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SECRETS VOLUME 28
SENSUAL CRAVINGS


Copyright © Juliet Burns, Jennifer Lynne, Kathleen Scott, Kate St. James  , 2009
All Rights Reserved, © RED SAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

THE PIRATE’S POSSESSION - JULIET BURNS EXCERPT

The door flew open and there he stood. Merciless MacGowan. The feared pirate.

And the most handsome man Tru had ever beheld.

Captain MacGowan was breathing heavily, his long legs spread wide. From one large hand swung a lantern. In the other, a brass mariner’s quadrant. He wore no waistcoat, nor coat. Blood and soot stained his shirt which lay open at the collar to reveal a swirl of brown hair. The same shade of brown hair fell in thick, tangled strands to his shoulders. His short beard was a slightly lighter shade and enhanced his pale green eyes. Eyes that cut into her as though he wanted to flay her alive.

She scooted to the edge of the bed and stood, smoothed her hair back, then brushed nervous hands down her wrinkled skirt. “I-- I must insist that you knock before entering this cabin from now on, sir.” Pride kept her voice steady.

His lip curled and his laugh sounded more like a disbelieving grunt. Hanging the lantern, he strode to the desk and reached behind him for a chart. He unrolled it and placed the quadrant on it, then pulled a log book, quill, and ink from a drawer and began making notations.

Tru cleared her throat. “Sir, I--”

“Wheesht!” He slammed a palm on his desk and looked up, his eyes glittering in irritation. Tru jumped. Her wide-eyed silence assured, he returned his attention to the book. Reading? Writing? Navigation? For a moment, the man seemed more merchant than pirate.

She’d spied him once at court, elegantly dressed, on one knee before Queen Henrietta. A force had burned in him, just beneath the surface. As if he had to restrain a constant urge to attack someone. She’d never forgotten him, and in her girlish fantasies, she pretended he’d named his ship for her: the True.

Shamefully, her vivid fantasy life had nearly always featured the dashing privateer in quite improper scenarios. But, s’truth! His kiss had been more sensual than any of her imaginings.

As she watched him, head bent over his notebook, the arousing sensations she’d felt upon seeing him in the tavern came rushing back. The shortness of breath, the ache in her stomach. The longing that had assailed her when his mouth had swept over hers...

A knock sounded at the door.

“Yer me possession now.” He waved a hand. “Answer the door.”

Possession? He thought he owned her? Terror slammed into her chest. Then, they weren’t headed for Galway? Was she being taken across the sea? How would she help her people now? And what would happen to her? She’d heard of captives walking a plank, or merchant crews left adrift to die of thirst. Tales of women ravaged. Sold into slavery...

Use your brain, Tru.

Why would he be wantin’ ta ravage ye, ye silly girl? And what man would pay good money for the likes of ye?

And wouldn’t her mother cringe to hear her even thinking with an Irish lilt? Her wits had gone begging. In the presence of a dangerous pirate, and she was worrying what her mother thought of her...thoughts.

But ‘twas a fact she’d never inspired lust in a man. Unmarried after eight years at court was the proof of that. How oft had her own mother called her plain at best, ugly if she were in a nasty mood? Even her cousin had said bedding her would be a loathsome duty done only to force her into marriage.

“Well, woman? Doona jus’ stand there!”

Tru flinched and hurried to open the door. A boy of about fourteen years carried a tray with a gold goblet and a bottle. And a wet kerchief.

“Evenin’, Miss.” He eyed her up and down, his gaze resting on her bosom. Her cheeks heated as he shoved the tray into her hands and turned to the pirate. “Cap’n, Mr. Tate reports we’re clear of the harbor.”

“Tell him to set the rudder at tharty degrees waest by nor’waest, Henry. And doona knock again.”

The boy grinned and nodded, tugging his cap brim, and shut the door.

Tru stood, holding the tray while Captain MacGowan continued to make notes in his book.

Fear tightened her stomach. Had she fled her cousin’s clutches only to be sold into slavery by a cold-blooded pirate?

It mattered not. ‘Twas too late to lament her choice.

She would honor her Da’s last wishes. His cryptic note could only be interpreted one way. She must get home to Baile an Chláir and give her people the means to be free from Reginald’s tyranny. And she was determined to see it done. Whatever the price.

She delicately cleared her throat. “Are you taking me to Ireland, sir?”

