don’t strike me as particularly shy yourself.”

“I can be.”

“Can you?”

“When I see something I want and I’m not sure if I should go for it.”

“And if you think you should go for it?”

“Then it just depends on the situation.”

“Hmm. Sounds like way too much thought.”

“So you don’t give it any thought, then? You just go for it?”

He shrugged. “Oh, I give it some thought. I run through a few scenarios in my head, a few possible outcomes, and decide if it’s worth the risk.”

“And if it is worth the risk?”

“Then I can be pretty aggressive.”

“Is that right?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Me too.” She grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him.

She’s got the moves. He’s got the heat. Will their hearts catch the rhythm?

The Princess and the Porn Star

© 2013 Lauren Gallagher

Rachel Taylor’s manager has to be kidding. A porn star dancing beside her in her next music video? She didn’t claw her way back from near obscurity in the pop music world only to become a laughingstock all over again.

Yet the moment she meets Lee, a.k.a. the infamous Buck Harder, their chemistry sizzles. There’s much more to the man behind the stage name than the obvious attributes that make him so successful, and soon she’s fantasizing about sharing more than just a stage.

In only a few steps, they find a perfect, dance-floor groove hot enough to melt the camera lens. But when the video’s release blows up in their faces, her record label exercises an obscure but ironclad clause—stay away from each other. Or else.

Meeting in secret seems the most delicious solution. But they can’t hide this kind of heat for long…and when the paparazzi sniff them out, she realizes choosing to stay with the man she’s fallen for could cause her to fall off the pop music map—permanently.

Warning: Let’s just say there’s a reason Buck Harder went into his line of work, and it ain’t his pretty smile. Wink wink.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Princess and the Porn Star:

Thank God Olivia was halfway across the room when I first saw her. And thank God there were people, equipment and cords between here and there, because that gave me half a minute or so to get my tongue untied before I reached her.

It wasn’t like I’d never seen her before. Not in person, maybe, but back when she was famous the first time, I’d been a fan. And maybe, just maybe, I’d kind of had a crush on her. At one time. A long time ago.

So when I found out I’d be working with her, I’d fully expected to be a little starstruck, but this? Holy shit.

The pretty-in-pink image she’d had back then was long gone. Her hair was darker now and longer, tied back in a messy ponytail. And that dress. Christ. It was the kind of look that could be slutty or it could be sexy, and on her, it was definitely the latter. Her breasts weren’t falling out of it, and it wasn’t so short it looked like it was meant for someone half her height. Sexy and provocative but tasteful at the same time.

Olivia Taylor had grown the fuck up.

She looked healthier now too. That last year before she fell off the radar, she’d been scary thin and pale. Even before that, she’d always been just thin enough to keep eating disorder and—especially toward the end—drug abuse rumors flying. She was still slim now, but her face wasn’t gaunt anymore, and the way her hips and waist curved inside that dress made my mouth water. And I was going to be dancing with her? With my hands on her while I wore tight leather pants?

God help me.

I stepped around a ladder and over a cord, and there we were.

“Hi,” I said.

She responded with a thin smile and a quiet, “Hi.”

“So you’re Olivia.” I extended my hand. “Buck Harder.”

She shook my hand. “I’m Olivia, yes. Well, Rachel.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too.” She let go of my hand, and I didn’t miss the hint of a smirk. I was used to that. Price you pay for a stage name like mine. I supposed I could have made things easier by telling her my real name, but that was something I kept guarded. The fewer people who knew Buck Harder was really Lee Peyton, the better.

“So, um…” I cleared my throat and glanced at the half-constructed stage. How the hell was I supposed to make conversation with this woman? Without saying something like,
You’re even hotter in person
or,
Holy shit, you look goood in leather
?

Just before I could open my mouth and make an ass of myself, Jim, the director, broke in. “Oh good. You two have been introduced.” He put one hand on my shoulder and the other on Olivia’s. “Pretty straightforward, what you’ll be doing up there”—with his chin, he gestured toward the stage—“but we’ll also be shooting in front of a green screen. Close-up of your faces. Not too much to rehearse there, though. Mostly just different lighting and camera angles for us.” He smiled at her, then at me. “Isn’t a whole lot for you two to do except lip-synch and dance, but do either of you have any questions?”

Olivia and I shook our heads.

“Good!” He clapped our shoulders, and we both winced. Oblivious, Jim said, “Let’s get this started, then. Everybody onstage.”

