Rhonda Nelson - Just Toying Around...

Meg’s startled gaze flew to where Nick sat on the bed, grinning wickedly at her. She drew in a much-needed breath, trying to calm her racing nerves. Instead, her blood raced as graphic images—enticing possibilities—began tumbling through her mind. And she might as well start by giving Nick what he asked for. Lowering her head, she blew lightly on his arm.

“Damn. It feels all hot and tingly. What did you call this stuff?”

“Shiver Cream. You like it?” Meg teased, turning to place the container back on the bedside table.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Did you give it a good review?”

Meg blew lightly on his wrist a second time. “What do you think?”

Nick’s eyes widened and he shuddered. “I think it’s incredible,” he said with a groan. His sinful and slightly mischievous gaze captured hers. “Want me to do you?”

A vision of those gorgeous lips hovering over her flesh gripped her, made her breasts go heavy, her nipples bud. She ached for him. “Yes,” Meg finally squeaked. “Definitely, yes.”

Dear Reader,

If you like a little giggle with your sizzle, then this might be the book for you. Personally, I am utterly thrilled to be writing for Blaze. This bold, innovative new line provides such scope for the imagination and is the perfect forum for contemporary characters prone to a little scandalous behavior. What fun! It’s a writer’s dream.

Set in Atlanta amid a weeklong sex-toy trade show, Just Toying Around… is long on laughs and even longer on steamy sensuality. Meg Sugarbaker is a pastry chef who moonlights as the online sex-toy critic, Desiree Moon. Trouble is, Meg’s true sexual experiences can be counted on her pinky finger and, sadly, lasted about as long as it takes to nuke a bag of microwave popcorn. Attorney Nick Devereau suspects Desiree’s secret, and is determined to declare her a fraud. But as the week progresses, Nick becomes less interested in uncovering the truth and more interested in uncovering her.

I hope you enjoy reading about Meg and Nick’s wicked games….

Enjoy,

Rhonda Nelson

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If you’re lucky, at some point in your life

you’ll find a true friend of the heart, someone who laughs with you, cries with you and always believes in you. And if you’re truly blessed, you’ll be able to call that person your sister.

This book is dedicated to Brooke Vanderford,

my very own friendster.

I love you, Froggy. This one is yours.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

“ARE YOU SURE THAT’S HER?”

“Yes, that’s her,” Nick Devereau’s brother, Ron, hissed impatiently. “What do you take me for? An idiot?”

Ninety-nine percent of the time, yes, Nick thought with a beleaguered sigh. There were times when being the responsible son was really inconvenient. Like now.

“I’ve done my homework on this one,” Ron insisted. “That’s definitely Desiree Moon.”

“If you’d done your homework,” Nick retorted tightly, “you’d know her real name by now.”

Which would have made Nick’s work considerably easier. He could have simply threatened her with a libel suit, instead of resorting to tactics so beneath him it made his gut clench with dread. Nick had foisted his substantial caseload off onto his partner, had essentially put his entire life on hold in order to handle another Ron crisis. Honestly, would he never shrug this albatross off his neck? Would he always wear an armor of guilt beneath the hard-earned suit of his success?

How on earth had he let Ron talk him into this ill-conceived plan? he wondered again. Nick mentally snorted. Hell, he hadn’t been talked into anything. He’d been blackmailed. Threatened. Coerced. Sent on the you-were-Dad’s-favorite Guilt Express, a one way ticket to the land of self-reproof. It didn’t matter that Nick was blameless, that he hadn’t been responsible for his father’s unfair favoritism. It only mattered that it was true. And therein lay the rub.

Forcing the somber thoughts away, Nick shifted in the comfortable hotel chair and continued to pretend to read the paper while he covertly studied his prey.

Desiree Moon.

The infamous online sex-toy critic.

The woman Ron had asked him to seduce. Nick had flatly refused, of course. Honestly. He’d be damned before he’d become Ron’s whore. But he had agreed to spy on her, charm her, to see if he could discover any information Ron might use against her to save his business.

Thank God she wasn’t the pock-faced-three-hundred pound-mustached-hag-standing-at-the-ironing-board-wearing-a-muumuu nightmare his overactive imagination had tortured him with over the past week.

As a corporate attorney Nick had learned how to finesse both genders, learned how to study body language and pinpoint weaknesses, vanities. The art of flirtation was also a handy tool and Nick had mastered it over the years. Still, if she’d been the nightmare his sadistic imagination had recently plagued him with, Nick would have been hard pressed to pull off this charade. He was good, but not that good.

Nick’s lips twisted into a wry grin. His conscience had devised a peculiar punishment—penance, he supposed—for agreeing to do something so underhanded. As soon as he’d committed himself to helping Ron, it had staged a rebellion in his dreams, had tantalized him with visions of himself and a voluptuous goddess in the throes of acts so carnal, so depraved that Nick could scarcely believe they could be borne of his own imagination. Then, in the dream, just as he lay poised on the brink of the ultimate, most mind-blowing orgasm…she’d change—into the hag.

It was horrid.

And all he deserved, given what he’d agreed to do.

Regrettably, he’d been left with little choice. In addition to sending him on another lengthy guilt trip, Ron had played the Mother card, and Nick would do whatever he had to in order to protect his mother. Nick wasn’t the only one Ron could play and, though Nick had tried for years, he still hadn’t been able to get his mother to protect her retirement funds, shelter them out of Ron’s reach. If she couldn’t earn absolution for her husband’s shortcomings, she’d buy it. Nick sighed. He couldn’t let her do it again. It was that simple, and that complicated.

Furthermore, after Ron’s last so-called loan—a substantial sum Nick had never seen a penny of returned—Nick had vowed not to lend him any more money. He would help Ron any other way he could, but the days of simply handing money over to him to help assuage his own guilt for being the favorite son were a thing of the past. It hadn’t been his fault that their father had showered Nick with attention and praise and that Ron had essentially been a forgotten child. No, not forgotten, Nick realized. More like ignored. But no matter how many times Nick tried to tell himself that his father’s partiality wasn’t his fault, there still remained a little part of him that couldn’t be convinced, that held on to the guilt.