“Bolt the door,” he ordered without looking up.

Her body began to quiver and her lungs couldn’t take in air. Her palms dampened. Was this her last day on earth? Don’t go borrowin’ trouble girl, she heard Da’s voice advise.

Straightening her spine, she lodged the tray on her hip and slid the bolt home, feeling the heavy wood lock her fate.

The pirate began rolling up the chart and clearing the desk. “Set the tray here and pour me a dram.” Slipping the map into its slot, he stood and watched her, hands on hips.

Perchance he only planned to keep her as a servant? She trudged to the desk and did as he asked, removing her gloves before pouring. Her hand shook so badly the liquid splashed over the goblet. When she glanced up at him, he was scowling at her, and she noticed a half-moon-shaped scar creasing his left temple and another on his right cheek, slashing across his beard. How many more scars lay beneath his clothes?

Gertrude Fitzpatrick!

“The rag’s fer yer ding.” He gestured to her jaw and tossed the wet kerchief to her.

Tru caught it and held it to her throbbing cheek. The cold relieved the ache and his concern relieved her fear. Still, her heart pounded.

“I doona hit women, or allow me crew ta do so. T’was a misunderstanding.”

She smiled and heaved a deep sigh of relief.

He took up the goblet and drank deeply, studying her person as if estimating her worth.

“Take aff yer clothes.”

SEDUCING SERENA - JENNIFER LYNNE EXCERPT

Chapter One
Serena Hewitt stared at the perfectly proportioned man and wondered at the cruel fate that had given this black-haired, green-eyed, bronze-skinned Adonis a brain the size of a pea.

“Why bother reading books when you can wait for the movie to come out?” he’d asked in that delectable voice, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. Just one more in a long line of opinions that had her head shaking in disbelief.

“Surely you’re joking,” she said. “Everybody reads something!”

The disappointment sat in her stomach like a lead balloon. How many men had she interviewed over the past three days? Seventeen? She’d thought, when he walked in…but no. Nicholas Wade was not the one for whom she’d been searching.

Not even when that quirk at the corner of his mouth and the gleam of amusement in his eyes caused a curl of anticipation deep down in her belly.

“Why would I joke about it?” he asked. “That’s what today’s about, isn’t it? Get to know each other a little and see whether we wanna hook up. And with me, honey,” he spread his hands wide and grinned, “what you see is what you get.”

Her eyes narrowed, even as she felt herself responding physically to the charm of his grin. See whether we wanna hook up? For a second she wondered whether he was teasing, but why would he do that in these circumstances? “Well, thanks for your time, Nicholas—”

“Please, not so formal. Make it Nick.” He leaned forward and the flash of a diamond in his left earlobe winked, as if mocking her attempt to categorise him.

“All right, er, Nick.” She crossed her arms, then uncrossed them when she realised the action highlighted her cleavage. “I’ve heard enough to be able to make my decision. I’ll be in touch soon.”

Liar, liar, pants are definitely aflame. She leaned back in her chair as he stood up and dwarfed the normally spacious room. Late afternoon sun, rare in mid-winter Melbourne, slanted through the window of her city office, casting odd shadows across his face.

“So business-like.” His teasing tone deepened into curiosity. “Let me ask you something, Serena. Do you really expect to find Mister Right this way? Where’s the passion? The excitement? Don’t you ever let your hair down and just have fun?”

“Of course.” Unexpectedly stung, she sat up and removed her glasses to glare at him. “I’m thirty two years old, Nick, and its taken me the best part of my life to discover there’s no such thing as Mister Right. Romance is well and truly over-rated.”

“If you believe that,” he said slowly, “then perhaps you’ve never been well and truly romanced.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” She held up a hand to still his response and continued, “I’m not looking for excitement, okay?” I had that and it didn’t work. “I just want someone I can be comfortable with. Besides,” she frowned, “if you’re just after a bit of fun, why on earth did you respond to my advertisement?”

He shrugged, blank faced, then leant over the desk towards her. She detected the faint aroma of an expensive aftershave and had to fight the urge to inhale more deeply. “Let’s call it a whim,” he said. “I saw your ad in the paper and it was so serious. Even the wording of the ad—”

“What was wrong with it?” Wanted, she’d written. A suitable man for the job. Nothing unreasonable about that!

