Make Me Happy

Quickies with a Heart On

Adele Hart

Copyright © 2017 by Adele Hart

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Contents

Foreword

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Epilogue One

Epilogue Two

Make Me Wet-Sneak Peek

Take Me-Sneak Peek

Also by Adele Hart

About the Author

Foreword

Hey Girl,

Have you ever been someone’s muse? What would it feel like to know that a person creates because of you? That he grips his wood…paintbrush handle and strokes his canvas because you inspire him.

When I put color to paper, it’s generally crayons in a coloring book. There have been a few times I’ve wanted to frame my work. I mean, it’s really hard to keep within the lines, so when I do, I deem it a masterpiece.

Anyway, recently, I walked through the art museum and wondered about the artists like Rubens who painted such lush, full-bodied women. Or Leonardo—Da Vinci not DiCaprio—although I’d be happy to be his muse.

Make Me Happy is about an artist who has lost his passion because he can’t find his muse. Sexy artist Daniel Nolan paints landscapes for a living, but on the sly he’s been painting a nude—his muse whom he can’t get out of his mind.

Stand up and take your clothes off girl because he’s looking for her and you might be the one. See you in Vail.

Peace Out,

Adele (drops mic and runs for the nearest Crayola box of sixty-four ready to fight the next fourth grader for Atomic Tangerine.)

One

Emily

The comforter comes out of the dryer smelling like field flowers and feeling like a warm puppy. I run down the hallway to finish the room for the inn’s only guest who arrives this afternoon. I love this room with its dark hardwoods and a quilt that lies at the end of the bed. French doors open up to a terrace surrounded by an English garden—quite a feat to maintain given the severe temperature changes and altitude in Vail.

“Are you sure you’re going to be all right, Emily?” Aunt Amy leans against the doorframe and watches the bedspread float down to cover the bed. She begins like this every year by asking a million questions, and then she picks up her bag and leaves to visit her friend in London.

“I’ve been watching the inn for five years now. I think I can handle it.” This is my mid-summer gig and the highlight of my year. I get to stay at one of the most beautiful bed and breakfasts while my aunt takes a long deserved vacation. It’s my way of looking after her. She’s been looking after me since my parents died. “It’s not like I’d be doing anything else.”

School is out for the summer. It’ll take me the entire eight weeks to recover from nine months of booger-eating fourth graders. I love teaching, but I also love the complete break from it when I arrive in Vail for the off-season.

“I know you can handle it, but this year’s different. There’s a guest, and it’s a he.” She fidgets with the buttons on her sweater. “I’ve never left you with a guest and this one is special.”

I pull the handle of her suitcase up and roll it to the front door. “Contrary to popular belief, I have been around men before, and I’m pretty sure I can make one guest happy for the week he’s staying.”

“I know, sweetie.” She looks in the mirror and frets over a curl out of place. “He’s a nice man—an artist who used to come yearly, in the fall, to see the leaves change color. He was a regular for ten years until a few years ago when he didn’t call for reservations.” She reapplies her lipstick and tosses the cylinder back into her practical black purse. “He’s low maintenance. You’ll just need to have breakfast and coffee ready in the morning. He’ll tell you when he wants it.”

It was odd that a regular would just up and stop coming. “Did he say why he stopped coming?”

“I read that his wife died. It’s why I never followed up.” She takes her red wool jacket from the hook behind the door and tosses it over her black Samsonite bag.

“Oh…so this is a special place for them.” Shit…I hope he doesn’t get all weepy and crap because Vail is my time without tears. I get enough of those during the school year. You think the kids are the emotional ones, but just spend one night at parent/teacher conferences and tell a mom that her son reads two levels above his grade and watch the waterworks let loose. Or tell a mom her daughter won’t stop picking her nose, and she’ll cry for an hour over how little Sabrina will never find a husband. Of course, Sabrina would never be on the hunt for a husband in the fourth grade, but what the hell.

“Oh, no. I never met her. Daniel comes here alone to paint. He calls it his amuse-bouche. His little taste to get him started. The inn is always his place for inspiration.” Aunt Amy shrugs into her jacket and plops the keys in my hand. “You’ll like him. He’s quite a looker. If George Clooney and Elizabeth Taylor had a baby, they would have had Daniel.” She giggles and opens the door. “Make sure he’s happy, so he becomes a regular again.”

“I’ll make sure his needs are met.”

The taxi waits in the driveway while she hugs me goodbye. “Have fun, sweetie. I’ll bring your favorite candies home.”

One more perk of watching the inn, I get a year’s supply of Maltesers and Crunchie bars. It’s the gift that keeps giving because each year I put on an extra pound or two that goes straight to my ass and thighs.

I wave as the taxi drives away and then begin my preparations for the arrival of Daniel Nolan. The name sounds familiar, but I can’t picture his art, so being the good host that I want to be for Aunt Amy, I Google the man.

His work is mostly landscapes, fields of flowers, fall leaves, snowcapped peaks and stuff. He has a few portraits—well not portraits exactly, but paintings of a beautiful woman—nudes done tastefully. No face shows, there’s always a down-turned chin, a twist of the torso so a glimpse of her breast is visible. It’s like Aunt Amy said, an amuse-bouche, just a tease or a taste of something implied.

I study the nudes and wonder if they’re his wife? The model is curvy and voluptuous. Draped in red silk she has alabaster skin and the hint of a tattoo peeking out of the soft material at the small of her back. Her breasts are ample with a cinched waist and flared hips. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the model was me, but she couldn’t be because I’ve never met the man.

I scroll to the About the Artist section and stare at his picture. Aunt Amy is right. He has George Clooney hair and the purple eyes of Elizabeth Taylor. He’s a stunning specimen of a man and looking at him all week won’t be a hardship.

After five minutes of analyzing his face, I close down my computer and get to work. Daniel Nolan is going to get inspired this week. That is my goal. To give this man whatever he needs to get his creative juices flowing.

Instead of going with the standard fare of breakfast only, I whip up a batch of raspberry muffins with fresh picked fruit from the garden hoping that a welcome treat will be appreciated. Besides, I have a craving for something sweet before I head into the garden.

One of the things I like about coming here in the summer is getting my hands dirty. Aunt Amy says her garden thrives because I love on it, but I’m pretty sure it’s the dose of Miracle Grow she gives it weekly that makes it bloom. All anything needs to bloom is a little nurturing, some TLC, and love.

After whipping up a basic batter and folding in some plump, juicy red berries, I pop them in the oven and rush to his room to make sure the bed is perfect, the pillows are plumped, and his en-suite bathroom has all the little amenities that make staying at Amy’s a treat. Treats like the soap and sugar scrubs I make on site during my summer stays.

Last year, I made verbena soap and honeyed sugar scrub. This year it’s going to be lemon essence soap and peppermint scrub. The whole house will smell like citrusy mint when Aunt Amy comes home. Body scrubs are a high-end item found in finer establishments. It’s funny how they get such a posh reputation when what they are really is one part oil, two parts sugar and the essential oil you prefer.

Once the muffins are out of the oven, I sit down to concentrate on the serious stuff—Candy Crush. How people get to levels in the hundreds baffles me. I’ve got a student who is on level 157. The kid can’t read, but he can sure crush some candy.

The chimes of the doorbell ring out. I line up three red jellybeans on my phone screen before I answer it. I’m giving myself a high five all the way to the door because I made it to level 23. I fling open the door, happy to share my success with anyone who will listen. Standing on the doorstep is Mr. Perfect.

His hair isn’t nearly as dark as in his pictures. It’s more of a chocolate color, but his eyes are most certainly violet.

“Welcome to the inn, Mr. Nolan. Can I take your bag?” I pray he says no because he’s got two of them and they are big enough to store a body.

He looks at me like I’m speaking in tongues. “Who are you?”

I’m pretty certain Aunt Amy told him I would be here, but who knows? She gets all flustered before a trip and often forgets things. Last year she left sour dough starter in the pantry. I didn’t find it until the stuff turned green and smelled like roadkill. For a week, I searched for something that got inside the house and died.

“I’m Emily Dewhurst, Amy’s niece.” I open the door wide so he can enter but he doesn’t.

He takes me in from the top of my brown hair, down my maxi dress, and all the way to my bedazzled sandals. “You’re Emily?”

“In the flesh.” That might be the wrong statement since the man is analyzing me with the attention of his artist’s eye before painting one of his nudes.

“You’re much younger than I expected.”

Sweet words from a ten-year-old won’t get him an A on the math test he didn’t study for, but flattery from Mr. Hot and Sexy will get him almost anything.

I give him a Pollyanna smile. “Good genes, I think.” At twenty-seven, I’m young, but by the sound of it, Daniel Nolan expected a mid-lifer. “I was an unexpected surprise to older parents.” My mother was Amy’s twin so I can see why he expected someone different.

“You’re a nice surprise.” He slides past me smelling like sandalwood and sage. I know this because I have a good nose for scent.

I take a deep breath. “Is that a custom blend?” Without thought, I lean in to get a closer smell.

He bends forward until his chest is touching my nose, and I realize how tall he is. “No, something over the counter.”

It might be over the counter, but he shops at places I can’t afford.

“Smells nice.” I step back, but he steps forward until his nose brushes the top of my hair and a shiver twists deliciously down my spine.

“Strawberries and vanilla?” He leans back and I see a glint in his bright violet eyes.

“You have a keen nose, too.” Standing this close to the man is dangerous, so I step away and close the door behind us, which might not be smart because now we’re alone in the entry. I shake the sensations arcing through my body and walk toward the guest suite on the main level. Distance is what I need from this man. He’s way more than I anticipated. Sure his photo was sexy, but most of the time they doctor those up. A little airbrushing here and there and you get perfection, but this man is way better in person. “Your old room is waiting.” I walk down the hall ahead of him gaining needed distance. “Amy is glad you’re back.”

“I’m glad I’m back too. It’s been a journey these last few years.” He follows me into his room.

Nervous that I’m standing in the bedroom of a man I’d most certainly be interested in, I rush around the room and point out the amenities. “I made you fresh raspberry muffins. They are in the kitchen if you’re interested.” I back my way to the door.

“I’m more than interested in tasting your muffins.”

I can’t help but think there is a deeper significance to his words. Then again, my brain cells are jumbled. It’s not every day I meet a man with purple eyes and a voice hot enough to melt ice caps off mountain peaks.

“I’ll make coffee. Help yourself when you’re ready.” I turn and rush down the hallway, hoping the slight breeze I pick up cools the fire from my face.

Two

Daniel

Emily walks down the hallway and I ask myself, what the hell just happened? Did I tell her I wanted to taste her muffins? Raspberry muffins are super, but that’s not where my mind went when the words spilled out of my mouth like waste from a busted sewage line.

Amy forgot to mention that her niece was gob-smacking beautiful with eyes like new-bloomed clover, and hair the color of a double shot espresso. She didn’t say she was curved like a mountain road with hills and valleys just waiting for exploration.

No…Amy said her niece was a schoolteacher. In fact her exact words were, “Emily is a quiet school teacher. She’ll stay out of your way.” I hope that won’t be the case. I need a muse, and I might have found her in Emily. Something electric happened when she opened that door. The heavens fucking opened up and sang hallelujah.

My suitcase sinks into the comforter as I plop it onto the bed. I unpack my clothes and want to groan. Besides one suit, there’s nothing but jeans, some Henleys, and old painting shirts. After seeing Emily, I realize I packed poorly.

Each item I pull from the suitcase makes me groan until I remind myself I’m not a teenage boy dressing for his first date. I’m a thirty-five-year-old man who has seen his share of the world. So why does this unfamiliar insecurity settle in my gut? It taps at my insides like a woodpecker working its way through a telephone pole. The answer pops into my mind. Emily is the first woman to turn your head since Marie.

