Isabel Sharpe - Hot to the Touch

“That is personal.”

“Yes. It is.” He pushed a second finger inside her, wanting to watch her come apart, to send her as far from the tightly controlled woman dispassionately pulling off her clothes as he could get her.

“Wait.” She tried to squirm away from his fingers. “I’m … wait.”

“No waiting.” He bent and took her breast in his mouth, sucked the nipple, worshipped it with his tongue and teeth, kissed his way up to her throat, bit gently.

Her face flushed pink; she closed her eyes, panting helplessly. “Wait.”

“No,” he said quietly. “Let it go, sweetheart, you’re safe.”

Her body went rigid; her eyes opened wide into his. Troy felt her muscles contract powerfully around his fingers, and practically lost it. He was dimly aware he had to remember the condom, but not much else registered except his need to be inside this woman as soon as possible.

Then he was, and she felt smooth and tight, gripped his cock perfectly, legs wrapped around him. In seconds, she was on fire all over again, hands working the muscles in his back, her hips bucking, face showing her pleasure, though she didn’t meet his eyes. When he came, he had to keep from yelling, spasms of ecstasy shooting him impossibly higher, and then higher still after that.

She’d milked him dry, he was sure. Except in the shower he took her again, and again back on the bed, and once more in the middle of the night. In the morning, before his eyes were fully open, he reached eagerly for her, hard and ready to experience more of this insatiable woman for whom he was equally insatiable, who ruled his body and already at least part of his heart.

How could his life change so quickly? How could he go from so many pleasant, lukewarm dates with lovely women to an explosive all-night-long with someone who set him on fire with merely a look?

His hands met nothing on the other side of the bed; he rolled over and listened for her in the bathroom, wondering how he could have slept so deeply that he was entirely unaware of her getting up.

No sounds. He blinked, uneasiness creeping into his chest. She’d affected him more than any woman ever had, but the power in this situation was all on her side. He didn’t know her name. He didn’t have her number.

He threw off the covers, hurled himself out of bed. The sitting room was uninhabited; bathroom was dark, its door left ajar. He opened it anyway, sick with dread, flipped on the light and faced the inevitable emptiness of the room.

She was gone.

“CHAZ, THANKS FOR COMING IN today.” Marie shook the strong, beautiful, masculine hand of strong, beautiful, masculine Chaz Hunter, and escorted his strong, beautiful, masculine body out of her office, barely closing the door behind him before she was pumping her fist. “Yes!”

This was the man for Darcy. Intelligent, articulate, funny, drop-dead gorgeous, built like an Olympic diver, divorced five years, didn’t want kids and guess what he did for a living? Sold wine to stores and … wait for it … restaurants. He could not be more perfect. Marie could already envision long, sensual dates for the two of them spent tasting wine and food and each other. Chaz even loved the same kind of alternative rock music she did. Plus, from what Marie could tell, he came from money. So if Darcy ever needed a little cash infusion in her business, maybe to open a second location …

Okay. Marie was getting ahead of herself. But this guy was worth pulling out all the stops for, really attacking Darcy with how fabulous he was. And then when Darcy put her foot down and went mulish, as she very predictably and very annoyingly would, Marie could start thinking how to make this happen some other, less direct way. Some other, behind-the-scenes way. Some low-down, sinfully sneaky way.

Desperate times …

She pounced on her phone and dialed. Ten in the morning, Darcy wouldn’t be at the restaurant yet, or if she was, she wouldn’t be crazy busy and could talk. With any luck she’d even be able to listen.

“Darcy, it’s Marie.” She tried to keep the excitement out of her tone.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Not much.” She sat back in her desk chair, grinning smugly. “Oh, except I just met your future husband.”

“My—” Darcy groaned. “Well, isn’t that fascinating, seeing as how I don’t plan to get married ever.”

“He’s handsome, sexy, funny, sexy, rich, sexy—”

“Marie, what part of ‘I don’t want to date’ doesn’t get through your filter?”

“ And , he sells wine to fine establishments such as yours. You’d have tons in common.”

“We have one thing not in common right off the bat.”

“You’re female, he’s male?” She laughed. “Honey, that’s the best part. Or maybe you forgot.”

“No-o. That’s not i-i-t.” Darcy sang the words as if she were taunting a sibling. “The difference is that he wants to date, and I don’t .”

“You don’t have to date. Just meet him.”

“Oh, like that’s going to—”

“Just look at his profile.”

“Not interested.”

“His picture.”

“For heaven’s—”

“How about listen to me saying his name?”

“ Marie! You are a menace.”

“Aren’t I?” She was so enjoying this, twisting her chair side to side, sure she was finally on her way to victory, be it fair or foul. “You know I’m going to wear you down eventually. Why not give in?”

“Because.” Darcy made a sound of frustration. “I don’t need any more male complications right now.”

Marie’s chair stopped; her eyes shot wide. “ More male complications? What do you mean ‘more’? You met someone?”

“ No . No , I didn’t meet— For God’s sake, Marie. You are obsessed. I think you need to see someone about this. A friend has a therapist who has helped her a lot with her complete and total insanity, yours can’t be much worse. Or maybe it is.”

“Chaz Hunter.” She picked up a pen and wrote the name in the air with giant flourishes. “Chaz-z Hunter-r.”

“ Chaz ? Oh, ew, what, his great-grandfather founded the Milwaukee Yacht Club?”

“His great-grandfather came over from Germany. They made money in construction. A lot of money.”

“How nice for them.”

“Just take a look.” She suppressed a giggle, sensing Darcy was about to blow. “I’ll send his picture to your—”

“Marie. I do not want—” A sharp thwack came across the line. Had a fish or chicken part just been severed while Darcy imagined Marie’s head leaving her body? Silence, then a long suffering sigh. “Send it if you want, but I’m deleting upon receipt.”

Excellent. She was weakening. Marie pulled up an email and attached Chaz’s profile picture. “Darcy, in all seriousness, he seems like a really good guy. I can see you enjoying him a lot. And he’s very hot.”

“And therefore incredibly full of himself.”

“Darcy, Darcy.” Marie tsk-tsked. “You are horrifically sexist.”

“I have to go. Delivery guy is here. Thanks for thinking of me, but I wish you wouldn’t.”

“Watch for his photo. Chaz Hunter.” She hung up, sent the email and let her head drop back, swinging the chair side to side again. Well. That was progress. Darcy’s curiosity would undoubtedly prompt her to look at the picture, which was pretty fabulous. Chaz, standing on top of a spectacular mountain, clear blue eyes visible, strong chin shown to advantage, thick ashen hair ruffling sexily in the wind.

Sadly, Marie was pretty sure it would take a stronger push to get Darcy to talk to the guy even if she found his picture attractive. The first step would have to come from Chaz. But since Darcy didn’t have a profile up on Milwaukeedates, Marie had nothing to show Chaz in order to interest him.