He chuckled, a slow rumble as contagious as a child’s laugh. Her pulse quickened. “It stood out from the others for its lack of emotion, Serena. It made me curious. I wanted to hear your voice, get a feel for the real you.” He moved into a patch of sunlight and his eyes blazed. “And when I accessed your voice mail…”

He reached out a long finger to caress the line of her jaw. The touch, so slow, feather-light, sent unwanted tremors coursing through her system. “Your voice intrigues me. It’s totally unexpected. Deep. A little bit husky. Your voice gave out a completely different message to the business-like words of your ad. I couldn’t resist its sexy appeal.”

“I—well!” No one had ever commented on her voice like that. She tried to avoid moving back in her seat, out of the reach of his gentle touch. It was hard to concentrate with the almost hypnotic whisper of skin on skin. But she didn’t want that knowing look in his eyes to deepen, the one that said, I know what effect my touch has on you.

“And then I came here today and found a curious contradiction,” he continued. “A buttoned-up accountant with solemn grey eyes all set for business rather than pleasure.” His words were like ice water in her face. She suddenly had no trouble breaking away from his touch. Then she scowled uncertainly as he added, “But there’s one thing that tells me you might not be quite as straight-laced as you seem.”

“Oh?” She spoke through gritted teeth.

“That tiny red rose on your left ankle.”

“What? How did you—?”

“If you want to hide it you should wear trousers, Serena. Not that I’m complaining about the skirt.” He grinned at her obvious discomfort and waved an arm as he said, “It was like a tiny flash of passion amongst all this grey common sense.”

“No,” she said after a considered pause in which she too, looked around the room. It was grey. But she liked it that way. “More like a tiny flash of rebellious madness amongst a mostly mundane teenage existence.” Her dry words elicited a glance of appreciation.

“Quick witted, I’ll give you that.”

MIND GAMES - KATHLEEN SCOTT EXCERPT

Full night had fallen hours before. Well fed, Jade slept in the seat beside him. After a quick bite on the run, she’d drifted off looking out the window at the passing miles. She hadn’t spoken much to him either while or after they ate and the silence between them stretched as far as the distance before them. He could only imagine what was going on in her mind. Though he could pry, he wouldn’t. Her secrets would be all the sweeter if she revealed them herself.


That didn’t stop him from worrying about her opinion. He’d taken her from her home and put her on the run, chased by the police and made her afraid to show her face in the daylight.


Next time they stopped they’d have to find a way to disguise their looks. But how? He turned his gaze to her and drank her in.


 She was even more beautiful than he’d imagined. Her long blonde hair looked like spun gold in the moonlight. Her profile was sheer perfection. Lips soft in repose begged to be kissed.


Damien leaned over and moved his hand down her cheek. Damn, was she ever soft. He let his mind wonder how she would feel all over. How it would feel to move inside her, her body tightening around him before she lost control and fell headlong into orgasm.
He shifted in the seat. His pants fit uncomfortable now. Sex between Vartek partners was rumored to be the most intense coupling imaginable, and Damien had waited so long to find out.


Jade stirred in her sleep. A sigh escaped past her parted lips. A glance down her body showed pert nipples pressed against the thin fabric of her borrowed shirt.


God, she’d picked up on his arousal in her sleep and had started to get aroused as well. He needed to reel in his emotions so he couldn’t be blamed for coercing her into an act she would regret.


Her back arched off the seat as a throaty moan rose from her. Slim thighs parted. In a moment she’d have them both coming. He was damn near to bursting the seams of his pants.


Damien pulled the glider over and hovered on the shoulder. He powered down and set the glider on the ground then turned to her.
“Jade, wake up.” Electricity shot through his hand when he touched her shoulder.


Green eyes glowed hot under heavy lids. A smile lifted the corner of her mouth. She reached out a hand for him and caressed his cheek.
Regret that they hadn’t time to explore their feelings rocketed through him. He moved her hand away from his face, but instead of letting her go, he pulled her closer. Their lips met and hunger exploded in an arc of psychic awareness.


Her past moved through his mind in a kaleidoscope of sight and sound, as if it had happened to him. Loneliness enveloped him. How could such an amazing and beautiful woman be so lonely? Without friend or a family member to give her the love she so deserved. A face flashed through his mind, one smiling expression among many stern ones. It hadn’t been just any face, but that of a lover.