“This is bullshit,” I say to the half-full closet. One week to clear my head and get back to work. Emily seems nice enough, but she can’t be a distraction.

The rest of my clothes fall from my fingers haphazardly into the drawers of the dresser before I slam them shut.

Next I unpack my painting supplies—several blank canvases, charcoals, a palette and paints. The half finished nude I set against the wall haunts me. It’s been sitting unfinished for years. I close my eyes and I see her. Never her face, only her back. Alabaster skin. Dark coffee hair. Tiny waist. Flared hips. And a birthmark or mole at the small of her back. It’s always there. In every painting, she’s there waiting for me.

The smell of fresh coffee swirls through the air, and I turn from the painting and go in search of Emily’s muffins and coffee.

She’s not in the kitchen when I arrive and a sense of disappointment washes over me. Did I scare her away?

The coffee cups are where they have been for years. I reach inside the cabinet to find my favorite, a red, handmade, clay mug tucked into the back corner. The coffee pot spits and sputters the last of its brew telling me that Emily isn’t far away since the coffee just finished its cycle.

“Creamer’s in the fridge.”

She startles me when she walks in. No longer wearing the heather blue dress, she’s decked out in jeans and a T-shirt in worse shape than mine. I look closer and laugh at the design, which says, “Back in my day we had nine planets.”

“Back in your day, huh?” It isn't any of my business, but I have to know how old this woman is. She mentioned good genes, but how good could they really be? “How old are you?”

I recognize the it’s-rude-to-ask-a woman’s-age look, but the lift to her eyes softens when her smile broadens. “Old enough that I don’t get carded anymore.”

Well, shit, that isn’t the answer I want. “I don’t get carded any more either.”

“Then we can drink together.” She opens the refrigerator and pulls out a wine cooler from the shelf. She twists off the lid and takes a big gulp. When she pulls the bottle from her lips, there’s a drop left that tempts me to lick it off, but instead I reach past her and grab the creamer. “I’ll stick with the coffee for now.”

“Suit yourself.” Her hair flips over her shoulder the minute she turns to walk away. It falls down her back leading my eyes straight to a glimpse of her ass. I love a woman with curves and Emily has that hourglass shape that looks so good on tousled bed sheets as well as a painted canvas. “I’ll be in the garden if you need me.”

When the door closes, the room dulls. It’s like a cloud hovers above, but in reality the sunshine exited when Emily did. Instead of taking my coffee to my room where I will stare at the blank canvas for an hour, I grab a sketchpad and walk onto the terrace. Elevated above the garden, it provides the perfect perch to observe. Emily is a vision. She gardens like an artist paints, by caressing the branches like my brush touches canvas—softly and with purpose.

Every few minutes she sips at her wine cooler and goes back to trimming dead flowers from plants. I’m mesmerized. Delicate fingers pluck spent buds from the vines until the plants come alive again.

When she empties her first wine cooler, I bring her another. “You needed a refill.” She jumps when I approach, but smiles at my thoughtfulness.

I twist the cap free and hand it over.

“Thank you. That was very kind.”

“My pleasure.” We stare at each other for a long minute.

“Am I bothering you being outside?” Her lips twist into a frown. “It just occurred to me that you might like the garden to yourself.”

“Lord no. I’m enjoying the view.” There I am again sending messages full of meaning. Her cheeks pink. “The garden is lovely.”

Emily sets her wine cooler down on the ground and wipes her soiled hands on her jeans. “You’ll have to come out here at night.” She points to the white gazebo in the corner of the yard. “I convinced Amy to install fairy lights and a water fountain. It’s really a beautiful sight to see when the sun goes down.”

My eyes travel from Emily to the white structure and back to Emily. “I’ll order pizza and we can enjoy the lights together.” There was a lift to my voice. It was part question and part hope.

Her eyes widened like a deer in highlights. “I wouldn’t want to intrude on your quiet time.” She looked around the garden the way a trapped animal does when trying to find an escape. “Amy says you like to be alone with your work.”

The soft breeze picks up a strand of her hair and blows it across her face. I reach forward and tuck it behind her ears. “I’ve spent a lot of time alone with my work, and tonight I’d like to have pizza with a school teacher who likes to garden…that is, if she says yes.”

Her rose petal lips broaden into a big smile. “Yes, that sounds lovely.”

“It’s a date then.” I want to rip my tongue from my mouth for not thinking about the words I use before they blurt out. It’s a date? The woman probably thinks I’ve lost my mind.

She looks over her shoulder to the rose bushes she’s now grooming. “I better finish what I started.”

“Six o’clock?” I ask.

She looks to the sky. Is she reading the time by the position of the sun? “Six sounds perfect.”

I return to the terrace with a smile on my face. “I have a date of sorts.” After Marie died, I waited a year to date. Then I binge dated for a few months. It was like eating chocolate after having been denied for so long. But the chocolate was unsatisfying, so I went on another fast and it’s been at least eight months since I’ve been alone with a woman, over two years since I’ve been intimate with anyone but myself.

I sit down and grab my sketchpad. What is it about Emily that piques my interest? She’s too young, but she’s also too beautiful and too tempting to pass up.

An hour later, I have several rudimentary sketches drawn. It’s my muse. The same woman I’ve been drawing for years, only this time she has a face, and that face is Emily’s.

Lost in my art, I didn’t notice that she finished her work for the day and left. The sun is setting toward the mountains and the glow of the sunset filters the sky with orange.

I pull out a fresh sheet of paper and reach for my colored pencils. Today was too beautiful a day not to capture it.

With her face still fresh in my memory, I put my version of sunshine down on paper. Behind her is a wash of yellows and oranges that go perfectly with her eyes. Eyes the color of new grass—of beginnings and hope.

When the last ray sinks behind the mountain peak, I gather my supplies and walk inside the house. It smells of strawberries and vanilla. Her scent fills the air full of happiness.

Just as I’m turning into the hallway toward my room, she walks out of the room across from mine dressed in sunshine. A yellow dress dotted with flowers similar to the ones she picked this afternoon. She doesn’t see me because she’s looking at one of her fingers.

I move to the side of the hallway but it’s too late. She collides into my chest.

“I’m so sorry. I was distracted.” She steps back and drops her hands to her sides.

“Are you okay?” I reach out and grip her shoulders to make sure she doesn’t fall over. “Hitting me is like hitting a wall.” That might sound arrogant but it’s true. I’m built like a fortress.

“My fault.” She holds her finger up and shows me an angry red bump on the tip. “I’ve got a splinter that I can’t get out.”

When I take her hand, a charge runs through me that goes straight to my dick. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Or maybe something is finally right with me.

I run my finger over the spot and she winces.

“It’s right there. I can feel it, but I can’t seem to get it out.”

“Trust me,” is all I say before I pull her finger into my mouth. Wide open eyes stare back at me.

I run my tongue over the spot searching for the splinter that probably feels to her like a wood plank imbedded in her skin. She continues to stare at me, which does crazy things to my heart and when she licks her lips, it bangs like a bass drum in my chest. All the blood pumping through me rushes to my cock. Thank God her eyes are on my mouth because if she took one glance at my pants she’d have me pack up and move out.

Sharp like a razor, I locate the edge of the splinter and suck at it for a second. She wobbles a bit and I steady her with my free hand. Sliding my teeth across the offending intrusion, I manage to get it to come loose. When I pull her finger from my mouth, her cheeks flush red.

“Oh my God, that was amazing.” She slides the tip of her finger into her mouth and runs her tongue over the wound. We just swapped spit and didn’t kiss, but something about her tasting me on her finger makes me feel good. I want to bang my chest and stake my claim, and I have no idea why. I don’t know this woman, and yet, I feel like I’ve known her all my life.

I swipe the tiny sliver of wood off my tongue and hold it out on the tip of my finger to show her it is gone. “Glad I could help.” I rush past her so she doesn’t see the swell in my pants. “I’ll order the pizza. Anything special?”

“I’m easy,” she says.

“I doubt that,” I mumble. My experience with women has been they’ve never been easy but always worth it.

“What?”

“I’ll surprise you,” I say louder, pretending that’s what I said in the first place.

“You already do,” she whispers as she walks away.

Cold shower now, is what screams inside my head. With a raging hard-on, I climb into the shower and stroke myself. Soft at first and then harder as the tension builds. The water sluices over my body, and when I close my eyes, she’s there again. The woman with the heart shaped mole on the small of her back. Only this time in my vision she turns around and whispers with soft pink lips, “You’ve found me,” and I come harder than I’ve come in years.

Three

Emily

It takes ten minutes for my heart to slow down. When he put my finger in his mouth and stroked his soft velvety tongue across my splinter my knees nearly buckled. If not for his hand on my shoulder to settle me, I would have puddled on the floor before him.

Thank goodness he dashed off right after. We have our first date at six and I’ve already blurted out I’m a sure thing.

This isn’t a real date, I remind myself. It’s just a figure of speech like when your friends ask you to happy hour and you say, “It’s a date.”

It didn't stop me from showering and dressing nice like I would on a real date. I put on a flowery sundress because it makes me feel feminine and pretty. It also hides a multitude of sins like my way too big ass, but the waist draws in and accentuates one of my finer features—my hourglass shape. I would have made a perfect Ruben’s model with my soft feminine curves. Emphasis on soft and curves.

I putz around in the kitchen and wait for him to emerge from his bedroom. Is he feeling this attraction that I am? It’s been a year since my last date. It wasn't a bad date, and he wasn’t a bad guy. He just wasn’t my guy. He was like finding a bowl of brown M & M’s. I like them, but I like the other colors too. All brown is boring. Now Daniel Nolan is like finding a bowl of M & M’s and inside there are colors I’ve never seen. Now that’s exciting.

On the table is a plate with two muffins, which means he ate four of them and something inside makes my heart swell. He likes my muffins.

His cologne reaches me before he does. It swirls around me like a mist antagonizing my senses. My heart races. My pulse thunders all the way from my chest to my sex.

“Dinner should be here in a few minutes.” He leans on the kitchen counter looking like he belongs there amidst the double oven and deep farmhouse sink, dressed in faded jeans and a gray Henley that stretches across his chest. I take him in.

“Are you really thirty-five?” I smile, but inside I’m giving myself a virtual slap to the face.

“I have good genes.” He teases. “Your aunt told you my age?”

I toss the two remaining muffins in a Ziploc baggy. “No, Google did.”

“Checking me out, huh?”

I scan his body from head to toe the way he did mine when he came to the door this afternoon. You have no idea. “I wanted to get a feel for you.” Why is it that everything I say or think is sexual when it comes to this man? Get a feel for you. I shake my head.

“What did you learn?” He grips the granite counter. Under the cotton of his shirt, his muscles ripple, making it stretch tight across his broad chest. My panties get damp. I haven’t had this kind of reaction since I read Fifty Shades and even Christian Gray isn’t as hot as Daniel.

“I learned that you’re in your mid-thirties.” I pull a bottle of red from the wine rack. “Cabernet, okay?”

“I love a good red.” He takes the bottle and opener from my hand and makes quick work of de-corking it. “Is mid-thirties old?”

I’m about to answer him when the doorbell rings. My wallet is on the counter, and I open it to get a few bills, but Daniel places his warm palm over mine.

“I’m buying dinner.” He disappears down the hallway. One touch and my entire body vibrates with need.

He’s back in less than a minute. It’s obvious he’s been here many times when he reaches into the right cabinet and pulls out two plates. He sidesteps to the next cabinet and grabs two wine glasses. With the skill of a waiter he balances everything and walks to the door. “You get the wine, I’ll get the rest.”

