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Chapter One

“That was utterly delicious, Erin. How ’bout it, sweetheart? You get enough to eat? I think you missed one little spot of Bolognese sauce.”

Erin watched her neighbor Paul reach across the small table and wipe an imaginary spot from the corner of his wife’s mouth. He brought his thumb to his lips and licked it in a far from subtle manner.

“Did you get it?” Linda asked in a tone that couldn’t help but invite further innuendo.

“Oh, I got it,” Paul replied, giving his wife a hot look that had Erin bringing her glass of Chardonnay quickly to her lips. After years of friendship, she was well accustomed to their unabashed flirtatiousness. Usually it didn’t bother her in the least, but tonight she was a little on edge.

She drained her glass, raising a questioning brow when both her friends looked her way.

“
Oooookay
,” Paul said, pushing his chair away from the table. “Should I grab a second bottle from the wine cooler?”

“Sure.”

“No,” Linda said firmly, turning her attention to Erin. “What’s the deal, Two Drink Wonder?”

“What?” Erin asked, enjoying the flowing warmth that snaked from her stomach to her face.

“You’re obviously nervous or you wouldn’t be pounding the Pinot. Did something happen at the office?” Linda asked, reaching across the table and placing her hand on Erin’s wrist.

Things at work had been a little tense these days but Erin had been there long enough that she wasn’t worried. Public relations of any sort weren’t about to dissolve overnight. PR for several of the nation’s top beauty conglomerates allowed her more than a modicum of job security. No, her day job wasn’t the problem.

“Everything’s fine,” Erin said with a brilliantly non-convincing smile.

“Just tell us,” Paul said, taking Erin’s other hand. “We’ve got plenty of time tonight since we have a sitter who doesn’t have to be home by ten o’clock because tomorrow is a school day.”

“We can forego the game of Scrabble too. You constantly kick our asses anyway,” Linda said, pulling Erin’s arm upward as she stood. “Time to share, share or sit on a chair. Let’s head into your living room and get comfy.”

Erin swallowed and took a deep breath. She’d never get a better opening than the one Linda had just tossed her way.

“What if we headed to my bedroom instead?”

She watched her friend’s eyes widen, heard the scrape of Paul’s chair as he scooted it closer and whispered, “Really? Are you serious?”

Erin met his anticipatory gaze and exhaled the breath she’d been holding. Apparently her words hadn’t come out quite the way she had planned. She’d been brainstorming how to enlist their help since the day after she had sat in on a workshop at the erotic romance convention she had attended a few weeks back. RomantiCon had been a great experience, on numerous levels. She’d talked to her favorite authors, drooled over the hunky cover models, met other women and two men who were pursuing their writing dreams.

The workshop was a masterful presentation by the publisher herself, a woman who undoubtedly could wear a crown of omnificence, although it was clear throughout the three-day conference that she preferred stylish hats above all other head ornamentation. Her suggestions had been enlightening. Complete with audience participation, props and numerous laughs, it dealt with choreographing the author’s action and sex scenes. Some of the women in the audience, the ones who were readers and not aspiring authors, were clearly there in the hope that some of the cover models would be present to help with the “sex scene” part.

But Erin had been there for knowledge, not the beefcake. She knew she had what it took to be an author. She’d majored in business in college, but she’d minored in English and writing. She’d had poetry published in a few literary magazines. Her stuff was good. She was confident of that fact but it was just a matter of getting it out there. Having it read. Getting a contract. For that to happen, the manuscript had to be spotlessly perfect.

“I need you guys—”

“Are you sure?” Linda interjected, plopping back down into her chair. Erin saw the little sparkle in her friend’s eyes and tried to pull her hand free. It took a little effort but Linda eventually let go.

“Holy shit,” Paul whispered. “I can’t believe you’ve finally come around. We’ll call Danny and see if he can spend the night so we don’t have to rush.”

Erin’s eyes nearly crossed at the thought of them calling Linda’s twin brother—who had graciously agreed to babysit Laurel despite the fact that he’d just returned from an extended business trip—and telling him they wouldn’t be coming home due to the fact they were finally going to partake in the threesome the younger couple had been offering Erin since a month after her divorce was final.