As ordered, we headed up to the stage. Olivia went ahead of me and made judicious use of the handrail on her way up the six stairs. I cringed on her behalf; those shoes looked excruciating, and I imagined even the slightest stumble could result in a trip to the emergency room.

She made it onto the stage without incident, though. Front and center, someone had made a small box out of electrical tape on the bare plywood.

“Need both of you in that box,” Jim shouted.

I eyed the box, then him. “You…
both
of us?”

“Both of you.”

The tape square was just big enough for one person to stand comfortably with their feet roughly shoulder width apart. But two? Not so much.

Olivia stood as close to the front of the box as she could. I stayed as close to the back as possible, trying to give her some breathing room. Fat chance of that, though. Even with the balls of her feet on the front and my heels on the opposite side, my chest brushed her back, and her whole body tensed. She stood ramrod straight, drawing as far away from me as her center of gravity would allow.

“They don’t give us much room to move, do they?” I muttered.

She turned her head slightly. “Not really, no.”

“Hands on her waist,” Jim called out from below us.

I didn’t think Olivia could get any tenser. I was wrong.

As I rested my hands on her waist, she sucked in a breath, and every muscle in her body stiffened. I gritted my teeth. It was hard to tell if she was repulsed by me, or if she was just uncomfortable with the entire setup, but either way, it didn’t bode well for much onstage chemistry.

And Jim didn’t help. “Buck, I need you to move in a little closer.”

Closer? Seriously?

I cleared my throat. “Uh, how close do you want me to get? This is about as close—”

“Lean in more,” Jim said. “So you’re almost kissing her neck but not quite.”

Fuck, dude. Really?

Olivia blew out a long breath. Over her shoulder, she said, “It’s okay. If he wants us closer, then…” She tilted her head slightly, offering up more of her neck.

I did as I was told. Thanks to the high heels, I didn’t have to lean down very far to get my lips close to her neck. Well, at least that would be easier on my own neck. I’d already scheduled a massage for tomorrow after the shoot was over, but the less I aggravated that old injury, the better.

“Music’s about to start,” Jim called up to us. “When it does, you know what to do.”

Yeah. I do.
I resisted the urge to adjust my grasp on Olivia’s waist. No point in reminding her where my hands were, even if the leather was already making my palms sweat.

I pulled in a deep breath through my nose and caught a whiff of both leather and either a faint perfume or the remnants of a sweet-smelling shampoo, and goose bumps prickled to life beneath my clothes. Forget pretending I wanted to kiss her neck. I did want to. I wanted to breathe her in, taste her skin, kiss beneath the sharp edge of her jaw.

Just as well she doesn’t like me,
I thought, willing myself to focus on anything but lusting after her,
or I might be tempted
.

The music started. In a heartbeat, the stiff, tense body in my hands was in motion. In fluid, smooth motion, like the tempo was hardwired into her muscles. Her hips swiveled. One shoulder dipped and came up. Then the other. I followed as best I could, and thank God for years of professionally following women’s leads, because my body instinctively complemented her every move. We probably would have been in perfect synch if not for the constant chorus of
don’t touch her too much, don’t touch her too much, don’t touch her too much
echoing in the back of my brain. Or the lingering stiffness in her, the slight hitch in her otherwise perfect motion, which was all too conspicuously an effort to keep our contact to a minimum.

The music stopped abruptly, and our bodies did too. I kept my hands on her waist, but we separated as much as we could, jumping at the opportunity for some breathing room.

“I need to see more motion.” Jim waved his arms in the air. “I want you two in one place, but I need to see
more motion
.”

“Says the man wearing comfortable clothes,” I muttered.

Olivia snorted. Well, that was a start. At least she had a sense of humor.

Then Jim said to someone, “Cue up the music and let’s start again.” Instantly, whatever minute relaxation that laugh had brought out of Olivia evaporated, and her body was once again stiff and tense against mine.

I tried not to think about the uncomfortable tension between us, and when the music started, I focused on that instead. I hadn’t heard the song before today, but I’d listened to it a few times since I’d arrived this morning. If the rest of the songs were half as good as “You Ain’t Even Kissed Me Yet”, this album was going to sell insanely well. Her sound was so much better than her old stuff. The old music was great, but this? This was unreal. Stronger, bolder; her image wasn’t the only thing that had grown up.