On the way out the door, I flick the switch that lights up the garden. The soft glow of white Christmas lights twinkle in the darkening night sky. The fountain next to the gazebo sets the tone with its rippling, bubbling, symphony of splashes. It’s the perfect setting for romance and Daniel is the perfect man, but I’m pretty sure Aunt Amy wasn’t asking me to seduce her guest when she said, “Make sure he’s happy.”

Daniel places the box of pizza on the table along with the plates and glasses. While I pour the wine, he dishes up dinner. “So you were going to tell me what old is for you.”

I offer him a glass of wine. “I wasn’t going to do any such thing. Age is just a number. You’re thirty-five, and I’m seventeen.”

His glass of wine is midway to his lips when he stops. “You’re not seventeen.” His voice is full of shock.

I giggle like a seventeen-year-old. “No, I’m not.” I sip at the wine and enjoy the fruity notes coating my tongue. “I’m a school teacher. How many seventeen-year-old teachers do you know?”

He nods his head left to right and laughs. “You had me scared. I am really off my game if I asked a teen on a date.”

I set my glass on the table and take a seat in one of the wicker chairs. “So this is a date?” The very idea warms my heart.

He sits next to me. Not across from me. I like his closeness. “I’m new at this stuff, but I like the idea of a date with a pretty school teacher who’s over seventeen.” He brings the glass to his lips and smiles over the rim.

“I’m twenty-seven. Too young?”

“Age is just a number.” He offers me a plate of pizza. “I hope you like everything.”

“I’m always game to try new things.”

“Like thirty-five-year-old men?”

“Are you flirting with me?” God I hope he is. “I’m new to this stuff too and don’t want to misinterpret your intentions.”

He pierces me with those violet eyes that now look sapphire blue under the sparkling lights. “Interpret all you want. I find you fascinating.”

A piece of pizza gets stuck in my throat as I swallow. I wash it down with a drink of wine. “I can assure you, I’m anything but fascinating, but you go on and believe that, and I’ll try not to disappoint you.”

“Emily,” he says with a deep throaty growl, “I don’t think disappointment is possible.”

“We’ll see.” My experience still lies with the bowl of plain brown candies. Too much of anything can lead to dissatisfaction.

“Tell me about teaching. What’s the best thing about it and the worst?”

I chew on a piece of crust while I ponder his question. There are so many highs and lows to teaching. I sit up tall and smile when I think about the best thing. “So far my greatest achievement is seeing the joy on a child’s face when something finally makes sense. Knowing I had something to do with that piece of knowledge is incredibly satisfying.”

“And on the flip side?”

I run my finger around the edge of the glass until it hums. “The worst thing is when I care about a kid’s education more than the parents.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

“More than I’d like.” I sit forward leaning into Daniel’s space. “Parents are so busy, they don’t have time to monitor their kids. Somehow these children are supposed to thrive when no one has the time to support them at home. I can’t blame the kids, and I can hardly blame overworked parents. It’s how life is these days. Go. Go. Go. They make time for sports and friends, but no one reads to their children anymore. No one goes over their homework. It’s just sad.” His eyes mimic the sadness I feel inside. “Do you have children, Daniel?” There is nothing about kids in his brief biography.

His head snaps back. “No. I’m…” He tilts his head and the sadness in his expressive eyes multiplies. “You read that I was married.”

He takes a bite of pizza then leans back in his chair with his wine in his hand.

“I did. I’m sorry for your loss.”

He stares into the darkness of the night. The beauty of living in the mountains is the peacefulness, the darkness, the silence. While he considers my condolences, the only sounds surrounding us are running water and crickets.

“Marie and I never had children. We were only married for a few months when they found the cancer. Chemo caused infertility.”

“I’m so sorry. You don’t need to talk about it if it causes you pain.”

He shakes his head. “Marie was never a source of pain. She was pure joy and sunshine. She beat it the first time around, but years later it came back with a vengeance and took her away.”

My stomach clenches. He is still in love with his wife. “It must be hard for you.”

He smiles and leans forward. “Marie didn’t want me to mourn her. She made me promise to celebrate her. She was a wonderful woman with a heart of gold, but she’s not the only woman with a heart of gold. I consider myself lucky to have known her and loved her.”

Warmth floods me. Here is this man who could be angry at the world and he isn’t. He is grateful for the time they shared.

“Is she the woman in your paintings?”

“You’re thorough in your investigation.”

I stand and walk to the rail that overlooks the moonlit garden. Night blooming jasmine scents the air. “It's not like I was stalking you.”

He snuck up on me. His voice feathers over my shoulder. “That’s too bad. I’ve never been stalked, and I was quite looking forward to the experience.”

“I’m sure you’ve been stalked plenty.” I turn around and he’s right there. Our bodies touch all the way down one side. “What do they call artist groupies?”

“Lost?”

I nudge into him, but he doesn’t budge.

“Seriously. You’re nice and accomplished and…” I end my conversation there to avoid embarrassment.

“And what?” He reaches with long arms and snags the wine bottle from the table to top off our glasses.

“Hot,” I whisper, hoping he doesn’t hear me but feeling compelled to be honest.

“You think I'm hot?”

Good thing it’s dark outside because if the flame I feel in my cheeks is a sign, my face is definitely crimson. “Apparently, I have a thing for older artist types.” I kick off the rail of the gazebo, set my wine on the table, and walk into the garden.

The gravel crunches under his feet and a rush of sandalwood and sage envelopes me. “Apparently, I like muffin-making schoolteachers who like to garden.”

I continue to tease. “You have excellent taste.”

“I’ve been told.” His fingers thread through mine. “So, where do you work?”

We stroll through the gardens hand in hand, and it feels perfect. “Highlands Ranch Elementary.”

He gives my hand a squeeze like my answer pleases him.

“I’m in Cherry Creek.”

My stomach does a flip-flop. Whatever is starting here can actually be a thing since he lives in Denver like me.

“We’re neighbors.” I turn down the winding path that leads to the pond. “We could be friends.”

He stops and turns me around to face him. “I have a feeling we could be more.”

Four

Daniel

When it comes to Emily, my mind is foggy, but when I press my lips to hers, I no longer care. All I want is this kiss to last forever. My lips. Her lips. Pressed together for an eternity.

Her taste isn’t like honey or sweet like sugar. It’s nectar of the most potent kind. A heady mix of passion and lust and something that promises more. I need more. I want more.

My tongue probes her mouth, seeking entrance as if the kiss will give me sanctuary from loneliness and sorrow.

She opens to me and allows me to explore—to taste—to tempt. My heart fills with joy and happiness like the blissful aftermath of a night sipping champagne with someone you love.

I wrap my arms around her and pull her close. Every curve of her body finds its place next to mine. She’s a laser-cut piece to my puzzle. A perfect fit.

My hands itch to touch her, to lay her down and have her completely, but her moans bring me to my senses.

One step back and our connection breaks.

“Wow.” Her fingers move over her kiss-swollen lips. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been kissed like that.”

I wrap my arm around her shoulder and lead her toward the lake. “Then you haven’t ever been kissed properly.”

“Looks like I have a lot to learn.” She slides her hand around my waist and leans into me. It’s perfect.

“I’ll be happy to teach the teacher.” We end up at the edge of the lake. The moonbeams dance off the glass-like surface. “So, how does one so beautiful not have men kissing her all the time?”

Her laughter fills the silence.

“My life is a cornucopia of men. Too bad they’re all around nine-years-old and think socking a girl in the arm is romance.” She picks up a rock and skims it off the surface. It hops four times across the water before it sinks. “What about you?”

“I’ve dated since Marie’s death, but it’s been mostly disappointing.”

“I hear ya.” She picks up another rock and tosses it into the water. It plunks against the surface and circles ripple outwards. “Funny how one little change can make a big ripple.”

I slide behind her and wrap my arms around her waist, setting my chin on her shoulder. “How big a ripple will you make in my life, Emily?”

“I think you’ve got it wrong. I was here, and you showed up and caused the ripple.” She turns around and leans her head on my chest.

In the distance the crickets sing. The night sky flickers with stars that burned out thousands of years ago. The moon reflects off the water, and this woman leans against me. How I itch to paint this scene.

“I hadn’t planned on coming up here this week.”

She steps back and I miss the heat of her body against mine. “No?”

My head shakes silently. “No. I haven’t painted in years. I haven’t had much desire.”

She looks down at her sandaled feet and scrapes them against the gravel walkway, sending stones in every direction. “Why now?”

“Each time I close my eyes I see a woman. I’ve been painting her for years, and yet it’s never perfect. I can’t quite get her right. I can only paint her when I’m here.” I pull Emily back to my chest where her closeness makes me feel good. “I’ve been thinking about her a lot and it’s time to peel back the layers and unveil the beauty. I’m hoping I can put a face to the body. It’s time to paint again.” Little does she know that it’s her head that sits perfectly on the shoulders of my muse.

“She’s the woman in your nudes.”

“Yes, it’s not Marie.” My hands caress the slip of her waist down to the flair of her hips. I always preferred curvy women but somehow married a beanpole. “She was the exact opposite. Tall and rail-thin, but what she lacked in curves, she made up for in personality.”

“I’m confused.” She stiffens in my arms.

“I’m trying to say, with grace and kindness, that Marie wasn’t my type. I love women who are soft and round in the right places. Marie was nearly as tall as me, and a wind could knock her over, but she was kind and funny.”

“Are you still in love with her?” She looks up at me and even in the darkness I see the light in her eyes.

“I will always love her. We were college sweethearts. It wasn’t an epic love, but a love built on friendship. We respected each other, but I don’t pine for her. She didn’t want me to.”

“Oh.” She relaxes against me.

“Emily?” I thumb her chin up so she’s looking at me. “I’ve never shared a kiss like we did with anyone, not even Marie. That was epic.”

Not giving her a chance to respond, I cover her mouth with mine and show her again what a kiss should be like. In that moment, I see what my life could be like with this woman. An endless string of happiness.

At the risk of getting eaten alive by mosquitos, I pull back and look at her passion hooded eyes. It would be so easy to take advantage of the moment, but would that get me more moments? Probably not. What I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, is I want more time with Emily.

“Are you ready to head back to the house?”

Her head lowers. “What are my options? Do they include standing out here all night kissing you?”

I laugh. “As wonderful as that sounds, I have to say no. You’ve inspired me to paint.”

“Really?” A broad smile takes up half her face. “That makes me happy.” She sidesteps me and walks back through the garden. “Not as happy as kissing you, but happy enough.”

My legs are long, but I have to double step to keep up with her. “You don’t have to run away.”

“I’m not running away. I’m helping you run to what you’ve been missing.”

The funny thing is she is right and wrong. I do miss art. I miss the freedom that the ink, the charcoal, and the paint give me. I miss the unleashed creativity that starts as a tiny mark and becomes a masterpiece. I miss how a thought becomes a thing. Tonight, I’ll dive into the canvas and wish I was diving into Emily.

She shuffles me to the house. “I’ll clean up. Don’t let your inspiration wane.”

Knowing I won’t win this argument, I brush my lips across hers. “Thank you, Emily. You’ve inspired me.”

The door closes behind me and I gather my supplies. Out on the terrace, I set my palette up under the light of the moon. In the distance, Emily moves around the Gazebo. Her brown locks float in the breeze. I inhale and believe I can smell her strawberry and vanilla scent.

The blank canvas becomes more with each stroke of my brush. Red roses. Green leaves. The tranquility of the still lake. There sits my muse in the center of Eden. Her Rubenesque body covered by vines of night blooming jasmine. A halo of wild flowers sits atop her beautiful head, and for the first time, I add a face to the muse’s body. Emily’s face stares back at me. But it can’t really be her. I’ve known my muse longer than I’ve known Emily. It’s simple transference. Her face onto the body of the woman who lives in my mind.