“No,” Erin said firmly, pulling free of them both and pushing her chair away from the table. She stood and planted her palms facedown on the tablecloth. “Not for
that
. I need you to help me with scene choreography.”

“Scene choreography?” Paul said, his voice slipping into a somewhat dejected tone.

“Oh my god,” Linda added, raising her hand to the neckline of her sweater and jiggling the fabric back and forth to allow a little extra air to circulate across her bosom. “For your book?”

“Yes, for my book,” Erin added. “I’ve got great notes from RomantiCon and I want this scene—the first sex scene—to be so dead-on and perfect the editor will cream her panties, keep reading and tell herself she can’t live another moment without accepting the manuscript.”

“Wow,” Paul said dejectedly. “Disappointed in you nixing the threesome. Interested in the panty creaming, however. Do go on.”

Linda snorted. “Here I thought you’d had a come-to-Jesus moment, inspired by the women in that forum you log on to with a daily devotion that could put the strictest of novitiates to shame. An enlightenment that told you to go for a younger guy
and
his nearly-back-to-before-pregnancy-shaped wife.”

Erin had to laugh. “There’s no way any spiritual moment would include group fornication. And quit fishing for compliments. You know you look as hot as you were before Laurel arrived.”

“Hotter,” Paul said, walking around the table to stand behind his wife. Erin watched his hands reach around Linda’s body, clearly on a path to her breasts. Their innuendo never bothered her, but the touching—that was another matter altogether. Catching glimpses of them, whether they were trying to be secretive or whether they knew they had an audience, never failed to leave Erin more than a little unsettled.

“Please,” Erin said, her words stopping him before he grabbed hold. “I have no issue with you two justifying your love of multiple bedmates but that’s not part of my makeup. It never has been and never will be.”

“Obviously. How could you resist all this?” Linda asked, spreading her arms wide.

“But you’re not ruling out the younger-guy thing, are you?” Paul crossed his arms over Linda’s chest and wiggled his brows.

Erin didn’t answer. Frankly, she didn’t trust herself enough to look them square in the eyes and deny the fact. Thanks to the forum being attached to an online dating site where she continued to lurk, the possibility of finding a younger guy was all she’d been thinking about.

These days when her mind wandered at work, it had nothing to do with which celebrity might be cajoled into doing a photo spread for a new product and everything to do with finely chiseled younger men who wanted her spread. In any manner—on her back or on her belly. Ass in the air or ankles wrapped behind her shoulders. Okay, that last one was a total impossibility in her present non-exercising state but one of the women on the blog swore by it.

Talk of older women and younger men had permeated the conference as well. The publishing company had an entire line of books with that particular theme. She’d surfed the web like a maniac when she returned home and zeroed in on what appeared to be the premier cougar dating venue hoping for a little free research. She got that and a whole lot more.

The latest entry, one that dealt with a six-foot-five-inch fireman and the forty-seven-year-old woman who had found him in the chat room, had gotten Erin so revved up she had made a beeline for her hidden suitcase of battery-operated delights. It hadn’t mattered that it was midday, sun shining through her bedroom windows. She’d thrown herself down on the bed, closed her eyes and thought of England.

Seventeenth-century England. Estates comprised of expansive rolling fields. Dark clouds hanging low in the sky, heralding the latest storm. Horses galloping headlong toward the safety of their stalls. Hot, half-naked stable hands in tight breeches, grabbing the reins Erin would toss at them, along with an order to take good care of her mount. An order delivered in a haughty tone of voice that the man had no desire to obey. He clearly proved his insolence by hauling her body into his arms and silencing any further orders with a long, mind-numbing kiss. Right before he dropped to his knees and tongued her clit to a blinding climax.

It was immediately after her historical-fiction-induced orgasm that Erin decided she needed to focus on her book and forget about any real-life hotter-than-hell hookups. The likelihood of her having a sexy younger man parade into her life was all but nil.

“Erin? Hello?” Paul waved his palm in front of her face and she blinked.

“Will you two help me or not?” Erin finally asked.

“Do we actually get to have sex in front of you?” Paul asked. “You may not go for the threesomes but maybe you’re a closet voyeur? We can work with that, can’t we, honey?”

