Authors: Miranda Baker
His pale blue eyes zeroed in on the reference desk, and Beth finally glanced up from her screen. “Check him out,” she said under her breath. “Hot date, twelve o’clock.”
“I thought you weren’t paying attention,” Alisa accused.
“Well, I am now.”
Alisa felt frozen to her wooden chair as the man’s eyes dropped to her nameplate. He began to walk toward them with measured strides.
“May I help you?” Beth asked, flipping her shiny red hair over her shoulders and giving him a smile that showcased every one of her perfect, white teeth.
“I’m looking for Ms. Mane.” His slight smile barely thawed his features.
Alisa eyed him cautiously. “How can I help you?”
“I hope you can help me find Sologirl.”
Her eyes widened, then shot over to Beth.
“I’ve never heard of Sologirl,” Beth chirped. “Is it fiction or nonfiction?”
“I’ve got this one.” Alisa jumped up from her chair and raced around the desk, ignoring Beth’s surprised look. She took the stranger’s arm and pulled him firmly toward the stacks. “I think I’ve seen it in the graphic novels.”
When they reached the cover of the tall shelves, Alisa dropped his arm. “Who are you?”
“Mark Winters,” he said, holding out his hand. “SoloPlay Enterprises.”
“Holy shit,” she whispered.
His laugh was loud in the quiet room, but not as loud as her thudding heart.
Alisa shushed him. “Nobody knows about SoloPlay here, and I want to keep it that way.” Her whisper was sharp. “You shouldn’t have come here.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have said no,” he replied, taking her hand.
Mark watched the creep of red on her pale skin. His blood was rising in his veins too. Crystal’s cryptic comments and Sologirl’s sexy e-mails notwithstanding, he hadn’t expected Sologirl to be so hot. Alisa Mane looked like a delicate china doll, all pink and white and blue-eyed, her long, dark lashes blinking furiously against her rosy cheeks as she tugged her warm hand out of his grasp.
“Is it a question of money?” he asked.
“No! Don’t talk about that here! This is a library—” He watched her lips move as she searched for the right words and imagined them parted, showing even, white teeth as she pleasured herself with a SoloPlay toy.
“That’s such a stereotype.” Mark ignored her fierce glare. “I’ve definitely seen a few movies where the staid librarian whips off her glasses, takes down her hair—”
“Shut up!”
“What’s the matter, Sologirl, can’t take the heat?” he challenged.
Mark knew what kind of a woman was hiding out under the hands-off librarian outfit. The low heels, modest neckline and the skirt cut precisely at the knee did not fool him. Alisa whirled and beckoned him deeper into the stacks. As she turned, he saw a quick flash of bare flesh above her knee and maybe the hint of a garter. His cock jumped. Nope, not perfectly prim and proper at all. He thought of the money he would have to shell out to multiple DoublePlay testers until his cock finally cooperated and he could follow her without embarrassing himself.
When they reached the back wall of the library, Sologirl stopped and whirled to face him. “You aren’t supposed to know who I am! What about SoloPlay’s privacy policy? Identity protection? How dare you come here! If anyone overhears us—” she hissed.
“What are you afraid of?” he asked. “No one will guess what we’re talking about.”
“I’m afraid one of my very perceptive colleagues will figure it out! Librarians are information specialists, and the library world is not exactly a hotbed of liberal sexual politics, either. One keyword search on the Internet and I can kiss my job goodbye. If I hear you say the words,” she lowered her voice, “Sologirl or SoloPlay again, this conversation is over.”
“Fine. Can I say DoublePlay?”
“No.”
“That makes my pitch a little difficult.”
“You chose to come here, buddy.” She crossed her arms.
“It was the only address I had.”
Sologirl’s gaze pinned him to the stacks. “How did you get it?”
He hesitated. “Crystal said to tell you she sent me.”
He watched emotions play across her features. Shock. Then anger. The idea that if Crystal knew what sort of lube Sologirl preferred then they might have been lovers raced through his mind. Just as swiftly, he rejected it and repressed the stab of accompanying jealousy. Mark would stake his life, his health and the success of the DoublePlay line on the fact that Sologirl liked men.
“You liked BodyVibe,” he began.
Alisa’s blue eyes flashed, darkened. He continued before he could determine if her reaction was due to remembered pleasure or his temerity at bringing it up. He kept his voice just below a library whisper, not quite loud enough for her to easily hear. She edged closer, and he caught a whiff of flowery shampoo and the scent of sunshine and clean grass rising from her skin. He inhaled another deep breath of her sweet scent before he continued.
“I also know you tested it here, in the library. In fact, your report opened up a whole new approach to the marketing department. They think it belongs in the…new product line. Since you’re already comfortable with BodyVibe, why don’t you try it out over dinner with your partner? Give up the remote control, let someone else take charge this time.”
Sologirl’s eyebrows lifted. Her mouth opened the slightest bit and the tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her full, pink lips. Mark pressed his advantage. “Do you know how erotic it is to give someone else complete control over your pleasure?”
Skin deep is never deep enough.
Bare Knuckle
© 2013 Katie Porter
Vegas Top Guns, Book 5
After a near-fatal plane crash, fighter pilot Captain Eric “Kisser” Donaghue is a changed man. By day he labors to regain his confidence in the cockpit. By night he moonlights as an off-Strip boxer, fighting for prize money to pay for his younger brother’s third stint in rehab.
In the ring, no one cares he once had a face that launched a thousand one-night stands—and neither does Eric. He’s only there to win. Yet he can’t take his eyes off the new ring girl, a glitz-meets-pageant-queen vision of blonde perfection.
Down on her luck but not quite out, Vegas showgirl Trish Monroe lives for the spotlight. The scarred, steely-eyed loner who stares at her from his corner of the ring gives Trish an extra reason to strut her stuff.