Hours later, I climb into bed and think about the girl in the room across from mine. She lays there alone. I lay here alone. We belong together. I feel it like I felt the paintbrush in my hand tonight.

The painting sits in the corner of my room spotlighted by a moonbeam. I stare at it until my eyes droop.

* * *

The smell of bacon pulls me from the deepest sleep I’ve had in months. I rise up on my elbows and look to the corner where my latest work sits on an easel. The painting came together in hours instead of months or years. I love it when that happens, although it rarely does. Emily stares back at me from the canvas with green eyes that pierce my soul.

What the hell was I thinking to kiss her last night? She’s so much younger than me. I walk to the bathroom and feel the green eyes of my muse follow me. It’s not until I close the door that my heart beats at a steady pace. Each minute I spend in her presence, whether in person or painting, makes my pulse race.

After I shower, I dress in the best of my worst clothes. A lavender Henley and some tattered jeans. I’m told the shirt echoes the color of my eyes.

I hold the handle of the door and inhale deeply. I really need to decide if this is a thing I will pursue. I look over my shoulder at the picture and know with certainty there isn’t an option. I need her as desperately as I need my next breath.

She dances around the kitchen to a song only she can hear. Her hips rock to the beat that plays in her head. Her hair swings back and forth brushing the skin exposed by the low-cut dress.

She’s a fucking goddess, but is she the girl in my dreams—the girl of my dreams? My heart tells me yes. My head tells me she can’t be.

Lost in the sight of her, she catches me staring.

She beams a toothpaste-commercial-worthy-smile and yanks the headphones from her ears. “How long have you been there?” She slides her hand into an oven mitt and pulls a quiche from the oven and sets in on the stovetop.

“Long enough to wonder what song you’re listening to?”

“I have this obsession with Ed Sheeran.” She moves around the kitchen like a ninja. In seconds, I have a cup of coffee in my hand. She leads me to the Gazebo where we enjoyed pizza last night, but it’s not the pizza I remember. It’s the kiss that rocked my world.

She already has a pitcher of orange juice on the table sitting next to a place setting for one.

“You’re not going to make me eat alone are you?” The thought of another minute without her is unbearable.

Her eyes light up at my question. “I didn’t want to assume.” She lowers her face, hiding the pinking of her cheeks. “I’m not sure what your normal routine is. Maybe you like a quiet morning to contemplate your day.”

I’m going to have to lay it all out here in the open. She’ll either be on board, or she’ll be running and boarding up the doors and windows. “I’m not in a ‘morning of contemplation’ mood.” I stalk toward her and press her against the wooden rail. My hands sit on her hips and pull her into me. “What I really want is my lips on yours.” I skim my hands up her body and thread my fingers through her hair. “I want whatever and wherever this week takes us.” My words are a whisper from her ear. “I want it all, Emily.”

Five

Emily

“All? What does that entail?” I ask. His eyes reflect the lavender of his shirt. The softer color shines from the irises of his eyes.

“I’m not sure.” With the pad of his thumb, he brushes my bottom lip and I suck it into my mouth without much thought.

His purple eyes grow wide and a raw, gravelly groan rips from his throat. “I’m a man, Emily, not a saint, and if you keep sucking on my thumb like that I’m taking you to my bed.”

A shiver travels all the way from my tongue, which glides over the salty pad of his thumb and plummets straight to my core where my insides are quivering with need. I pull back and let his thumb pop from my mouth.

“You’ve got to be hungry.” I lift up on my tiptoes and press my lips to his. “I’m starving.” When my head falls to his chest, I look down at the tent in his pants. Who knew I had that kind of power over a man. Not just any man, but Daniel Nolan?

“Emily,” he growls. “Are you flirting with me?”

I step back and smile. “No, Daniel, I’m seducing you.” I run my hands up his chest and rest them on his shoulders. “I’ve never tried it.” I take another glance down at the bulge in his pants. “It seems to be working.”

“You’re a very bad girl.” He covers my mouth with his and kisses me like he did last night. The kiss becomes more. And for twenty minutes we explore each other’s mouths while our hands explore each other’s bodies. He is rock solid. Muscles tense under my touch but not in the way that says stop. No, Daniel’s body presses into mine. The way he pulls me against his erection says go. We break for a breath.

“Breakfast can wait.” He runs my palm down his chest to his burgeoning erection. “This can’t. I need you. Say no right now if you don’t want what I want.”

I wrap my hand around his hardness. I’ve only had two other cocks in my hand over my lifetime and neither felt like this. Even through his pants, I can tell he is a man of means. Long and thick and ready.

“What do you want, Daniel?” I’ve never played the seducer before, and it gives me power that makes me feel sexy.

“I want my cock buried in your tight pussy now.” He pulls up my dress, grips me under my ass, and lifts me like I weigh nothing. With my legs wrapped around his waist, I feel his hardness press against my already drenched panties. “Say yes.”

I have a moment of hesitation, but only because we’re outside in public. If it had been last night, I would have laid on the ground and offered myself up to him like a sacrifice under the light of the moon, but the broad daylight makes it different.

“Yes, but take me in the house. I don’t want the neighbors to get an eyeful.” He turns and heads straight for his room. “Aunt Amy definitely didn’t have this in mind when she said take care of my guest.”

“Thank God, I’d hate to hear this was a regular service. I want to believe this is special.” He kicks open the door to his bedroom and carries me straight to his bed where he sets me gently on the comforter. “I’d like to think that whatever this is between us—the attraction—the heat—the connection, is more than an amenity.” He leans over me, his arms flexing to keep his body above me.

I pull at his Henley until it catches at his arms, but I’m blessed with a vision straight from heaven. The man has pecs like granite and a stomach like a washboard. “God, you’re beautiful.” I run my fingers over the hills and ridges and watch goosebumps rise on his skin.

He pushes off the bed and pulls the shirt over his head. His tawny skin begs for my tongue so I lift up and run it over his hardened nipple. A hiss vibrates through the air.

“You need to be naked. Now.” He lifts my dress over my head leaving me in white panties and a bra but his eyes dance over my body like I’m wearing red lace and stilettos. I’ve never felt so wanton or wanted.

“What about you?” I tug at the button of his jeans until it pops free, and the zipper gives up its fight to stay closed. “Commando?” His pants fall to the floor revealing naked narrow hips and a massive cock. He is a piece of art with fine lines and form like a sculptor created him.

His hands travel to the hook of my bra and seconds later, it’s gone. “I want you naked, Emily,” His long artists fingers slip under the elastic of my underpants and tug until the white silky material moves down my legs and disappears with a toss. “You’re so beautiful.”

I’m a canvas and his eyes paint me with lust.

“Are you protected?” His voice was sex and sandpaper rubbing against my senses.

Lost in the amethyst heat of his eyes, it takes a second to process his question. “Birth control,” I blurt out. “Yes, I’m good but what about—”

The bed dips as he climbs between my legs. “Over two years celibate. You?”

I counted the months since I’d let a man inside of me and it turns out to be years. “Same.” I can’t believe I’m lying here naked with Daniel Nolan, and yet there is nowhere I’d rather be. Whether this lasts a day, a week, or longer, I won’t regret this moment.

He sucks in a breath and smiles. “Unbelievable.”

I rise up on my elbows. “No, really it’s—”

“Emily, I believe you, it’s just unbelievable that someone as desirable as you can be single and sexless for years. Let’s remedy that, okay?” His eyes search mine for an answer.

“Yes, okay.” My breathing labors and the man hasn’t touched me yet. I can almost come just thinking about us being together. If he makes love as well as he kisses, I’m in good hands.

Kneeling between my open thighs he stares at me like I’m a Picasso or a Rubens. His hands move between my legs to stroke my heat. Slick and wet, his fingers slide through my folds making my heart stop for a beat, then flutter fast like a hummingbird. I fall back to the bed with a moan.

“Oh. It’s been way too long.” I take in a deep breath and reach for his cock, wanting him to feel the bliss I feel.

He grips my hand and stops my motion. “Not yet. I fear it’s been too long for me too. You first and then us together.”

Soft lips kiss my breasts, circling my nipples but never touching them. I writhe and move, trying to put myself in the exact spot his mouth will touch next, but he’s always one move ahead of my sex-fuddled brain.

“Daniel please,” I beg. And he gives me what I crave when his mouth latches onto my rock-hard, ready nipple. He tugs it between his lips and rolls it gently between his teeth until a bolt of pleasure seizes my sex, and I begin to shake.

“So responsive.” He moves to the other nipple and nips and sucks at it until sounds I don’t recognize as mine come from my lips. Hungry. Needy. Desperate. Who am I? I’m the woman who’s sleeping with Daniel Nolan—today. My heart aches that it might just be once, but he did say, let’s see where this takes us. And right now it’s taking us to his bed with him poised over me.

His lips trace down my stomach, teasing me, tasting my skin until he covers my sex with his mouth and I jerk against him. His hot strokes are slow at first but intensify. Within minutes he plunges a finger inside me followed by another. He isn't only a master with a paintbrush, but he has unequaled skills with his tongue and fingers.

I clutch the sheets and toss my head back and forth. The tingle begins in my toes and surges into my belly where it swirls and coils into a tight knot of fire. My thighs shake and my moans become a long string of pleasure sounds. When he crooks his fingers and rubs that magic spot inside, I come undone. Daniel doesn’t relent until he pulls every last quiver from me.

“Come here.” I thread my fingers through his hair and drag him up my body where his lips brush against mine. My taste is on his tongue. His cock pulses at my entrance.

“Are you sure?” He is knocking at my door and now he’s asking?

“Yes. I’ve never been more sure of anything.” When my hands grasp the globes of his stone-like ass, he slides forward, pressing slowly into my body.

He throws his head back and lets out a soft groan. “Fucking heaven.”

His thickness fills me inch by inch while I groan and grasp at him, wanting him deep inside me. “So fucking good, Emily. Perfect.”

He thrusts slowly into me, stretching me, filling me. Kissing me tenderly like he’s making love to me. For a minute I’m jealous of his deceased wife who had him for years, but I let that go because I have him now.

“So good, Daniel. It’s so good.” Ragged breaths cause my head to spin. My hips rise to meet his thrusts. Our skin slaps against each other’s, and it’s magical. The heat builds inside me. I rock with him in a rhythm that we create. Our pace increases until the headboard slams against the wall and I beg him for release. “Please. Please. Please.”

He continues the pace and rhythm until my body stiffens and I plunge over the edge, screaming his name. His whole name. “Daniel Nolan,” bounces off the walls while my pussy squeezes him hard and tight.

“I’m here, beautiful.” He thrusts harder and deeper while I watch his face tighten along with his body, and on the last plunge, he groans a beautiful sound followed by a whisper. “Emily, you’re the one.”

The one? What the heck does that mean? Figuring it is senseless words said in a moment of bliss, I let the words go, but I wonder what it would be like to be Daniel’s one.

He drops to the bed beside me, his breath labored, his brow beaded with sweat. With his head buried in the crook of my neck, he kisses me there and whispers, “That was amazing, sweetheart.” His hands roam my body until he slips his arm around me.

I scootch back until our bodies are spooned. “Epic,” I say.

Moments later, his breathing slows and his hand falls away. Daniel Nolan is fast asleep. I roll over and watch the man who just ruined me for all others. With little experience, I never had earth-shattering sex. In fact I thought it was a myth, but now I know better.

