Authors: Lauren Jameson
I blinked with surprise, even as I arched into his touch.
“Here?” Reaching for the waistband of his slacks, I slipped my hand inside and ran my thumb over the hot velvet of his erection. “Now?”
“Here,” he confirmed as he groaned and thrust into my hand. Not bothering with the clasp of my bra, he simply pulled the wire and lace down beneath my breasts, pushing them up to him like an offering. “Now. And you’re going to let me. You know why?”
“Why?” I arched my back, giving him better access to my erect nipples. Nerves skittered along my skin, knowing that all of my coworkers were just on the other side of the conference room door. The nerves added to the potency of my arousal, and I knew that I would have a hard time being quiet.
Zach slid his hand down the front of my pants, into my panties, and found my clit. As he began to stroke with sure movements, he slid another finger inside of my liquid heat, grinning at the way I responded, pushing myself against him, all reservation gone.
I would do anything for this man.
I would do everything for him.
He possessed me, body and soul.
“You’ll let me because I love you.”
Zachariah St. Brenton was rarely wrong.
Now that you’ve enjoyed Devon and Zach’s passionate romance, don’t miss out on
the next erotic romance from Lauren Jameson
Available from NAL in May 2013
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“Maddy, can you take this to table twelve for me?” Susannah is having a bad hair day, and her face is devoid of makeup, which makes me think that she overslept. But her cheeks are rosy and her eyes sparkle.
Somebody had a good night, and that somebody was not me.
“Sure.” Methodically I turn to the warmer and retrieve the plate. I raise my eyebrows slightly at what the plain white ceramic holds—whole-wheat pancakes with fruit and cottage cheese, no syrup, no whipped cream, no ice cream. Not a common order for Joe’s Diner, a greasy spoon in Paradise, Nevada, aka my place of employment.
I’ve been back at work for a week, and have obsessed over Alex Fraser for every one of those seven days. I should have been congratulating myself on crossing an item off of my bucket list, but the thrill has been lost in my angst-ridden desire.
“Table twelve is smokin’.” Susannah winks at me as she scurries past with two glasses full of fizzing soda. I roll my eyes in return. My shift starts a half hour after hers does, and from the look on Susannah’s face, I’ve very nearly missed the best thing since sliced bread.
“You think everyone is smokin’,” I whisper back before hefting the plate and a coffee pot. I feel a lock of hair fall into my eyes as soon as my hands are full, and flip it back with the ease of long practice.
There’s not much that I can’t handle here, in comfortable surroundings.
“By the way, someone called for you this morning. Ned maybe—or Nick? Anyway, he said he’d call back.” Susannah scurries away with her drinks, leaving me glued to the floor, feelings rioting around inside of me.
Nick called? How did he even find me? My stomach falls as I realize that if he’s found where I am, he can call—or heaven forbid, stop by—at any time.
I don’t know how long I stand there, muscles stiff with tension, fighting my own inner demons. Gradually my surroundings filter back in, and as they do my muscles begin to warm, a hot bath of familiarity.
I am okay.
Inhaling deeply, I swallow my feelings down deep. I am at work. I need to do my job, and to do that, I can’t stand here and ruminate on my past—I need to move on, just as I have struggled to do for the last two years.
I almost convince myself that I have.
Eyes carefully trained on the plate and pot in my hands, I arrive at table twelve. It’s a man, that much I can tell without a good look and with hair in my eyes.
“Here you go. Careful—the plate is hot.” I lean over the table to place the plate in front of the customer. The familiar scent of expensive cologne, musky soap, and man hits me before I raise my eyes to meet that gorgeous face.
I straighten back up and brush my hair out of my eyes. Smoky blue eyes regard me with amusement from a face that is too beautiful to be real.
“Miss Stone.” I can’t force any words out of my mouth, I’m so stunned. What on earth is Alex Fraser, casino owner, doing in Paradise, Nevada, let alone in Joe’s Diner?
“Mr. Fraser. I—uh—enjoy your breakfast.” Like an idiot—a shell-shocked idiot—I spin on my heel and all but run back to the kitchen, where I can at least put a counter between Alex Fraser and me.
Behind the counter I lean over the ice bin, trying to cool my flushed cheeks. What is he
here? Part of me screams that he can’t possibly be here to see me, and the other part is equally as certain that it’s not a coincidence that he’s in my place of work, in my little city, which is close enough to Vegas but still a bit of a drive.
“Are you okay?” Joe is the owner of the diner. He’s tall and lanky, with scraggly, reddish-gold hair and the hint of a matching beard. His eyes are startlingly green and full of concern, as is his voice.
“I’m . . . I’m fine.” I struggle for the words, though I’m unable to muster up an accompanying smile. How does Alex Fraser have such an effect on me? For the entire two years that I’ve lived in Paradise, I’ve been indifferent to the opposite sex. Changing that might be something on my bucket list, but not yet. I’m not ready.
I’ve had other things on my mind, other demons whispering in the dark.
“You don’t look fine.” I like Joe, I do, but right now I want him to leave me the hell alone.
Mustering the shreds of my sanity—and again marveling at Alex Fraser’s ability to turn me into a witless idiot—I straighten and smile at Joe.
“I’m good, Joe. It’s just warm in here.”
“Take care.” Joe reaches out for a strand of my hair before jerking his hand back. I study the hand hovering awkwardly in the air, puzzled.
“Right.” With that Joe retreats hastily into the kitchen, leaving me staring after him.
I can’t even contemplate his gesture at that moment, not with Alex Fraser eating whole-wheat pancakes, which aren’t even on the menu, across the room. Our cook specializes in grease, and I wonder how Alex charmed her into making something special.
Besides, Joe’s near touch doesn’t bring butterflies and nerves and want and need all rolled into one tangled ball to my stomach.
I look across that room to where the one who does is sitting. He is watching me intently, his coffee cup hiding his lips, but I get the impression that he is amused.
Right. He can probably get any woman, anywhere, to do anything.
What are my options? I can hide in the kitchen until he’s gone, begging Susannah to take his table, or I can be an adult and warm up his coffee, make small talk, and present him his bill.
In my heart I know that the latter is the only option that I will really consider. No matter that I’ve embarrassed myself in front of him with my awkwardness, I feel drawn to him like a moth to the light.
I want to be around him, want to spend time with him, whatever I have to do.
is a writer, yoga newbie, knitting aficionado, and animal lover who lives in the shadows of the great Rocky Mountains of Alberta, Canada. She’s older than she looks—really—and younger than she feels—most of the time. She has published with Avon and Harlequin as Lauren Hawkeye and writes contemporary erotic romance for NAL. Visit her online at www.laurenjameson.com and www.laurenhawkeye.com.
Surrender to Temptation
Part I: Tempted to Submit
Part II: Tempted to Rebel
Part III: Tempted to Obey
Part IV: Tempted to Entice
Part V: Tempted to Reveal
Part VI: Tempted to Possess