Curiosity and the temptation of a no-strings good time bring them together. The discovery of their secret fetishes—she likes to show off, he likes to watch—turns mere sexual chemistry into a fiery exploration of matched passions. They’re a natural fit. Trust in love, however, is harder to earn than trust in bed, especially when this beauty and beast hide even from themselves.
Warning: This book contains a Sin City-style Beauty and the Beast love story, lots of naughty pics and vids, adrenaline-pumped base jumping, and a set of very important note cards. Oh, and as always, an incredibly hot fighter pilot.
Enjoy the following excerpt for
Bare Knuckle:
Trish woke up alone, but she heard Eric rattling around the kitchen. For a moment she stared at the ceiling. Sunlight from industrial second-story windows filled the open space. She wondered how she’d managed to sleep so long with that brightness streaming in.
Oh, maybe cuz I got nailed like whoa and how?
She was sore all over. After cheese fries, Jack Daniels and rigorous exercise of multiple varieties, she was seriously dehydrated. Her head spun in a nauseating fog. She hadn’t consumed that much sodium in one sitting in years. Turning to check the official time—something more specific than “the morning after”—she found an unexpected surprise on the bedside table.
A twenty-four-ounce bottle of water. A bottle of aspirin. And a spare toothbrush. A neatly folded midnight-blue terrycloth robe lay at the end of the bed.
She smiled and smushed her face into the pillow he’d slept on, inhaling deeply. A laugh wiggled out of her body.
Best night she’d had in forever.
We can fuck before breakfast.
His words had been so matter-of-fact. With most guys she’d have left at three in the morning. Safer. Easier than hanging around after they’d both gotten all they wanted. This was more like a work in progress.
She sure as shit didn’t want to look and smell like she did when the next round began.
She downed some aspirin with half of the bottled water. Toothbrush and robe in hand, she headed into the bathroom, which was tucked behind his makeshift photography studio. A shiver of memory worked up her calves.
Damn.
So
good.
After a thorough scrubbing of both mouth and body, she gave up on putting her wig back on. It was a wretched mess, and she didn’t have any replacement pins or glue. She’d need to spend time getting the snarls out.
Trish swiped away the condensation on the mirror. Her short, almost tomboy hair was damp. Barely more blonde than brown.
This was huge. The only people who saw her without her wig were Mama and other women in Trish’s same line of work.
With a deep breath, she reminded herself of how much Eric seemed to like the truth. Genuine things. Maybe…
She cinched the bathrobe’s tie and opened the door before she could change her mind.
A cup of steaming coffee waited for her on the same bedside table. She smiled. Gruff, yes. Inconsiderate, apparently not.
Was he in the kitchen? Listening more closely, she heard…grunts? Steady. Rhythmic. Like when he’d slammed into her before coming.
What the hell?
Apprehensive, she walked toward the open space on the other side of the bedroom’s brick half-partition. And froze dead. Had she grabbed the coffee first, she would’ve dropped the mug.
Eric was doing chin-ups. One after the other after the other. He was covered in sweat, wearing only a tight-as-sin pair of black boxer briefs. During their decadent evening, she hadn’t been privileged with such a blatant view of his back. Muscles bunched across his upper back, his shoulders, his thick arms. Then he lowered his body in a controlled move. Everything lengthened, including his scar. It was as if a pale snake had coiled around his back, nestling where she knew it ended, out of sight around his ribs.
She was going to offer a greeting, something light to belie how he turned her on. Because
poof
, she was wet and tingling with want. She’d never been with a man who took such precise care of himself. A masterpiece of macho.
Then she saw his laptop. It sat open on a nearby table. From where he worked out, Eric had a perfect view of the screen. On that screen was a slideshow of Trish. Only a second separated each transition. Naked, pouting, sweaty, straining and finally screaming. All the phases of their night.
Eric kept working. Harder now. Grunting with each fierce pull.
She swallowed and found her voice. Because she wanted in on a piece of that fabulous, rigid body before he worked out all the tension.
“So, stud…how’d they turn out?”
A shot of energy sang along Eric’s shoulders and down his back. He held himself upright in the chin-up for three more counts, finishing out the movement. Then down. His toes hit the floor. He’d done enough that he was huffing. Sweat had popped up along his skin. He hadn’t been able to help it. The drive of Trish’s pictures…
It had either been a fast, difficult mini-workout or jacking it while she was in the shower.
The pictures had hit him that fiercely.
Grabbing a towel, he turned while he wiped away some of the sweat.
Whoa.
He hadn’t expected that.
Short hair barely brushed the tops of her ears in a color that more closely matched the honey between her legs. He should’ve known better, that the platinum had been a wig. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so appreciative to see a woman with natural breasts. Now even her modest makeup was long gone, and she stood before him wearing her vulnerability like a second robe. She lifted her shoulders in a tense, halfhearted shrug, as if waiting for him to pass judgment.
He palmed the back of her skull. Her hair was baby fine and super soft. “Nice,” he said quietly, then pulled her near enough to take her mouth. She tasted like mint, not coffee.
She splayed a hand across his pecs. “You certainly do know how to say good morning.”
“The pictures…” He traced the arch of her eyebrow with one thumb, harboring the compulsion to memorize the shape of her face. “Perfect.”
Her smile sharpened. “Told you I’d end up on your wall.”
“Yeah,” he said with a quiet laugh. “Probably.”
She sauntered to the side table where his laptop rested. Hands in the pockets of his robe, she watched the slideshow. “Man, look at that. Look at
me
. I’ve never…” She tilted her head as her breathing hitched a bit faster. “That is crazy hot. Oh! That one. Go back.”
He angled around her hip to get to the trackpad. “This?”