Ghost Redeemed
By Mary Winter
Available Now from Pink Petal Books
Shay’s stomach flip-flopped. Looking at Kyle standing just outside her bathroom door, a boyish grin on his face, made her wonder what would happen if she invited him to join her. She’d planned on taking a shower, figuring that would be the easiest way to wash the wound on her back. But with Kyle there, she wouldn’t need to go to such lengths. Then again, maybe she would anyway.
She stepped back and opened the door, suddenly nervous about her plan. “I guess you’re right,” she said, trying not to sound too eager. “I will need some help.” Turning from him, she pulled her shirt over her head. She swore she heard Kyle’s swiftly indrawn breath. She glanced into the mirror and saw the angry red gash start just below her shoulder blade to disappear beneath her bra clasp. She reached around her and unfastened the hooks. Her peach lace bra hung loosely on her shoulders, and she noticed Kyle trying hard not to look at her breasts in the mirror.
She slipped the lingerie from her shoulders. “The peroxide and some antibiotic ointment are in the medicine cabinet.”
Kyle opened the mirrored panel. She watched, noticing the light glow surrounding his skin. If it weren’t for that, he’d look completely normal standing in her bathroom, reaching for the brown plastic bottle of peroxide. He grabbed several cotton balls and turned his attention to her back. His movements seemed slow, as if he had to think about each action.
“This is going to sting a little. There’s not much I can do about that.” He unscrewed the lid of the peroxide bottle and doused a cotton ball. “Are you ready?”
“I’ll be fine,” she said. His fingers brushed her skin, and tiny shivers darted from the touch. Her nipples pebbled, and she resisted the urge to cover her breasts with her hands. A soft fizzing sound filled the bathroom, and then the wound stung. Shay sucked in a quick breath and gritted her teeth.
“I’m sorry.” Kyle continued to dab the cotton ball on the wound.
“It’s okay,” Shay ground out. She reached in front of her and wrapped her fingers around the towel rod on her shower door. Clenching her fingers around it, she focused on breathing in and out to distance herself from the sting of disinfectant on her wound.
His motions slowed, and she heard the soft clunk of the bottle on the counter. The trash bag rustled as he tossed the cotton ball into it. The room closed in. She became aware of Kyle standing behind her, his body just inches from her. The thudding of her heart sounded loud in her ears. She longed to turn around and see him, but didn’t, afraid of the desire she would see in his gaze. Keeping her eyes down, she waited.
He touched her. His fingers slid across her shoulder, a feather light touch against her skin. Tiny sparks danced at the contact. Telling herself he was a ghost did little good, as heavy warmth filled her limbs. His hand skimmed her side, barely touching the side of her breast. She wanted more. Him. His cock. Her lips parted.
“Kyle,” she breathed.
“Shay.” His other hand reached around to palm her breast, a light touch that soon had him standing against her. The ridge of his cock pressed against her buttocks.
Her knees went weak. She leaned against his strength, not wanting to get used to his warmth surrounding her. The fact he was a ghost mattered little. Some part of her mind rebelled, but she refused to listen. Right now, still aching from the fight and heart-sore from her best friend’s death, she wanted his warmth, his strength surrounding her.
She shifted her weight. Her ankle protested, and she quickly moved her weight to her good foot.
“Let me help you.” His hand slid down her back, to her hip. “Turn around and wrap your legs around me.”
Shay started to turn. “But you’re a gh—” Words died when she saw the naked hunger in his eyes. He wanted her, his gaze sweeping over her bared breasts.
“Perfect,” he whispered, covering one with his hand. He brushed a thumb across a distended nipple, and Shay closed her eyes. His free hand slid over her back, down to her ass. Pulling her against him, he urged her to wrap her leg around his waist.
She complied. The first touch of his hard cock against her coaxed a low moan from her throat. She wrapped her arms around him and brought her other leg around his waist. He easily lifted her, carrying her out of the bathroom.
“Where’s your bedroom?” He glanced down the hall, before looking back into the living room.
The Purrfect Man
By Mary Winter
Available Now from Pink Petal Books
“I’m sorry.”
The masculine words sounded truly remorseful, and it took Althea a moment to realize she was dreaming. “It’s okay,” she automatically replied, though she knew not who this man was or why he apologized to her. In fact, she couldn’t really see him. Instead, it seemed as if she still lay in bed, though the edges of the room seemed fuzzy. An effect of the sinus medication, she wondered, but she’d never had dreams like this before.
Gradually, her surroundings became visible. A man sat on the foot of her bed. Though he didn’t move, she sensed an inherent lithe grace in his form.
“Wha--?” she asked, coming out of a medicine-induced fog. “Who are you?”
Tawny hair crowned his head and feathered over his shoulders. His brilliant blue eyes held warmth. A straight nose divided his face, leading to the fullest, most sensuous pair of lips she’d ever seen on a man. He wore no shirt, and the view of his chest nearly took Althea’s breath away. Matching tawny hair dusted his pectorals, and then arrowed over a work-hardened set of abs and disappeared beneath the waistband of a gray pair of sweat pants. His feet were bare.
She blinked at the sweat pants. Until that modern piece of clothing, she expected him to be dressed in historical clothing. She didn’t know why. She saw only his body; he hadn’t even spoken yet. Still, something about his manner, the way he sat with his hands resting on his muscled thighs brought back images from a bygone era. She chalked it up to the timelessness of the dream state.