Erin felt her cheeks heat and consciously rolled her gaze toward the ceiling, hoping neither saw the telltale blush. There was no doubt in her mind that watching them actually have sex would be astounding.

“Hah! You didn’t say no,” Linda said, wiggling out of his embrace. “But we’ll be your guinea pigs anyhow. Just remember, I am double jointed so some of the stuff might not be doable for mere mortals.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Gumby.” Erin laughed. “Let me grab the tape player and my manuscript. I printed it out earlier, hoping you’d agree. Meet you in the bedroom.”

Erin hurried to her office and gathered what she needed. The workshop had stressed the importance of a taped recording of the scene and Erin had done just that. Clear and at a slower pace that would allow her “actors” to follow the directions.

She walked through the living room, her spirits suddenly lifted. She had worried they might not agree. Which was stupid. Linda and Paul had been wonderful neighbors. Before and after her divorce. She’d been a little shocked to discover they were swingers, but in the big scheme of things, it could have been a hell of a lot worse. They weren’t on a most-wanted list, they weren’t hurting anyone and they were undeniably happy.

“Here we go,” Erin said, handing Paul a fluorescent green ruler. “Put that in your belt. It’s your rapier.”

“My
what
?”

“Your sword. Small. Mainly used for thrusting attacks. And before you even go there, you can
shitcan
the double entendre. Come stand over here, Linda,” Erin said.

“You should have told me it was a pirate story. I’ve got a saucy wench costume and Paul has this sweet little flogger with—”

“Don’t tell me.” Erin chuckled, holding up one hand. “The less I know about your personal proclivities, the better.”

“Role-playing is not a proclivity. It’s a way of life,” Linda teased. “Perfectly natural.”

“Fine. But it’s not pirates. It’s Britain—early eighteen hundreds. You’re part of the Earl of Belgrade’s winnings but the earl doesn’t realize who you are.”

“Who am I?” Linda asked.

“You’re the ward of the earl’s nefarious host, a man who secretly needs you compromised so he can get you out of the picture and have full control of your estate.”

“So what’s the earl need the rapier for?” Paul asked. “He’s not going to force her, is he? Remember how you nearly took my
freakin
’ head off when you told us you were going to write a romance and I made that comment about ‘bodice rippers’? Holy shit, Erin. I’d never seen you so pissed before.”

“Maybe he’s just going to pretend to force her,” Linda said, swaying her hips sexily as she walked over to her husband and wrapped one hand around his neck. “Maybe he knows that’s what headstrong women secretly crave. A little aggressiveness now and again.”

She turned her head and shot Erin a pointed look.

“Rule number one,” Erin said. She sat on the corner of the bed and flipped through the stapled pages until she found chapter three. “No rewriting the story to fit your favorite dress-up scenarios.” She grabbed the small tape player and held it toward them, smiling.

“You are no fun at all, Erin. You know that?” Linda said.

“But you are,” Paul suggested in a husky voice, yanking his wife’s hips against his lower body.

“
Ooooo
, your
earlship
,” Linda said, giving Paul a long kiss. Complete with tongue. “Is that a small thrusting sword in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?”

Erin hid her smile and shook her head. Then turned on the recorder.

* * * * *

They were twenty minutes into the visualization process when Linda’s cell phone buzzed a second time and she leaned around Paul’s body and looked at the text.

“It’s Danny,” she said. “I’ve got to answer this.”

Erin was thrilled with the progress they’d made in such short time. They’d walked through paragraph after paragraph of heroine-hero interaction, allowing Erin to recognize and reconfigure more than a few impossibilities—including the fact that her hero apparently had the longest penis known to man when he was standing a few feet away from her heroine, yet she was clearly able to feel his bulge against her throbbing nether regions. It seemed like such an amateur mistake. Something she should have caught on her own.

“Hey, brother of mine. What’s wrong?” Linda asked, not moving from the position she and Paul had contorted into.

Erin studied the two, fairly confident insertion would be possible if she had her hero ease the heroine off her toes. Actually lift her up about four inches and then thrust into her. Erin made a note in the margin of the manuscript, half listening to Linda.