His long lashes sit on his cheeks and his eyes move behind his lids. What does Daniel Nolan dream about when he sleeps? Over his shoulder, I notice the canvas sitting on the easel. It’s the same model he told me he’s been painting for years. Her body is round and curved. Her breasts are full and ripe, but this woman has my face. I pull the cover around me, slip from the bed, and make my way to the painting.

He’s captured my eyes, my mouth, my hair. He even got the little mole that sits above my lip perfectly. My mom used to tell me it’s where the angels kissed me at my birth.

Instead of being wrapped in a swath of red, I’m wrapped, or I should say his muse is wrapped in flowers and vines. Upon closer look, they are the flowers I cared for in the garden yesterday.

The sheets rustle behind me. “Is it weird?”

I glance over my shoulder at him. He is so damn hot. How could I be weirded out that he put me on his canvas? “No, it’s flattering.”

“It’s been you. It’s always been you.” He lifts from the bed and walks to the dresser to pick up a folder. His cock, long and thick, hangs against his thigh.

“What’s been me?”

He points to the canvas. “Her. You. I’ve been dreaming about you for years.”

“Impossible.” There is no way I am the woman of his dreams. I am a simple schoolteacher with little to offer a man like him but my love and body.

“Humor me. Drop the blanket and turn your back to me.” With his free hand he grips the cover and tugs it loose, then hands me the folder.

I can feel his eyes on my body, Then I feel his fingers trace a spot at the small of my back. It is the other place the angels kissed me. That kiss was longer and larger and left a birthmark in the shape of a heart on my skin.

I open the folder and thumb through sketch upon sketch of a woman. This time she is completely nude. In each sketch she has a heart tattooed on the small of her back. Or what I thought was a tattoo. He is right. It is my birthmark drawn to perfection all the way down to the little hook at the point of the heart.

“You’re mine, Emily. I knew it the moment I saw you. Actually, I felt it. I feel it. Do you feel it?”

Six

Daniel

“I do feel it,” she whispers.

Holy shit. I found her. Marie told me she was out there. She told me not to settle for anything less than my muse, but I thought she was being metaphorical.

My cock throbs. My heart races. I watch Emily for a reaction. She looks at the painting. She looks at me. Back to the painting. Her head drops to my dick.

“Are you going to waste that?” She licks her lips and smiles.

Impossible as it sounds, I’m in love with this woman. “I never waste.” On the floor in front of her portrait, I claim my muse—my woman. She is created for me. Every inch of her body has been threading through my mind and soul for years.

I love her slowly and thoroughly until I pull another orgasm from her beautiful body. Just as I reach mine, I tell her that I’ll love her forever, then I blanket her body with mine.

“Kind of early to declare undying love, don’t you think?” Her fingers trace over my back leaving gooseflesh where they touch.

“Sweetheart. You’ll have to catch up. I’ve known you for years.” I roll to the side and prop myself up on one elbow. “You’ve been inside of me since I can remember.”

She laughs a little. “You’ve been inside of me twice. I’m sure I’ll remember that for a long time.”

I kiss the tip of her nose. “How about I keep reminding you?”

“Promise?” Her stomach growls loudly, reminding me that we never ate.

“It’s a guarantee, but you’re going to need sustenance to keep up.”

“Keep up? Are you sure you can being you’re so old?”

I think about her jest at my age, but it doesn’t bother me because when I’m with her, I feel twenty. “Isn’t there a quiche waiting for us?” I rise from the floor offering my hand to help Emily up. I turn her toward the bathroom and pat her luscious ass. “Let’s shower and then eat.” My eyes stay trained on the mark I’ve searched for for years.

* * *

Emily is in the garden picking peppermint for soap. I’m in the Gazebo with a fresh canvas and my paint. She fills a woven basket full of fragrant green leaves. Sweaty tendrils of dark hair stick to her forehead. I’ve never seen anything so sexy.

“You’re making me hard again.” I peek around the canvas.

She drops her shears, plants her hands on her hips, and looks at me. “You’re insatiable.”

With Emily I am. I feel like a teenager with a refractory period of minutes. “I’m smitten.” I reach down and adjust my rock hard dick. It’s a good thing I’m hidden by the canvas or she might run and hide. I want her again. I need her again, but she needs time to recover from this morning.

“You’re silly, but I love it.” Her voice dances on the wind to my ears.

“And someday you’ll love me.” Earning her love is my one and only goal. Well, that and getting her back in bed with me buried deep inside her body. It’s the only place I feel complete.

“Daniel Nolan, are you seducing me again with promises of love and more?” She walks to the gazebo and picks up the condensation-covered glass and sips at the lemonade she poured earlier.

“Is it working?” I set down my paintbrush to take her in my arms. She barely has time to set the glass down before my lips are on hers, tasting every part of her mouth I can reach with my tongue. She’s sweetness and sex poured into a perfect package. I reach down and pinch the head of my cock, hoping the pain will ease my need.

She breaks the kiss at my movement. Her eyes follow my hand to the tent in my pants. In seconds, she drops to her knees to tug at my zipper.

“You don’t have to do that.” I say the words so she knows she can stop, but I hope she doesn’t. When her kiss swollen lips wrap around my cock, I’m lost. If I thought I was a goner before, I am totally and completely hers now. She literally has me by the balls. Her hand cups them while she takes me in, inch by inch.

My knees grow weak, and I stumble back until the back of my knees meets the metal chair. Emily crawls along with me, never breaking the suction that holds me captive. The sensitive head of my dick hits the back of her throat. Then she does something I never expect. She shifts and swallows me. In and out I make love to her mouth. Her tongue strokes the pulsing vein until I teeter on the edge.

“Baby, let me go.” My hands thread through her hair. I thrust and pull, not sure to tug her forward or push her back. “I’m going to come.”

She drops my balls and grabs my ass until I’m deep inside her throat. It’s when her mouth vibrates with a moan that I come hard and fast down her throat. Each pulse shoots straight from my heart. “God, I’ve never.”

When I’m empty, she pulls back and says with a giggle, “I’m sure that’s not true.”

I lift her to her feet and pull her to my chest.

“Never like that. Never have I felt sex in my heart. My dick, yes. Never my heart.” I hold her to my chest and squeeze her tight like I might lose her.

“You keep talking to me like that, and I’ll be in love by the end of the day.” Her head rests on my chest. I hope she hears that it beats for her.

“That’s the goal, then. By midnight you’ll love me forever.” It is an unreasonable goal to make but something tells me the universe is on my side. Fate led me here after I’d been absent for years. Surely, this is meant to be. I tuck myself back into my pants so I can hold a serious conversation. It’s hard to do when my dick is out. “Let’s start with dinner. We’re going out. How about Italian?”

“That’s my favorite.” She squeals with delight.

We walk back to the house. My canvas in one hand, Emily’s ass cheek gripped in the other.

“Lasagna or ravioli?” I turn to her and lift my brow.

“Why do I feel like my answer is a deal breaker if I choose wrong?” She tucks her hand into my back pocket while we walk the winding walkway to the house.

“You can’t be wrong. It’s just a question.” I open the door and follow her into the kitchen. A ringing phone sends her bolting for the landline.

“Amy’s Bed and Breakfast,” she says with a happy voice. I hope I put that happiness there.

I set the canvas on the table and come up behind her to kiss her neck. She ducks and moves to the side, avoiding my lips altogether.

“Aunt Amy.” She swings around with big eyes and an open mouth that I want to kiss. “Yes, everything is great.” She mouths the words, behave yourself. Of course she doesn’t know me well enough to understand that I can’t pass up a moment like this.

I drop to my knees and yank her jeans and panties down her hips. She squirms, but with my hands firmly holding her in place, she has nowhere to go.

“Yes, he’s here.” She squeaks.

I spread her legs and swipe my tongue through her slick folds and across her clit.

Her voice raises an octave. “Oh my God,” she moans. She clears her throat and continues. “No nothing is wrong. I almost burned myself that’s all. I’m making soap today.” She looks down at me and rolls her eyes. I bury my face between her legs and suck her hard, little nub into my mouth.

Amy’s voice muffles while Emily’s voice reaches pitches not normally found in everyday normal conversation. Her knees shake until she gives up and slides down the wall to the hardwood floor.

It’s there, that I eat her like a starving man at a buffet.

“I’ve…got…to…go…Aunt Amy. Something’s about to boil over.” Emily opens her legs wider so I can slip my tongue inside her. Her honey drips from her core where I lap it up like it’s life’s elixir. “Y…y…yes, I think he’s happy.”

I lift my head and nod in agreement.

“I really need to come. I mean go.” She presses the end button and tosses the phone to the side. Her muscles tense and start to quiver and then she comes against my mouth, covering my lips with her sweet nectar.

Lying on the kitchen floor, Emily is as limp as a strand of spaghetti. I pick her up and carry her to my bed where she curls around a pillow and falls asleep.

I spend the next hour sketching her. When she wakes up, she glows like a woman in love.

“What are you doing?” She stretches and the blanket falls down, revealing the heart that proves she’s mine.

“What I do best. I’m drawing you.” I thumb through a few pages and come to the one I scribbled first.

I hand over the caricature of her with a plate of lasagna in one hand and a plate of ravioli in the other. Hovering above her head is a question mark.

“Really? We’re back to food.”

“I need to know if I have to pack up and leave, or if I can stay and convince you to love me.”

She pulls herself to a sitting position and leans against the dark wood of the headboard. Her alabaster skin is a stark contrast to the wood. Its softness, the exact opposite of the hard walnut.

She looks at the picture then sets it down beside her. “It depends on the ravioli. If it’s squash or pumpkin I’ll pass, but fill it full of sausage and cheese, and I’m there. The same goes with lasagna, add spinach and it’s out, but layer it with ground beef, ricotta cheese and lots of sauce and it’s a winner.” She rolls over to expose her bottom. “You don’t keep an ass like this by eating vegetarian.” Her how-did-I-do look pins me in place. She truly is beautiful. Red lips and gem-like eyes.

“I love you, Emily. I already fucking love you.”

“Daniel Nolan, you had me at hello.”

“Stealing movie lines now? Don’t I deserve something original?” The bed dips when I sit beside her.

She looks at the ceiling as if originality is written in the popcorn texture. Maybe it is, because she leans into me and says, “I’d give up Candy Crush for you, and that’s a big deal because I love that game.”

I laugh like I haven’t in years. “I’m going to have to up my game if I’m only at video game level.”

She presses her lips close to mine. “You don’t understand. Candy Crush is my obsession. It’s my only addiction. I love you more already.” Then her lips press against mine for a lingering kiss.

It would be so easy to climb into bed and curl around her, but we need cheesy pasta and red wine, and I need to Google this Candy Crush thing.

It takes her twenty minutes to change and when she comes into the living room, I gasp. Her hair shines like polished onyx and her lips are glossed and kissable, but it’s her smile that stops my breath. I’ll do anything to be the recipient of that smile every day.

I look around the living room filled with homey antiques and fall in love with the inn again, but it has nothing to do with the furniture, the decorations, or the art. It has everything to do with one woman—the only woman for me.

Seven

Emily

Daniel climbs into bed with a plate of two-day-old warmed over lasagna. It isn’t a traditional breakfast, but it is super yummy for two reasons. First, because Daniel brought me breakfast in bed, and second because it’s lasagna with ground beef and ricotta and cheese and sauce.

He feeds me forkful by forkful. When the plate is empty, he makes love to me with such care. Daniel is head-over-hills in love with me. Despite my doubt about fate, I feel the same. He burrows deeper into my heart with each second.

“What are we doing today?” He asks while brushing my shoulder with soft kisses. The sun has been up for hours but we are still happily in bed.

His is a silly question because we do the same thing every day. We spend hours talking. Hours making love. Hours lying in each other’s arms.

