Megan Hart - Naked

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SWITCH

DEEPER

STRANGER

TEMPTED

BROKEN

DIRTY

Watch for two brand-new novels byMegan Hart

COLLIDE

and PRECIOUS AND FRAGILE THINGS Coming in 2011 from Spice and MIRA Books

This book wouldn’t have been written without the constant support of my family and friends. Thank you, all. Thanks especially to The Bootsquad for the encouragement and motivation to continue when it would be easier to play the Sims. Also to my BFF Lori who keeps telling me I can’t quit writing because she needs more books. And finally, to everyone who asked me if Alex Kennedy was going to get his own book, this one’s for all of you.

I could write without listening to music while I do it, but I’m so glad I don’t have to. This is a partial list of what was on my playlist for Naked. If you like the songs, please support the artists by purchasing their music.

Justin King, “Reach You”; Kelly Clarkson, “My Life Would Suck without You”; Lorna Vallings, “Taste”; Hinder, “Better Than Me”; Staind, “Everything Changes”; Sara Bareilles, “Gravity”; Tom Waits, “Hope I Don’t Fall in Love with You.”

“Alex doesn’t like girls.” Patrick said this like a warning.

I’d been staring at the man from the corner of my eye, framing him as part of the overall picture here at Patrick’s annual Chrismukkah party. Alex was prettier than the bunches of Martha Stewart–inspired poinsettias and twinkling fairy lights, but so were all the men here. Patrick had the hottest friends I’d ever seen. Seriously, it was like a convention of hot men. After Patrick’s admonishment I looked Alex over again more closely, mostly just to jerk Patrick’s chain. He was so easy that way.

“Is that his name?”

Patrick gave a low snort of disapproval. “Yes, that’s his name.”

“Alex what?”

“Kennedy,” Patrick said. “But he doesn’t—”

“I heard you.” I pressed my lips to the rim of my wineglass, warming it. The rich, strong scent of red wine wafted under my nostrils. I could taste the aroma on the back of my tongue, but I didn’t sip. “He doesn’t like girls, huh?”

Patrick pursed his mouth and crossed his arms. “No. Jesus, Olivia, stop ogling his ass.”

I raised an eyebrow, mirroring Patrick’s earlier expression. An old habit and one I knew irritated the shit out of him. It seemed like that kind of night. “Why do you invite me to your parties if it’s not to ogle men’s asses?”

Patrick huffed and puffed and frowned briefly before he must’ve remembered what that did to the lines around his mouth, and he forced his face to neutral smoothness. His gaze followed mine across the dining room and through the archway. Alex had his back to us, one arm on the mantelpiece of the living-room fireplace. He had a glass of Guinness. He’d been holding it for as long as I’d been watching, but I hadn’t seen him drink from it even once.

“And you feel an especial need to point this out to me…why?” I sipped more wine and stared him down.

Patrick shrugged. “Just thought I’d make sure you knew.”

I looked around at the half-dozen men helping themselves to the buffet, and then through the arch to the living room where another dozen men chatted or danced or flirted. Ninety-nine percent of them were gay and the other one percent was thinking about it. “I think I know better than to expect to get laid at one of your parties, Patrick.”

Before I could comment further, a pair of thick, muscled arms gripped my waist from behind and a tight belly pressed along my back. “Run away with me and see how long it takes before he notices we’re gone,” said a deep voice directly into my ear.

I twisted, giving in to laughter at the tickling touch of a beard on my earlobe, and turned. “Patrick, you didn’t tell me you were inviting Billy Dee Williams to your party! Oh, wait…Billy Dee would never wear that sweater. Hey, Teddy.”

“Girl, don’t you be making fun of this sweater. Mama McDonald sent me this sweater and her boy Patrick got one just like it.” Teddy dropped Patrick a wink. “Difference is, I’m man enough to wear it.”

I got a hug, a squeeze, a kiss and a pat on the ass all within the span of seconds before Teddy moved on to provide the same for Patrick. Patrick, still pouting, swatted at the bigger man and pushed him away while Teddy laughed and swiped a hand over Patrick’s hair. Patrick scowled and smoothed his ruffled feathers, but allowed Teddy to kiss his cheek a moment later.

I gestured with my wineglass. “He’s trying to tell me not to ogle an ass.”

“What? I thought we were all here to ogle men’s asses.”

Teddy shook his, I shook mine; we did The Bump and dissolved into the sort of laughter helped along by a liberal helping of holiday cheer. Patrick watched us with his arms crossed and eyebrow lifted. Then he shook his head.

“Pardon me for trying to be a friend,” he said.

Patrick and I had been friends for a long time. Once, long ago, we’d been more than that. Patrick thought that gave him the right to be my aunt Nancy and I let him because…well, because I loved him. And because there was never been too much love in my life to turn any small bit of it away.

This, though, seemed a little excessive even for Patrick. Teddy and I shared a glance. I shrugged.

“I’m making a run to the kitchen for some more wine, loves,” Teddy said. “Do you want any?”

“I’m good.” I held up my glass, still half-full.

Patrick shook his head. We both watched Teddy make his way through the crowd. Only when he was out of earshot did I turn back to my ex-boyfriend.

“Patrick, if you’re trying to tell me in a not-so-subtle way that you fucked that guy—”

Patrick’s short, sharp bark was so different from his normal laughter it startled me to silence. He shook his head. “Oh, no. Not him. ”

I didn’t miss the way he cut his gaze from mine. That more than anything told me an entire story that needed no words. Hell. It didn’t even need a picture to make it clear.

My grin faded. Patrick had never made a secret of his private life, and I’d heard more stories about the men he’d slept with than I ever wanted to. Patrick didn’t get turned down, at least not often. I watched the red flush creep up his perfect, high cheekbones.

I looked again across the room at Alex Kennedy. “He turned you down?”

“Shh!” Patrick hissed, though the music and conversation was so loud nobody could’ve overheard us.

“Wow.”

His mouth clamped tighter. “Not another word.”

I looked again across the room at Alex Kennedy, still standing with one arm on the mantel. Now I paid attention to the crease in his black trousers and the way the soft black knit of his sweater clung to his broad shoulders and lean waist. He wore the clothes well, but so did all the other men here. From this distance I could see darkish eyes and longish medium-brown hair that looked as though he’d run a hand through it one too many times—or just rolled out of bed. Hair like that took lots of product and effort to look good, and his did. I had an impression of handsome features more than an actual view, and some of that was assumption. Alex was very pretty, there was no doubt about it, but if Patrick hadn’t gone all “don’tcha dare” on me, I probably would’ve looked once, maybe twice, and never again.