He moved closer, the efficiency in the way he inched toward her pillow reaffirming her belief that this was a man unlike any she’d met. After settling himself next to her hip, he trailed his fingers over her arm. The caress, so light, reminded her of the way she’d petted the cat on her porch.
“I’m Dante,” he said. Reaching out, he brushed his thumb against her lips. “So beautiful. So warm.” He bent over, replacing his thumb with his lips. Gently he kissed her, drawing her deeper into the dream, into him. His lips coaxed, nibbled, ate as daintily as a cat enjoying a tasty morsel. With his tongue, he traced her lower lip.
Althea parted her lips to allow him entrance. Dante’s answering moan sent warm shivers darting through her body. She wrapped her arm around him, tangling her fingers in his silky soft hair. His hard body pressed against hers, and arousal drew her nipples into tight beads. She wanted to be devoured by him, to feel his lips on every inch of her flesh. Allergies forgotten, she clung to him and slid her other hand down over his muscled back to his buttocks. This was a dream, after all.
And thank goodness it
was
a dream. Her body hungered for the touch of flesh against flesh. Reaching for him, curling her fingers around his biceps, something awakened deep inside. She’d ignored the months of celibacy, hadn’t really thought about them, but now, the need to make up for lost time drove her. She moaned as he deepened the kiss. Passion flared in her blood. She wanted him—her dream man.
Now
.
A quick tug pulled her shirt free of her jeans. His hand splayed across her abdomen. His touch branded her. He laid her back on the bed, tugging at her T-shirt. She released him long enough for him to pull it over her head. He unfastened her bra and slid it off her shoulders.
Althea reached for him once more. She wrapped her fingers around his hard biceps and pulled him to her.
Dante lowered his head and nibbled along her collarbone. He laved each kiss, each love bite, with a long sweep of his tongue that had her shuddering to her toes. The crisp whorls of his chest hair tickled her nipples and stomach.
She arched beneath him, her breasts begging for his touch. “Please,” she whispered, unaware she voiced her plea.
King of Cats
By Jessica Quinn
Available Now from Pink Petal Books
Rita was still on the phone when she marched out to the front desk and deposited the vase onto her desk with a thud. “Get rid of these ASAP, will you?” Mel asked. “I don’t care if you take them to the nearest cemetery or throw them in the dumpster, but I don’t want to see them when I come back out here.” Rita nodded and Mel turned and marched back into her office to retrieve their latest guest for his bath.
The bronze-furred cat was nowhere to be seen when she stepped back into her office, and she frowned.
Hiding under the couch, maybe? Most folks would be surprised at how many cats learn to recognize the word ‘bath’.
She took a few steps forward, shutting the office door behind her without a glance back so he couldn’t get out that way, and knelt down on the floor to peer under the sofa.
“You don’t really want to let the old man neuter me, do you, sweetheart?” came the purring voice from behind her. A tan, lithely-muscled arm wrapped itself around her waist even as she half-turned, ready to scream.
The eyes she found herself staring up into were copper-gold, brighter than any she’d seen outside of contact lenses. Long, straight, golden-bronze hair spilled over impossibly wide shoulders, gone the color of butterscotch from the summer sun. The broad, hairless chest was equally muscular and tapered downward to a trim, narrow waist, lean hips and a very nice—
Oh. My. God. He’s completely naked.
Before she could force a scream past her parted lips, he grinned roguishly, eyes twinkling, and swooped in, mouth closing over hers. His tongue speared straight into her mouth to tangle with hers, his lips roaming possessively over her own. A flush of heat shot from her lips all the way down to her groin, igniting an ember of liquid flame there that slicked her panties. Eyes wide, she watched the stranger’s nostrils twitch, almost as if he could smell her arousal, and even as she turned the rest of the way to face him, he lowered her to the floor.
Her nipples had gone hard enough to cut diamonds, pressing achingly against the white lace bra she wore. He undid the buttons on her blouse with eye-watering speed, fanning the lapels of the shirt open.
“Wait, no!” she gasped, pulling free for a second. Her knees went weak, and she swallowed hard at the rush of heat through her body, consumed by a white-hot lust she hadn’t felt since…well, ever.
Jason never made me feel like this!
Something hot and hard nudged her thigh and she glanced down, stifling a gasp at the sight. His erection was huge, large enough to nudge the soft flesh of her belly.
He leaned in close before she could get a better look, arrowing in to nip her shoulder and the side of her throat. She could feel his hands slip below her waist, working to undo the button and zipper of the slacks she wore, and she grabbed his hands, temporarily stilling them.
“Who…who the hell are you?” she gasped, desperately trying to maintain even a thin façade of sanity against the sensations that swirled turbulently through her hungry flesh.
He grinned again, wide, licking his lips, those emerald eyes hot with desire. “Don’t you know, sweetheart?” he teased, sliding one finger under the waistband of her panties and drawing a fiery line from her left hip to the right. “After all,
you
were the one who saved me when that car hit me.”
It made no sense whatsoever. She spent half a second trying to puzzle out the mystery behind his words; then his mouth sought hers again. With waning determination, she grabbed his hands—again— pulling them away from her pants. She could hear the stranger making a deep rumbling sound in his throat and chest. It took her a second to realize what it meant.
Purring. He’s purring.