“Oh, I don’t know. I thought I’d change it up today and actually do something like make soap and body scrubs while you do something like paint.” She turns and buries her head against my chest.

“Sounds boring. I think we should get dressed, take a ride to the county courthouse and get hitched.”

God, I loved the way his eyes light up when he talks about a life for us. It’s been less than a week since we met. If you asked me days ago where I’d be in a week or a year or ten, I would have told you I hadn’t a clue, but ask me today, and I’ll tell you I’ll be with Daniel no matter where that takes me.

“Is that the best you can do?” I tease. The blanket falls to my waist exposing my breasts. He doesn’t take his eyes off mine once. He slides naked from the bed to the floor. He turns me to face him. Bare ass naked at the edge of the bed, Daniel Nolan balances on a knee with his cock hanging heavy between his legs and takes my hands in his.

He looks deep into my eyes and says, “Emily Dewhurst, we are anything but practical. I loved you before I met you. I breathe in your scent and I’m lost. I hear your laughter and I’m happy. Make me happier by marrying me.” He reminds me of a fourth grader asking for extra recess time.

“That was perfect.” Truly, what man romances you with a ‘let’s get hitched’ followed by a romantic declaration of love? “What about my aunt? She’s my only living relative.” Amy would kill me if she isn’t at my wedding.

“If your parents were alive, I would have asked your father for your hand. I promise we’ll do it right when Amy gets back. White dress, flowers, cake and champagne. You can have it all. Say yes.”

My head nods and before the words come out of my mouth, Daniel has me flat on my back. He’s inside of me, claiming me like he does each time we make love.

“Yes,” I sigh against his lips.

I didn’t think sex could get any better, but when Daniel makes love to me this time, it’s different. He will be the only man I’ll ever love. Somehow my heart knew that the minute I opened the door.

“I love you, Emily.”

“I love you too, Daniel.”

Stroke upon stroke the heat builds inside me. While orgasms generally start in my toes and work their way up, this one starts with a twist in my heart and works its way down. The pulsing beat of my heart throbs in my sex.

Already long and thick, Daniel seems to grow and expand until I’m ready to bust. My body quivers as he rubs his body against mine. Prickles of tension flare when he presses deep inside me. The first hot splash of his seed sends me over the edge, pulsing and gripping him until we both lay sated in each other’s arms.

* * *

There isn’t a moment of hesitation when we walk into the courthouse. Daniel looks sexy in his suit. He says he doesn’t know why he brought it, just thought he needed it. I’m dressed in the yellow sundress Daniel loves. We hold hands while the judge says all the words that will bind us for life. There’s no ring. No flowers. It’s him and me and the cleaning lady we asked to witness our union.

When we walk out of the courthouse, I’m Mrs. Daniel Nolan.

Our “honeymoon” is spent making soaps and scrubs. Turns out Daniel is crafty, and by nightfall we both smell like Citrus and mint. Our wedding dinner is take out Thai food. Our night is spent loving and holding each other.

An odd mix of linseed oil and coffee wakes me. At his easel, Daniel swipes the palette and the canvas like he’s on fast-forward.

I stretch my arms above my head and groan. My body aches everywhere in a delicious way. “What are you doing?”

“Painting my wife.” He turns the canvas around, and I intake a sharp breath. He captured me in sleep. My lips parted. My hair splayed across the pillow. My breasts barely covered with the silken sheet.

“Are you going to try to sell these?”

He drops the paintbrush to his palette and joins me on the bed. “Those are for my eyes only. I’m not sharing you with anyone except our future children.” Balancing the hot coffee under my mouth, he offers me a drink.

I take a sip. “You want children?” Those are the things most people discuss before they get married. Children, religion, finances.

“I want your belly swollen with my child, Emily.” He presses the mug into my hand and lays his head on my bare stomach. “Someday my son and daughter will be here.” He kisses me across the sensitive skin.

“I want children too. At least two, but what if I didn’t? We have so much to discuss.”

“Let me know when you’re ready. Until then we can practice.” He grabs the edge of his T-shirt and pulls it up, but the doorbell stops his progress. “Perfect timing, stay here, sweetheart.” He yanks the hem of his shirt down and all but jogs to the door.

I hear voices and laughter and the door shut.

A few minutes later, Daniel shows up with a mini wedding cake and a small blue velvet box. “You should have had this yesterday, but I couldn’t wait to marry you.”

The cake sits on the nightstand while he sits next to me and opens the box.

A massive heart-shaped solitaire sits next to two plain gold bands. “Oh. My. God. Can you afford this?” I touch the diamond like it’s hot.

He slides the ring from the box and puts it on my finger. A perfect fit. “You're right, we should have talked about a few things. First, I can afford this. Second, we’re rich.” He glides the plain gold band on my finger nudging it close to the solitaire and hands me the larger band to put on his finger.

“We’re rich?”

A tear falls from my eye as I slide the ring onto his finger. For some reason this one act makes it real.

“I love that your Google search wasn’t thorough. Any idea what one of my paintings sells for?”

I shake my head. “I have no idea.”

He lifts my hand and the diamond catches the light streaming in from the window. “I could buy two of these each time I sell a painting. And baby, this is four carats.”

My mouth drops open wide enough for my chin to touch my chest. “I make forty-two thousand dollars a year,” I tell him. Which probably isn't enough to buy this diamond, nonetheless the whole set.

“Work because you love it, but you’ll never have to work again if you don’t want to.”

I climb into his lap and press my naked chest to his clothed one. “How did I get so lucky?”

He grabs my ass and pulls me tight. “An angel kissed you and sent me to you.”

The rest of the day is spent in bed because that’s what newlyweds do. They fuck like rabbits.

* * *

Two more days pass in sweet marital bliss. “Your aunt comes back tomorrow afternoon, right?”

I chew my lip because I haven’t figured out how to tell her that while she was gone, I slept with a guest and married him. She did tell me to make sure he became a regular again, and I could guarantee that with certainty.

“Yes, she should be home around noon.”

Over the past week, Daniel helped me bottle enough sugar scrub and bag enough soaps for the year.

We settle into a quiet night, drinking wine in the gazebo under twinkling lights. “You’ve given me everything this week, but can I ask for something more?” I ask.

“You want more?”

“Just a little. I came to Vail during the off season with nothing but a recipe for soap, and I ended up with a wonderful husband who’s an artist and a fantastic lover.”

“Ask me anything and I’ll give it to you.”

I pull my phone from my pocket and hand it to him. The screen comes to life showing brightly lit treats. “I need to get past level twenty-three.”

He laughs at me. “I offer you the world and all you want is to advance one level in a game? I love you, Emily. Life will never be boring.”

We’re at level thirty-two before we find our fingers are better used exploring each other than pushing a few keys. The night ends with him groaning my name. Not Emily, but Mrs. Nolan.

Eight

Daniel

Waking up to Emily is pure bliss. She’s everything in one package. I slip the sheet past her waist and draw soft circles on the skin of her perfect ass.

“You’re tickling me.” She turns her head to me and blows her hair from in front of her face.

“I’m memorizing you.” I brush her hair away from her face with my free hand and stare into her eyes.

“You better not be thinking of painting a picture of my ass.”

“Sweetheart, I’ve painted your ass a hundred times, I just didn’t know it was your ass until this week.” I trace up one globe and outline her birthmark.

“My parents would have loved you.”

“You think?”

“Yes, I do.” She rolls over and pulls me on top of her.

“You’re insatiable.” I nibble on her neck which causes her to giggle loudly.

“Oh shit.” A scream comes from the doorway.

We bolt up and look to the door.

“Aunt Amy.” Emily gasps as she grabs the sheet and wraps it around her. “You’re not supposed to be back until later today.”

Amy looks at her niece and then back to me. I’m shocked into paralysis. My hard-on stands at attention but with each second that passes I feel the blood drain from my dick and go directly to my face.

“You’re sleeping with my niece?”

I pick up the pillow and hold it in front of my body. “No, I’m sleeping with my wife.”

Aunt Amy drops a bag of Crunchie Bars on the floor. “What the hell is going on here?”

My lovely wife looks at me and laughs—she laughs. “Aunt Amy, go into the kitchen, and I’ll be right there.”

She turns to me. “Daniel, get dressed.” She looks down at the pillow. “That’s for my eyes only.”

Amy turns and tramps down the hallway.

“I’ll handle this, Emily.” I pick up my jeans and drag them on. My heart is racing, but it’s not from excitement or love. It’s pure unadulterated fear. I saw the look in Amy’s eyes. If the woman had had a weapon, I’d be dead.

“Nope, we’ll handle it. That’s what couples do. They work in tandem to make life all right.”

She’s not only pretty as a peach, but she’s smart, and I’m grateful.

A few minutes later, we are sipping Earl Grey in the kitchen and explaining to Aunt Amy how fate took over.

“My only niece, and I didn't get to see her married.” She wipes at a fake tear in her eye.

“We’re going to have a wedding. I was thinking about marrying Emily right here at the inn, under the gazebo.”

“Yes,” Emily says. “A small wedding in the garden.”

Aunt Amy sits back in the rickety cane chair. “So does this mean I get a Daniel Nolan original to hang over my fireplace?”

I hold Emily’s hand. “Of course, you’re family.”

Epilogue One

I stand in front of the mirror and rub my hands over my silk dress. I turn from side to side wondering if one side looks thinner than the other. At five months pregnant my baby bump can’t be missed.

Outside, a hundred guest gather to watch Daniel and I say the words once again. The best two words I’ve ever said in my life.

“I do.”

Instead of a veil, I have a halo of flowers that symbolizes my angel parents. If they were here, they would be ecstatic. Daniel is everything my father would have wanted for me. All my mom ever wanted was for me to be happy.

Daniel and I talk a lot about the people we lost. We make them part of our lives so they remain in spirit.

Amy peeks her head in the door. “Are you ready?”

“Of course.” The pink gloss on my lips is Daniel’s favorite. It’s strawberries and cream. I hope I can keep some of it on for the kiss.

“So many people came.” Amy tucks a stray hair behind my ear. “Artists, and politicians, and movie stars.”

My aunt lost her shock of us being married as soon as Daniel told her he’ll keep her inn full all year long if that’s what she wants. My husband has all kinds of connections. It appears he dabbles in more than paint. He’s a wizard at the stock market. He invests in indie films. Now he teaches art one day a month at my school.

Speak of the devil, Mr. Hot and Sexy enters the room. “Can I have a moment alone with my wife?”

“You’re not supposed to see her before the wedding.” Amy shakes her head and walks out grumbling about doing it all wrong.

“You look stunning.” He says before he drops to his knees in front of me.

“You’ve already asked, and I’ve already said yes. I have a legal document saying I’m already your wife, so there's no need to kneel.”

Daniel looks around the room with a smile. “It was in this room where I first made love to you. This room where I started to paint again. This room where I lost my heart to a beautiful fourth grade teacher.”

I step back to the bed and slide my hand across the comforter. “It’s here where you made love to me. Here where you declared I am yours. Here where you proposed in that Daniel Nolan way. ‘Let’s get hitched, baby.’”

Daniel lifts my dress and crawls underneath the layer of silk. He knows I’m in thigh highs and nothing else. He bought them for me.

“Open for me, sweetheart. I want to paint you with my tongue.”

I’m weak when it comes to Daniel and his painting. Not caring anymore if there is a wrinkle in my dress or flowers left in my hair I fall back to the bed and scrunch my dress up to my waist. All I care about right now is feeling the tension of the day roll away on the back of an earth-shattering orgasm.

His hot tongue runs the length of my slit. He dips inside me again and again. Sucks the hardened nub of my clit into his mouth and rolls it between his lips. The damn man knows exactly how to paint my body. He knows where to put a firm stroke. Where to put a light dab. Where I need swipe after swipe until my body shakes and shudders.

