Candace Schuler - Uninhibited

Oh, yes, she felt it all right. His heat. Her heat. Their heat. It scorched her nerve endings, setting her whole body ablaze with desire. She bit back a moan.

“I know,” Reed murmured soothingly. “It burns, doesn’t it? It makes you ache inside.”

The words were spoken a hairsbreadth away from her lips, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin. “But we have to wait to put the fire out. It will be better that way. When we finally give in to it and come together, we’ll know why.”

“Why?” Zoe breathed. The word was little more than a whimper.

“Lust,” he growled. “We’re going to burn each other up and it’s going to be glorious. But until that time comes—” with superhuman effort he pushed away, releasing her from the spell he’d woven with his words and his body and the hot, dangerous look in his eyes “—we aren’t going to take any chances.”

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To my editor, Susan Sheppard,

who has the patience of a saint

Ever since I left Reed Sullivan standing at the altar in Easy Lovin’ (Temptation #331), I’ve been looking for the right woman for him. I always thought he was a pretty nice guy, with all the basic ingredients of a perfect hero. I mean, what’s not to like, right? He was sexy, suave, sinfully good-looking, filthy rich and extremely well mannered. If he had any flaw, it was that he was, perhaps, just a bit too perfect. Too polished. Too much the proper Bostonian aristocrat. In short, my perfect hero was in a perfect rut—and what he needed was someone to blast him out of it.

Zoe Moon proved to be the perfect stick of dynamite. A flamboyant, free-spirited, uninhibited Boston bohemian, she is the antithesis of everything he thought he wanted in a woman.

It was great fun putting them together and watching the sparks fly. I hope you enjoy reading their story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Best wishes,

P.S. I love hearing from readers. You can reach me at my Web site at CandaceSchuler.com

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

REED SULLIVAN ASCENDED the wide brick steps of his great-grandmother’s Beacon Hill mansion with nearly the same trepidation as he had shown the first time she had summoned him to share her afternoon tea.

The weekly ritual had started as a lesson in deportment, a continuation of the Wednesday afternoon torture known as Miss Margaret’s Dance Academy for Young Ladies and Gentlemen. Moira Sullivan had seemed ancient to his eight-year-old self, with her snowy hair swept up into what he now knew was a Gibson girl topknot, and her elegant afternoon suits, which he now knew were Chanels. He’d been tongue-tied and uncomfortable at first, painfully aware that he was supposed to be on his best behavior, and itching for the whole ordeal to be over as soon as possible.

His great-grandmother had graciously invited him to stuff himself with frosted petits fours without regard for how they might ruin his dinner, all the while skillfully encouraging him to vent about the indignity of actually having to put his arms around a girl and attempt to waltz her around the room in front of his giggling friends. And then she’d rolled back a corner of the Aubusson carpet covering the gleaming parlor floor, placed a small needlepoint pillow beneath her knees and beat him in a hotly contested game of ringer. He’d lost his prized Indian lutz to her, the one he’d traded two peppermint swirls and a blue clearie for.

After that, the visits to his great-grandmother became, if not the highlight of his week, then an eagerly anticipated part of it—if only because they offered him the ongoing opportunity to reclaim his Indian lutz. Even during his teen years, when girls and cars and being cool were the focus of his existence and marbles were the last thing on his mind, he still found time for the weekly visits. In the nearly two decades since then, all through the time he spent earning both a law degree and an M.B.A. from Harvard, through the long days spent toiling at his first lowly job in the family firm to the even longer days required by the high powered position he now held, through schoolboy crushes, discreet love affairs and the very public embarrassment of a broken engagement, the weekly ritual had endured. Sharing tea and conversation with his great-grandmother was still one of the highlights of his week.

They were an unlikely pair, perhaps, the oldest living Sullivan and the thirty-three-year-old heir apparent. Although they were separated both by gender and generations, with nearly sixty years of living between them, they clicked on some instinctive level that had nothing to do with experience or age. Sitting in Moira Sullivan’s front parlor, sipping tea, trading benign gossip and bits of personal news, Reed wasn’t the senior vice president in charge of international investments; he wasn’t the head of any high-profile committee; he wasn’t the heir to the vast fortune and responsibilities of the Sullivan business empire. He was simply Moira’s favorite great-grandchild. And there was nothing that great-grandchild wouldn’t do for his beloved granny.

Or almost nothing.

Lately, she’d been testing the limits of his affection and forbearance.

Well, forbearance, anyway, he amended, absently fingering the smooth Indian lutz marble in the trouser pocket of his navy, worsted flannel suit. There were no limits on his affection for her.

With a sigh, he slipped his hand from his pocket and lifted it to press a well-manicured index finger against the bell on Moira Sullivan’s front door. It opened before the sound of the chimes had drifted away on the cool September air.

“Good afternoon, Eddie,” Reed said, handing his briefcase and gym bag to the strapping young man who’d answered his summons. “Is she alone today?”

Eddie grinned and shook his head. “Got a luscious little redhead in there with her.”

Reed groaned.

“Wait till you see her before you start complaining, man,” Eddie counseled as he skillfully relieved Reed of his camel hair overcoat before Reed could do it for himself. “She’s better than the last three, for sure.”

Reed raised an eyebrow, then lifted his hand in response to the twinge of discomfort that accompanied the motion, absently smoothing the small butterfly bandage bisecting his brow with one finger as if to make sure it was still secure. “Better how?” he asked.