KISS ME AT MIDNIGHT - KATE ST. JAMES EXCERPT
 

“It doesn’t matter how you try to justify your attitudes, Marc.” Callie Hutchins glared at her handsome nemesis beneath the eyeball-searing bright TV studio lights. “I’m a woman, and I’m telling you today’s women still like to be romanced.”

Marc Shaw flaunted his aggravatingly perfect smile at camera one. “And I say chicks today appreciate a guy who knows how to cut to the chase. It’s a busy world, too much to do...too many women to do it with.” He winked, eliciting low chuckles from the men in the small studio audience. “Why waste her time with flowers and chocolates when a king-sized mattress awaits?”

The jerk’s knee bumped Callie’s thigh beneath the tiny desk they shared for the “He Vs. She” segment of L.A. Tonight. Despite the warm tingles scooting to body parts north, Callie refused to budge. Marc always prodded her when he realized he was losing one of the battle-of-the-sexes spots they taped three out of the five weeknights L.A. Tonight aired. He did it to throw her off-balance, and it drove her insane.

“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes at camera two for the benefit of their female viewers. “What chase? In your world, relationships fast-track from ‘How ya doin’?’ to ‘Let’s get it on.’ Honestly, you’re nothing more than an overblown Joey Tribbiani.” Mindful of plugging their guests whenever possible, she mentioned a character from the syndicated Friends TV show immortalized by the actor they’d interviewed last night.

Marc’s gray eyes twinkled. “Ouch.” He grinned into camera one, then followed the floor director’s hand signals to camera three, which spanned them both. “How about it, L.A.? Is Callie right about relationships today, or am I? Light up the callboards, zap us some emails, and we’ll give you the verdict Monday. Until then, have a great time in L.A. tonight and stay safe this weekend. So long from Marc Shaw...”

“And Callie Hutchins.” Callie smiled stiffly for camera three until the floor director counted down the seconds and the red light blinked off.

“We’re clear!” the burly man announced.

Callie blew out a breath and detached the microphone clip from her blouse. “Marc, what the hell was that?” she mumbled through tight lips so the exiting audience wouldn’t notice. Normally, she interacted with viewers following a taping, but tonight embarrassment kept her seated. “I’ve seen you off your game once or twice since Jada kicked your ass to the curb, but tonight was bad.”

He lifted a hand. “I know plenty of women who appreciate the efficiency of my approach.”

“I’m sure you do.” But she’d never be one of them. Marc Shaw was conceited, arrogant, and too sexy for his own good. And hers. She might dream about him whenever exhaustion left her incapable of banishing the erotic images of his hands and mouth all over her body, but she’d die before letting him know how strongly he affected her. Until the actress Jada Reilly publicly humiliated Marc six weeks ago, his love-’em-and-leave-’em reputation had assumed epic proportions within local television circles. While the breakup had sucked some of the wind from his sails, his ego certainly didn’t need any help from Callie.

“So what’s the problem?” he asked. “‘He Vs. She’ doesn’t work if we agree with each other.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Callie pushed back her chair and removed the mic transmitter hooked to her skirt. Standing, she wrapped the wire around the miniature black box. “Your argument rehashed one of our July shows. It’s like you weren’t even watching the teleprompter.”

“Uh...” Easy humor relaxed his face as he stood and removed his own mic. With his sun-streaked dark blond hair and devil-boy smile, he resembled a thirty-ish version of Brad Pitt.

“Ugh, don’t tell me,” she half-whispered. “You weren’t watching the teleprompter, were you?”

He shrugged and pocketed his transmitter in his navy sports jacket. “The segment relies on spontaneity and ad-libbing—”

“But usually we try to follow our hazy outline!”

“Tut-tut, Hutchins. I thought we decided not to critique one another on-stage.”

Callie counted to three. “Marc. Not that I don’t love creaming you on ‘He Vs. She,’ but if you don’t take the segment seriously, ratings will continue to tank.” She turned toward their dressing rooms, but couldn’t out-pace his long strides. His black dress shoes scuffed the concrete floor.

“If Angela isn’t happy with our work tonight, she’ll tell us at the post-production meeting,” he said, referring to their producer, who supervised the taping from the upstairs booth while communicating with assistants and the floor director through headsets. “She can always replace the segment with a back-up. That’s the beauty of taping at eight and airing after the eleven o’clock news.”