“Oh. God. Daniel. You need to fuck me right now.”

He dips his fingers inside me. In and out he pushes and pulls until I’m writhing and moaning. His fingertips curl forward in that perfect way. Deep inside, he massages me until I shatter into a thousand different colored pieces.

His belt jingles and his zipper clicks down one tooth at a time. His cock breaks free because my husband doesn’t believe in underwear. When he slides inside me, nothing else matters. It’s him and me and a knock on the door.

“What?” he yells. Daniel is at full thrust, with his jaw tense. We are both on the edge of a wonderful release.

“It’s time.” Aunt Amy says.

“Yes, it is,” I cry out. “We’re coming.” And we both did.

Epilogue Two

Emily – Five Years Later

For a week every summer, the Nolans vacation in Vail. This year, the inn is full with Daniel and I, four-year-old Chloe and two-year-old Ruben, named after the artist.

In one hand, I hold a pitcher of lemonade. In the other a positive pregnancy test. Daniel loves to practice. I’m going to have to break the facts to him. Not only is he a master painter, he’s a master producer.

Roses scent the air on my journey to the pond, where my family stands in front of easels doing what they do. Daniel is in the center painting a landscape. It’s not his favorite thing these days. It’s the thing he does to put money in the bank. His favorite thing is to paint me. We have a room full of nudes and partial nudes. Me in the morning, afternoon, and evening. Me pregnant. Me breastfeeding. Me. Me. Me. Why? Because it’s Daniel, and I’m his muse.

“Mommy’s here,” Daniel says after he sets down his paintbrush. “And she’s brought gifts.”

I set the pitcher of lemonade on the picnic table but palm the plastic test strip.

Back at the easels, I inspect the canvases like a connoisseur. Daniel's is stunning. He’s captured the peaceful tranquility of the pond and in the ripple of the water he’s hidden a heart. It’s the heart that made me his and he sticks one in every picture he paints.

Chloe is graduating from stick figures to shapes. I can see the rough outline of a pine tree. On the trunk is a smiley face because Chloe is a happy little girl.

Ruben is a whole other story. He’ll probably never paint like his namesake, but with his scribbles and bright colors he shows promise in the abstract art world. Who knows, Daniel and I might have produced the next Kandinsky.

“What do you think?” My husband’s chest puffs with pride.

I unfold my hand to show him the clearly pregnant result. “I think we’ll need another easel.”

Make Me Wet-Sneak Peek

Chapter One

Libby

I pull the suitcase behind me until the man at the bottom of the gangway takes it. I look at him suspiciously, not because I think he’ll do anything to my suitcase but because it means I’m doing this. I’m boarding a floating hotel for a week. I can’t swim, and I don’t like the water, and yet in hours I’ll be surrounded by it.

“Aren’t you excited?” My sister Justice hops up and down like a kid who’s eaten her entire bounty of Halloween candy in one sitting. “Come on Libby, let’s go.”

She tugs on my arm and drags me up the white walkway to the ship entrance. At the top stand two men wearing white navy-like uniforms.

I stop in front of the man with the most gold stripes on his shoulders. “Shouldn’t you be in the bridge doing cross checks or something?” I know nothing about steering a ship, but I imagine the captain’s time is better spent doing more important things than greeting the cruisers.

“Captain Christos is already on the bridge. I’m the staff captain, Nicholas Demos.” He holds out his hand. “Welcome aboard the Southern Cross.”

I give him a quick shake and run after my sister who has already found the bar up ahead. I’ve done my homework. I looked up the safety record of Cross Cruises and they don’t have one blemish on their record. I tried to find some reason not to be my sister’s plus-one, but there wasn’t one valid excuse I could come up with. However, if I’m being honest with myself, I have to admit that I’m excited to do something new, although I prefer to be on land.

Justice shoves a pink drink with a paper umbrella floating at the top into my hand. “It’s called Sex on the Beach, and if you’re lucky, you’ll get that in human form.” She clinks her glass against mine. “Here’s to hot men and happy vaginas.”

I look around to make sure no one is looking at us. My sister has no filter. She blurts out whatever comes to her mouth. She lives on the edge, but so do I. I’m on the edge looking over at everyone having fun. She’s the one on the edge jumping in to the fray.

“Cheers.” I say.

“Did you bring Mr. Dependable?” She knows I’m not hooking up with anyone. If I’m going to have sexy time, it will be between my vibrator and me. It never complains, is always ready, and doesn’t snore.

“Stop it. I’m not talking sex with you in public.” I turn around and lean against the bar, realizing it’s the perfect place to hang out and watch everyone come on board. I excel at looking—not doing.

My head shifts between my sister and the men walking up the gangway. I know her. She is taking mental notes. She puts people into groups by fuckability. There’s the ‘yes’ group, the ‘no’ group, and the ‘probably after I’m shit-face drunk’ group.

I sip on the only Sex on the Beach I’m getting on this cruise and play along with her, trying to figure out who I’d put in the yes group if I were that girl.

No to the guy in Bermuda shorts with legs as hairy as King Kong.

No to the guy who’s already wearing the pink Zinc sunblock on his nose.

Hell no to the guy with the T-shirt that reads, I hear you’re looking for a stud. Well, I've got the STD, and all I need is you. I shudder at the thought.

There wasn’t a lack of men coming aboard because this was a singles cruise. There wasn’t a lack of women either. People travel in packs? The men come in pairs or quartets and women travel in six-packs like tightly contained cans of beers just waiting for a sexy beast to pluck one of them loose.

“You remember the ‘do not enter’ code, right?”

I let out an exasperated sigh. “Yes, red beads on the door mean stop.” Justice brought her Mardi Gras beads for that purpose alone.

I hope the lawn chairs are comfortable because I have a feeling I’ll be spending a lot of time in one.

A man approaches her right side and Justice walks away without another thought about me.

Up ahead, a total hunk walks alone toward the bar. He looks comfortable in his white pants and dock shoes. His blue linen shirt hangs perfectly over his slim hips. I swear I’ve seen him on the cover of a magazine. He looks like a model but has the aura of a pirate. An older, sexy-as-hell pirate.

He walks straight toward me and my heart pounds in my chest. When he reaches the bar, he shakes the bartender’s hand like they’re old friends. “Can you send someone with coffee to my room?”

I stare at the man who is so close I can feel the heat from his body, or maybe that’s my core temperature rising because he’s so damn hot. His eyes are the color of new-bloomed clover—a green that can only come from nature. I find myself leaning toward him. He smells like sandalwood and sunshine.

“Can I help you?” He looks down at me, and smiles.

I want to sink into the gold carpet and disappear. The man caught me sniffing him. “No, I was just…” Oh, what the hell. “What kind of cologne do you wear?”

He places an elbow on the bar and leans casually against it. “Do you like it?” His smile is disarming. The kind of smile that makes a girl’s panties wet.

“No.”

“No?” He lifts his eyes and the corner of his lips fall into a frown.

I can feel the heat of my embarrassment rush to my cheeks. “Yes.”

“What is it? Yes or No?”

“It’s a yes. I like it very much.” So much that the burn of my embarrassment takes a dive and settles between my legs. If he doesn’t leave me soon, I’ll be rushing to my room and hanging the red beads from the door handle so I can get better acquainted with Mr. Dependable. My life is pathetic.

“That’s good to hear. It’s a custom blend that I’ve recently started wearing.” He looks me up and down and my pussy begins to pulse in time with my heartbeat.

“I’m Asa, what’s your name?”

For a minute I can’t remember. The man muddles my brain.

“You do have a name. You have to have one to get a passport, which you needed to get on the ship.”

I shake my head trying to jumble a few brain cells together. “Of course I have a name. I’m Libby Ferall.” I offer him my hand, which is a mistake because the minute he touches me, my knees buckle. I grip the bar with my free hand and try to cover my stumble by saying, “I don’t have my sea legs yet.”

He cocks his head to the left. “We haven’t left port. You’re in real trouble if you’re feeling it already.” He looks at my half-empty drink and whistles. I watch as his lips pucker up and wonder how they’d feel on my body. I swoon again, but this time he places his hands on my waist to steady me. I lean into him and steal another smell.

“You might want to limit those.” He nods toward my pink drink.

I reluctantly step back. “It’s my first.”

His eyes grow big and I notice that the green of his irises are ringed in the same gold color as the carpet. “Then maybe you should have another,” he teases. He waves to the bartender who mixes up another pink drink. He shoves a blue umbrella on the top and slides it across the bar to me.

“Do you think it’s wise?” I ask.

Asa leans in and whispers in my ear. “Wise isn’t always fun. Enjoy the cruise, Libby. I hope I see you again.” He swings to face the bartender. “Put that on my tab.”

“No, I can take care of it.” I push my room card toward the bartender.

Asa stops my progress by gripping both of my hands in his. “Libby, giving you an orgasm on the beach has been my greatest pleasure.”

My mouth drops open for a second. “No, it’s a Sex On the Beach. It has nothing to do with orgasms.”

He leans forward, kisses my cheek. “Then you’ve been doing it all wrong, sweetheart.” He turns and walks away.

I pick up the drink and empty the glass in three gulps. My intention is to cool off the fire that Asa built in me, but instead, the alcohol goes straight to my head. I say goodbye to the bartender and stumble my way to the elevator.

I enter and press floor eight—the concierge floor. The rooms are larger and the amenities more comprehensive. The only thing Justice’s free cruise doesn’t cover is alcohol, but after drinking my quota of sex-inspired drinks, I decide that water will be my drink of choice from here on out.

I sway down the long corridor until I’m standing in front of room 8096. No damn way. Red beads hang from the handle and a giggle sounds from behind the door. My sister is here to write a review for the travel blog she works for. I wonder if she’ll see anything besides the crisp white sheets of the bed. Part of me is annoyed and part of me is envious.

I pound on the door and say a little too loudly, “You better not be on my bed.” Something thunks against the door. That’s my signal to leave.

A few minutes later, I’m on the top deck where a band plays near the pool. I find an empty seat and take in the scene around me. Bikini-clad women dance around the edge of the pool while men shop the selection. The closer we get to sailing time, the more crowded the deck becomes. I search the area for Asa the Pirate, but he’s nowhere in sight.

Fifteen minutes later, Justice appears holding the hand of a pretty blond man. He’s the kind of man who beats you to the mirror every morning and borrows your flat iron and concealer. I have to give her credit though, she grabs life by the balls and, oh boy, does her life consist of lots of balls.

Justice scans the room looking for her next yes. Some would call her easy, but there’s nothing easy about Justice. She knows what she wants and goes after it. I wouldn’t call that easy. I’d call that motivated. Unfortunately, I don’t have the same drive in me.

I wave to grab her attention and she rushes over to me. “Oh, my God! What an amazing way to start a week.”

She waves her hand in front of her face like a fan. Her once perfectly-styled hair is mussed with that just-got-laid look and her eyes have that sleepy contented haze that I’ve never achieved.

“You didn’t screw him on my bed, did you?”

She rolls her eyes and smiles. “No, we did it on the desk.”

I gasp. “You know I have to work this week. I have a book to edit and I need that desk for work.”

She grabs her stomach, bends over and laughs. “I knew I could get you riled. We didn’t do it on the desk. In fact we didn’t do it at all, but that man has an appetite and I happily fed him.”

I put my fingers in my ears and make nonsense noise so I don’t have to hear her talk about the amazing oral abilities of Blondie.

