Eugenia Riley - The Boy Toy

Pete’s taunt proved irresistible. Allison lunged for him, determined to knock him on his gorgeous butt.

Instead she found herself gripped by strong hands, hauled into the air and thrown across his hard shoulder. With quick strides he crossed the room, then she landed beneath him on the couch. They lay locked body-to-body, sex to aching sex, regarding each other breathlessly.

“A kiss?” he asked.

Before she could respond, he kissed her, brazenly, stabbing his tongue inside her mouth. She kissed him back, boldly biting his underlip.

A rumble of pleasure escaped him. His hands tugged at her top, pulling it up and over her head.

Just the heat of his gaze excited her and she arched closer to him. He dropped his head and placed a tantalizing kiss on the curve of her breast, just above her bra, drawing a moan from her.

If this was his idea of a kiss, there was no way she’d let him stop there….

Dear Reader,

When people find out that I’m an author, they often say, “You write about things that really happen, don’t you?”

Oh, I wish! Every time I hear this question I yearn to be swept away from the world of dirty dishes and stock market crashes to an erotic adventure with a rakish hero…when in reality, I’m a caveperson, hunched over my computer plotting romantic fantasies.

But it’s true that we authors write out of some wellspring deep within our own psyches. In the case of The Boy Toy, it’s the native Texan in my soul. I may have read Louisa May Alcott by the age of five, but by six, I wanted my first pair of red cowboy boots!

In this story, my heroine, Allison Tracy, is a chic city girl who has this same secret longing for those hot cowboy boots. Wary of commitment and ready for a fling, Allison sets her cap for the sexiest cowboy she can find. Gorgeous Pete Chisholm seems the perfect empty-headed stud; but like every good hero, Pete has a few surprises in store for our heroine. Now watch the sparks fly as he teaches her what she really wants, in and out of bed!

I loved writing about Allison and Pete because they’re so outrageous and hot! And I’m delighted to be writing for Blaze, a line that showcases the type of edgy, erotic, fun romances I so enjoy reading and writing. Please visit my Web site at www.eugeniariley.com or write to me at P.O. Box 840526, Houston, TX 77284-0526.

Happy reading!

Eugenia Riley

To Linda Michael—

with affection and appreciation

for being such an extraordinary fan and friend

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

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

ALLISON TRACY lifted her glass of white wine and glumly saluted her two girlfriends. “A solemn oath, ladies—I’m giving up men until the next millennium.”

Predictably, Allison’s pals Erin Bridges and T.J. Skaggs fell into such gales of laughter that around them at the upscale River Oaks cottage restaurant, heads were turned and disapproving glances were slanted their way. The three longtime friends were having an informal luncheon celebration of Allison’s breakup with her latest boyfriend a week ago. As the youngest of the three, Allison thought of the other two as trusted older sisters. She’d known them both since middle school back in Dallas.

Erin, a lovely, petite brunette, leaned across the table to cast Allison a forbearing look. “You, give up on men, Allie? Perhaps when our stuffy mayor attends a city council meeting in drag.”

T.J., a more traditional, coiffed blonde nodded as she toyed with a shrimp entree embellished with marinara sauce and goat cheese. “I agree with Erin. Just because you sent that jerk Adam packing doesn’t mean you should give up on men in general. Where would I be if I’d adopted that attitude?”

Allison flipped her heavy, golden brown hair away from her face. “This said by the rarest of all breeds—a young, upwardly mobile, happily married woman.”

“Not always that happy,” T.J. quickly amended. “My marriage has been hard work, but it’s worth it.”

Hard work. Expression grim, Allison considered her last few weeks with Adam—the endless fights, the recriminations, the tears, until finally she’d gathered the strength of will to show him the door. “Maybe I don’t want to work so hard anymore.”

“You’re just burned out, hon,” T.J. sympathized. “Really, you should consider yourself lucky that Adam didn’t get his hooks deeper into you, and go on to tackle the next challenge.”

Erin nodded firmly. “That’s just how I felt when Troy and I divorced. You should celebrate your wisdom in dumping him and move on.”

“Move on to what?” inquired Allison with a gesture of exasperation. “Let’s face it, girls. We’ve been having this same discussion ever since good old Highland Park High School. Three starry-eyed dreamers out searching for the perfect man. Well, guess what, ladies? The guy doesn’t exist. I’ve looked for Mr. Right in every possible incarnation, and the bottom line is…well, they’re all Mr. Wrong.”

“Oh, come on, Allie,” scolded T.J., but with a smirk. “The male dating pool isn’t that dismal.”

“Isn’t it?” Allison retorted. “To me, all men are pretty lame. They’re geeks, they’re jocks or they’re jerks. They’re nice and married, or they’re nice and gay. They’re too self-centered or they’re too needy. Like that spoiled doctor’s son who blew his education trust on ski trips to Breckenridge, and wanted me to put him through med school. Or Adam, who was so intimidated by my success that he wanted me to abandon my career, marry him, move with him to Wyoming, of all places, and become a little baby maker.”

T.J. chuckled. “Hon, you’re a killer in the looks department. How can any man look at you and not start imagining his future children?”

As a passing waiter gave Allison the once-over in confirmation of her friend’s words, she cast the man a cool glance. “That’s just my point. Men see me and immediately create some decadent fantasy of champagne, black lingerie and whipped cream. Just because I’m tall and leggy—”

“Don’t forget voluptuous, and drop-dead beautiful,” put in Erin mischievously.

“Come on, guys, give me a break,” protested Allison, blushing. “My point is, men see the exterior package only and conclude that I can’t possibly have a brain. Then they try to figure out how best to use me as their little pleasure vessel. Just like Adam, they all want to control me, fit me into some preconceived mold, rather than accept me the way I am.”

“And you find that shocking?” inquired T.J. “I think Don and I went out four times before he realized I’m actually an office manager and not just the girl who answers the phones at Cushman and Dodd. But he has pretty much accepted my career.”

Allison smiled. “T.J., I know you love your job, and I’m not saying this to put you down. But my situation is different from yours. Your husband is an oil trader, for heaven’s sake, and makes three times what you do. What if the reverse were true, as in the case of Erin and me—”

“Yeah, Allie with her pill pushing and me with my shoe pushing,” teased Erin, who sold Houston’s richest women five-hundred-dollar pumps on commission at the Galleria’s most upscale boutique.