Cherry Adair - Slow Burn - Seducing Mr. Right / Take Me

Two classic stories of tantalizing seduction—and uncontained desire

SEDUCING MR. RIGHT

Catherine Harris has been head over heels for Luke Van Buren for as long as she can remember. But he’s always regarded her as a kid sister, not a mature woman who knows exactly what she wants. When Cat asks Luke to help her meet—and seduce—Mr. Right, the request stirs up feelings in Luke that are definitely not-so-brotherly. But he’s never been able to say no to Cat, and now he’s finding her more irresistible than ever….

TAKE ME

Jessie Adams knows exactly what she wants. Long nights of incredible sex and a baby to call her own. Then she’s moving on.

A sizzling affair with no strings attached suits business executive Joshua Falcon just fine. He’s used to getting what he wants, both at work and at play—and gorgeous Jessie is too tempting to resist. But the pair share a surprising past. One that’s poised to take their no-obligation arrangement somewhere they never dreamed….

Slow Burn

Cherry Adair

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

SEDUCING MR. RIGHT SEDUCING MR. RIGHT

TAKE ME

SEDUCING

MR. RIGHT

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

THREE THINGS OCCURRED to Catherine Harris as she jerked out of a dead sleep.

One, she was stark naked in Luke Van Buren’s bed.

Two, he was about to enter his bedroom.

Three, he wasn’t alone. A woman’s throaty laughter mingled with Luke’s deep baritone in the hallway.

Luke wasn’t supposed to be back in San Francisco for a couple more days. Catherine tried not to panic. Suddenly years of planning didn’t seem like nearly enough time.

She leaned up on one elbow, squinted into the darkness and remembered she’d thrown her bra over the clock to block the red LCD light. Catherine flopped back on the pillow, several options, none of them viable, flashed through her sleep-fogged brain. Hiding under the bed while bedsprings bounced was too hideous to contemplate. As was the picture of the fire department rescuing her from the ledge outside Luke’s bedroom window, twenty-two stories above the street.

She heard a soft thud. A shoe? The sound of her own rapid pulse did nothing to block out the next thump. The swish of clothing. An impatient sigh. A hungry kiss pressed to bare flesh. Framed in the open doorway, barely discernable, was Luke’s white shirt, which the woman’s hands were rapidly removing. Catherine saw it flutter to the carpet. Heard a click.

Oh, God. His belt buckle?

“Speak up, Catherine,” she whispered.

There was the distinct rasp of a zipper.

The sound of a juicy kiss.

“Oh, Luke!” The woman giggled. Then there was more rustling, more heated murmurs, breathy sighs. Catherine’s cheeks flamed, blood pounding in her ears. Anticipating the fireworks to come, she felt hysterical laughter bubbling up in her throat.

“Make love to me, Luke. Oh, yes...I adore when you touch me...yes. Mmm. Oh, yes.”

Oh, no. Catherine tried to slither out of the way before the woman flopped onto the bed. Too late.

The weight of two full-grown adults squashed the air out of Catherine’s lungs. Grunting, she tried to wriggle out from under, but couldn’t get any traction on the satin sheets.

The woman rolled to the side, shot to her feet and let out a bloodcurdling scream. With a thump and a curse, Luke landed on the floor beside the bed.

“What in God’s name—”

“There’s someone in your bed!” the woman shrieked.

Catherine heard Luke get to his feet, then fumble for the switch on the bedside lamp.

Showtime.

She sat up, tucked the slithery sheet under her armpits and tried her best to appear nonchalant. Chances were she looked like the wild woman of Borneo. She hadn’t braided her hair before she’d gone to bed; it frothed about her bare shoulders, tickling the tops of her breasts. The bedside light snapped on just as she blew a particularly stubborn hank out of her eyes. As she squinted in the brightness, her gaze clashed with a pair of narrowed gray-green eyes boring a hole into the middle of her forehead.

“Catherine.” Luke zipped his pants, then raked his fingers through his disheveled dark hair. His broad, hairy chest expanded with the ragged, frustrated breath he dragged into his lungs.

Reluctantly she tore her gaze from his splendidly naked chest and waited for the dragon to roar. He appeared twice as tall as six foot three, and three times as irritated as he’d been when she’d backed his new sports car into the mailbox years ago.

“I might have known.” He plucked her bra off the clock. “Yours?” The black sports bra hung like a limp piece of licorice in his large, well-shaped hand.

Catherine leaned forward just enough to take the bra without losing her grip on the safely tucked sheet. “Thanks.” The brush of his fingers sent an electrical charge up her arm. She cleared her throat, then decided to live dangerously and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Does this mean I have to get dressed now, honey?”

Catherine gave his friend a wide smile, which the woman didn’t reciprocate. Drop-dead gorgeous in a little black number hardly wider than a belt, she had long legs and an ample bosom, displayed to advantage in the skimpy dress. Expensive, high-maintenance, honey-colored hair cascaded seductively over one shoulder. Catherine sighed. Another pocket Venus. Without a sense of humor. Figured.

Into the tension-laced atmosphere, Catherine asked brightly, “Is it your birthday?”

“What is she talking about?” the blonde demanded, hand splayed across her chest to hold up her dress. Keeping her eyes firmly fixed on Catherine, she turned her back so Luke could zip her. The twin lines between her plucked-to-a-fare-thee-well eyebrows would become permanent in short order if she persisted in scowling like that. The woman had the kind of looks that would go rapidly downhill the moment gravity took over, and a slight overbite that made her, in Catherine’s opinion, look a little like a hamster she’d once owned. She also had the same mean-eyed look Scamper used to give just before he gnawed her finger.

Narrow-eyed, Luke scrutinized her. “What are you up to?”

Catherine opened her eyes so wide her lashes tickled her eyebrows. “Didn’t you bring her home to play, Luke, sweetums?”

“Catherine...” he warned.

She gave him an apologetic little smile, filled with as much sincerity as she could muster, and spoke normally. “I thought you were out of town. Honestly, I wouldn’t have—”

“Who the hell is she?” the woman demanded, slipping her dainty feet back into high-heeled mules, her mouth unattractively pouty.

Luke strode to the highboy against the far wall, then glanced over his shoulder. “Cat Harris. Elizabeth Wyrech.” He jerked open a drawer, yanked out a sage-green cotton sweater and pulled it over his head. It did wonderful things to his eyes.

“Hi.” Catherine didn’t offer her hand, for the sheet was in danger of slithering into her lap. “Look, you don’t have to run off. Does she, Luke? I mean—”

“Cut it out, Catherine,” Luke said, clearly not amused. “Explain to Elizabeth who you are, then shut up.”

Catherine stared at him. “Everything? Are you sure? Doesn’t she know you get bored with just one lady in your be—”