“A pre-taped segment with canned laughter? No thanks.” Callie shot him a glance. “And maybe you don’t care if tonight’s segment stinks, but I do.” She sounded like a shrew, but the success of the show meant everything to her. “The network will never notice me at this rate.” She entered her shoebox-sized dressing room.

“Still dreaming of New York, huh?”

Callie waited for him to cross the hall. Instead, he leaned against her doorjamb, crowding her, his spicy aftershave oozing sex appeal. Not many men radiated do-me vibes in stage makeup, but Marc Shaw managed it, damn him.

“Yes,” she bit out. Her national-morning-show aspirations were no secret at KCLA. “I might have ridden your coattails our first year co-hosting L.A. Tonight, but I have more experience to offer the network now.”

“You’ve never ridden my coattails, Callie. Granted, I’ve been with KCLA longer, but you’re the hardest worker I know. You’re disciplined and creative—a rare breed. Plus, you’re only slightly irritating.” Grinning, he brushed the tip of her nose with a finger. Her nerve-endings sparkled to life. “For the record, I care. More than you know.”

His gaze held hers for a mystifying moment, and tremors of attraction rippled low in her belly.

Move. She needed to escape Marc Shaw’s undeniable magnetism. Now.

She strode toward the lit mirror, gaze darting to her reflection. “Crap!” Pulse racing, she whirled on Marc. “Why didn’t you tell me there’s a knot of hair sticking up at the back of my head?”

His grin broadened. “Thought it was part of the ’do.”

“You know it’s not!” She wore her hair in a simple, shoulder-length style every night. “Marc, I looked like a fool on-camera!” She squashed the sticky blond lump, but it returned with a bounce.

“Maybe if you didn’t use so much hairspray, it wouldn’t have stayed in that position.” He shut the door and watched her idly.

Callie plunked her transmitter on the counter. “I don’t use too much hairspray—Zeta does.” Damn the third-trimester pregnancy that sent their hair and makeup artist waddling to the restroom every twenty seconds lately. Zeta had sprayed Callie’s fine, flyaway hair during the break preceding the battle-of-the-sexes segment, so at least she hadn’t suffered this hair indignity long.

Still, she asked Marc, “When did it happen?”

“After I articulated one of my more salient points near the end of ‘He Vs. She,’ and you scratched your head.”

He’d had no salient points. “I did not scratch my head.”

“Yeah, you did.”

She checked the mirror again. “Well, not alerting me to the problem was juvenile.”

He laughed. “Callie, I tried to tell you. Why do you think I kept bumping your leg?”

To turn me on. “To annoy me.” She frowned at their reflections. She hated the animalistic lust that kept her fine-tuned to this Lothario.

“Believe what you will, Hutchins, but I was not put on this earth simply to annoy you.”

He moved behind her, forcing her against the counter. Of course, his jacket and tie didn’t have one thread out of place.

He reached around her waist, his reflection growing thoughtful. Her nipples tightened.

“Wh-what are you doing?” she asked as her panties warmed.

“Fixing the knot before we meet Angela,” he murmured.

He gently tugged the clump with a hair pick. Callie struggled not to shiver in ecstasy as his well-honed body pressed against her. That she considered him the finest specimen of male pulchritude this side of the Sierra Nevadas served as a great source of mortification in the middle of her lonely nights. She couldn’t have him realizing she actually enjoyed their nearness. He’d never let her live it down.

Suddenly, she detected rigid evidence that he enjoyed their proximity, too. At six-one to her five-five, his pelvis settled just above her butt. His cock moved.

Callie stiffened. Marc’s favorite pet followed suit.

“Nearly done,” he murmured, plucking the knot.

Again with the movement!

Callie pushed off the counter, shoving him backward.

“Oof.” He groaned—in pain, not pleasure. Served him right.

“Marc Shaw, you’re disgusting.” She jabbed his chest. “You got an erection untangling my hair.”

“Ow.” He rubbed the impressive bulge in his pants. “Sorry. It’s not like I’m in control of the thing. It’s a compliment.”

“A compliment, my ass.” Any woman in a pinch, that was Marc.

His devil-boy grin returned. “You’re right. It’s a compliment to your ass.”

Callie snatched her purse off the chair. “We need to meet Angela.”

“Sure, but later we could go to my place and...compliment each other?”

“In my nightmares.”

More like her fantasies.

And there her pathetic cravings for Marc Shaw would remain.

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