The band continues to play and people continue to appear. Everyone but Asa. It’s ridiculous of me to focus on him. I’m not his type. I bet Asa is the type of man who has women tripping over their stilettos just to get in line to have a sliver of his time. He probably takes women who look like cover models to galas and functions every night, whereas I sit at home and edit other women’s fantasies.

Over the loud speaker, the Quarter Master announces a mandatory safety drill and tells everyone to meet in their muster stations for a briefing. I look down at my card and locate my area. It’s C-1, which I find out is the casino.

Half the people milling around the ship are already drunk, and I wonder how safe can a ship full of wasted people be, and then I remember that this ship has one crew member for every two guests. So at least there’s that.

Justice and I walk into the casino and take a seat at the blackjack table. Leaning against the Lucky Seven slot machine is Asa. That means he’s also in concierge class. Feeling like a stalker staring at him, I turn my seat around and wait for further instruction. It takes everything in me to not twist my neck to get another glimpse of the only man on my ‘yes’ list.

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Take Me-Sneak Peek

One

TABITHA

I have the greatest job ever. Which is odd because I’m the unluckiest girl in the world. Don’t believe me? In grade ten, I was on the debate team (yeah, I know, geek alert!), and I was on stage in front of the entire school, about to make my final speech about why plastic should be banned, when my shirt buttons decided to quit on me. I took a deep breath and ‘pop’! All of them. All at once. It was like they said, ‘Ready? Now!’ In front of twelve hundred kids.

Good thing I was wearing my oldest cotton bra that I had turned that sickly gray when I washed it with my black jeans the day before. It wasn’t even underwire, so I had that whole saggy boobs thing going on. That little incident earned me the nickname ‘Gray Boobs’. My last name is Gray, so that made it extra easy for the jerk who came up with it.

After that, I learned about the glories of good lingerie, which I had to hide from my super religious step-mom, Lorraine. She spent my teenage years telling me about the dangers of boys and sex and the diseases you can get from them. She’s so disgusted by the whole thing that I swear I don’t know if she’s ever had sex, even though she has three kids of her own. All boys. All dick-heads. Lorraine and her boys are the reason I’m still a virgin. Between the four of them, they managed to turn me off guys and sex right around the age when most girls are starting to get curious about those things.

My dad married her three months after my mom died. Told you I was unlucky. We lost Mom to type one diabetes when I was ten. My dad was working nights, so the two of us were having girls night in. She and I were going to snuggle up and watch Beauty and the Beast right after she had a quick shower. She kissed me on the top of my head and told me to work on my spelling until she came down. Twenty minutes later, I realized something was wrong and went up to find her. By then it was too late. She was already gone.

That’s when Lorraine swooped in and snapped up my dad. He was a cop. A good one. And a great dad. Generous, but careful enough with his money so that we had a pretty nice house and no debt. Lorraine and her boys moved in, all traces of my mom immediately disappeared, and I was suddenly part of our ‘new family’. Three years later, my dad died. He got shot trying to break up a domestic disturbance.

And that was that.

I was alone with Mother Mary, Huey, Dewey, and Ewey (the one who always had a finger jammed up his nose).

As soon as I finished high school, I packed my lacy unmentionables and got the hell out of Virginia for good. Gray Boobs has left the building. I went to Washington University where I got my degree in economics, then managed to score my new job. I work for Theo Breckenridge—you know the one—the man who owns half of the western seaboard, the airline bearing his name, and most of the skyscrapers in downtown Seattle.

Mr. Breckenridge put an ad in the newspaper (seriously, the freaking newspaper) looking for a ‘bright, fun assistant’ and I answered it. It had nothing to do with my degree, but after six months of trying to find work and discovering that an economics degree is basically useless in the real world, I was willing to do just about anything to avoid going home again.

I’ve been working for him for almost a year now, and it’s been incredible. First of all, it pays well as far as assistant jobs go. But it’s the perks that really make it amazing. Mr. Breckenridge is eighty-five years young, and he’s trying to decide which charities get his billions. I know that sounds kind of sad, but it’s not. First, he’s super healthy and with it, so it could be another decade (or even two) before he says his final farewell. Second, he’s so happy that it’s impossible not to feel good when you’re around him. He’s a bit of a dirty old man, and he makes passes at me here and there, things like, ‘would you like me to share my endowment with you, Tabitha? It’s very generous.’ Wink, wink. It doesn’t bother me though because he’s harmless, and he’s only joking.

Besides, it’s kind of flattering in a weird way. This is probably because other than my ancient boss, I’m not exactly popular with the men folk. I’m pretty average looking—I’m a curvy, short girl with auburn, naturally curly hair that has to be kept at chin-length or it goes hog wild. I’m also super awkward around men and end up tripping over my own foot or spilling soup all over my lap. This actually happened once on a blind date. Tomato soup. Date over.

Anyway, I’m sure I could do better with them if I weren’t so awkward. But I am, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to change it.

Okay, back to the perks. I get to travel the world checking out organizations that apply for his grants. I examine ten charities per year and Mr. B chooses one that gets the big money. And I mean big, like with eight zeros at the end of a two.

Because of this, everywhere I go, I get wined and dined by desperate people who would rub my feet if I asked (which I would never do because I’m not a total hag, and also my feet are super ticklish). They show me around, I carefully go through their books and create a report for Mr. Breckenridge.

So far in the past year, I’ve been to Japan, France, Slovenia (which is beautiful, by the way, and you should totally go), Iceland (amazing!), Peru, and Canada. (Side note: It’s true that Canadians are always super nice except for when they’re in line for double-doubles at Tim Horton’s and they’re late for work and you are at the front of that line asking too many questions, like, ‘what’s a double-double?’. Turns out it’s a coffee with two creams and two sugars.)

Okay, back to our story, right now I’m on the trip to end all trips, the one I’ve been waiting for my entire life. In exactly eleven minutes, I’m going to land in the very best place I can imagine. Tanzania. There is a conservation program there that submitted an application and I am about to spend three glorious weeks in the freaking Serengeti! I’ve spent the last twenty-two hours at airports and on planes, and I’m pretty sure I have noticeably bad B.O., and I haven’t slept a wink, but I don’t care. I’m filled with the most exciting energy I’ve ever known.

Africa is my dream. I’ve always—and I mean always—wanted to go there. Other girls played Barbies, but I played ‘safari adventure girl’ in my room by the hour. I even had one of those pith helmets. My mom bought it for me for my eighth birthday, along with a set of real binoculars (which are in my carry-on). The Lion King was by far my favorite cartoon growing up, and I’ve watched Out of Africa at least fifty times. And that video with Taylor Swift and Scott Eastwood (yum!)—you know the one—it makes me swoon every damn time I watch it. And now I get to be Taylor. Well, sort of. I’m not gorgeous like her, but still. Don’t laugh, but I even bought a big yellow gauzy scarf to hold up in the wind. I doubt I’ll actually do it, but you never know.

Two

GUNNER

“Yeah, I’m here.” I roll my eyes. I’m standing outside at the airport. It’s hot as fuck and I’m on the phone with my sister, Alicia, who loves micromanaging the shit out of everyone and everything. “Plane’s on time. She should land in ten.”

“Did you remember to bring water?”

“Yes, I picked up a pack of them on the way. They’re on ice in the jeep.” I try to control the edge in my voice because I know she’s just nervous. Everything makes her nervous, which is a strange quality for a woman who lives smack dab in the middle of the Serengeti, but she was born that way. I can still remember her tiny little fists balled up as she wailed night and day. I was only three at the time, but she cried so much that it’s burned into my memory.

To be honest, I’m not exactly what you’d call calm today, either. Today matters. I’m picking up a woman who, in the next three weeks, is going to decide if our wildlife conservation program will be given a grant big enough to keep us going for a lifetime or if we have to keep limping along with the resources we’ve got.

“What about some flowers? Maybe you should see if you can get some—”

“I’m not buying her flowers. For Christ’s sake, Alicia, this isn’t a first date.”

“Fine. It’s just really—”

“Important. I know. Believe me, I want this to work out, too.” I run a hand through my hair, and my gut tightens a little thinking about what’s at stake. “I’ll be on my best behavior, I promise. See you in a couple of hours.”

“Okay. Drive safely.”

“Yup.”

The plane lands right on time, and I watch as the stairs are wheeled into place, and the first of the passengers appear. It’s tourist after tourist, cameras already strung around their necks, safari hats on, looking tired from their long trip, but excited at the same time. I stand by the doors to the tiny airport, feeling like a total jackass holding a sign that says ‘Tabitha Gray’. I look like one of the tour guide surrounding me. But I’m no tour guide. I’m an ex-Army Ranger. I spend my days and nights armed to the teeth, chasing down poachers and securing our twelve-thousand-acre park.

I could never be a guide. I don’t have much use for most people. People lie and betray each other. Animals, though, them I understand. You know exactly where you stand when you’re staring down a lion. There’s no question of what they want from you.

A family gets off the plane—a mom, dad, and two surly looking teenagers who have clearly had so many things handed to them on a silver platter that nothing impresses them anymore. As far as I’m concerned, they can turn right around and go home. Then I see a young woman at the door to the plane. She’s a curvy little thing with reddish-brown, curly hair, cowboy boots and a short, flowy dress. My cock twitches at the sight of her. I hope to hell she’s Tabitha because I could use a few weeks pumping her full of lead.

She’s got a huge backpack slung over her shoulder, and I watch as the wind blows her skirt up and she has to hold her dress down with one hand. Come on wind, pick up.

I can’t take my eyes off of her. She squints at the cards that the tour guides are holding up. Her eyes freeze on my sign, and then she smiles up at me.

Well, fuck me, looks like it’s my lucky day after all. I give her a nod and a wide grin as she walks toward me. As she gets closer, I realize how small she is. She barely comes up to my chin, even with the lift she’s getting from those sexy boots.

“Hi, I’m Tabitha.”

“Gunner Steel.” I hold out my hand to her. When her skin touches mine, a wave of heat rushes through my body, stirring my already wide awake cock. Her hand is the softest thing I’ve ever felt, and that’s saying something because I’ve touched just about every type of fur there is. None of it compares to her.

“Gunner Steel? Is that really your name?” Her green eyes shine at me.

“Yes, ma’am, it is.”

She giggles a little, and I’m pretty sure it’s the cutest sound I’ve ever heard. “Well, nice to meet you. I thought Alicia would be picking me up.”

“A federal inspector was coming by, so she had to stay at the base camp today.” I reach up and take her bag off her shoulder. My thumb rubs against her bare skin and I find myself wanting to kiss the spot where my thumb just was. It’s been far too long since I’ve had a woman, and this one is exactly the type I like.

And then it hits me like a kick to the balls. I’m going to have to spend the next twenty-one days trying not to make a pass at her. Son of a bitch. I sling the bag over my shoulder and tell myself this is the closest we’re going to get, no matter how much my dick sits up and begs.

Click here to read more.

Also by Adele Hart

Thrill Me

Take Me

Tempt Me

Choose Me

Kiss Me

Devour Me

Alphas and Virgins Volume One

Alphas and Virgins Volume Two

Make Me Wet

Make Me Crazy

Make Me Yours

Make Me Wild

Make Me Happy

About the Author

Adele Hart is a stay-at-home mom who secretly writes sexy stories whenever she gets a chance. After reading hundreds of romances, she decided to skip all the angst and ugliness, and just get to the good stuff. You know, the part that makes you say, 'Oh my!' 

So if you're like Adele, and you want to indulge your guilty pleasures with naughty but nice, fast and fun stories about super hot, practically perfect men and the sweet women who love them, then you've come to the right place. 

Adele's guarantee to you:

You'll have that loving feeling from start to happy finish.  Nothing ugly, no BDSM, no cheating bastards, just fun, flirty, dirty goodness. 

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