Man Made Delights

Lisa Renee Jones

(c) 2004

Man Made Delights

Lisa Renee Jones

Published 2004

ISBN 1-59578-016-5

Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509

Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2004, Lisa Renee Jones. All
rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or
otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Manufactured in the United States of America

Liquid Silver Books

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Cover Art

by April Martinez

http://www.aprilgem.com

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of

the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual
events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Chapter One

“You've never had an orgasm!”
Horrified, Heather Brown's green eyes went wide at her best friend, Brenda

Carrington's loud declaration.

“Will you keep your voice down?” Her voice was an urgent whisper. Nervously, she

peeked over her shoulder at the closed bedroom door directly behind her. With relief she
found it still firmly shut.

Turning back to face Brenda, she quickly spit out a reprimand. “What if Brad

hears?”

Brenda waved off the words. “One thing I've learned since moving in with my big

brother,” she said with a snort, “he has officially become a bore. He works around the
clock. He's probably still sleeping. Sunday's his only day off.” She rolled her eyes. “I
can't wait until the remodeling on my condo is done so I can get out of here.”

Brenda had been Heather's best friend since her first day of high school, almost ten

years before. Her brother, Brad, had been her biggest crush for almost as long.

Momentarily Heather forgot her irritation at Brenda as her thoughts drifted to Brad.

Just thinking of him, in his bed, sleeping, maybe naked, or even partially so…

It was enough to make her mouth water.
It was the oddest thing, the way she reacted to him. Even the men she dated, at least

thus far, could barely earn a flicker of her interest. Yet, just the thought of Brad, naked, in
bed, made her all hot and bothered.

Why, oh why, did she react to Brad like no other? Frustration, deep and familiar,

made her ball her fists. She didn't want to want Brad. What she wanted was to move on.
To want someone who wanted her.

Not Brad.
She was tired of pining for him.
The cold hard truth was she had grown up, but no t out of, whatever Big-Brother-

Brad-Man did to her.

Brenda snapped her fingers. “Hello? I'm talking to you. This is a serious issue. We

need to find you an orgasm.”

Brenda's words brought Heather back to the real world with a jolt. Damn, why did

the woman have to talk so loud? “Shhh!” Finger to her lips, she frowned. “It makes me
nervous talking about this with Brad around.” Dropping her hands to her sides in
frustration, she added, “I don't know how I managed to get pulled into this conversation.”

The last person she wanted to hear about her love life—or lack thereof—was Brad.
When she was fifteen, he had been twenty, and dating women with breasts like

Pamela Anderson. Flat as a board, Heather had never managed to catch his attention.

It had messed with her head, made her feel unattractive.
Looking down at her well-covered assets, she bit her bottom lip. Fortunately, she had

been a late bloomer. Now, she had breasts. That was something, she guessed.

Not that Brad seemed to notice.
“Forget about Brad,” Brenda ordered.
Oh, how Heather wished she could do just that.

Continuing, Brenda added, “We need a plan.” She pressed a finger to her temple as if

in deep thought, and then shook her head from side to side. Staring at Heather, she said,
“I still can't believe you've never had an orgasm.”

Heather pursed her lips, indignation in her tone. “Of course I've had an orgasm. Just

not a man-made one.”

“Ohhhh,” Brenda said mockingly. “Well, that makes it allll better.” She crinkled her

nose. “Not!” Leaning forward, elbows on her knees, she fixed Heather in a stare. “That
doesn't count.” Her tone was firm. “It's not the same thing, and you darn sure know it.”

She opened her mouth, but the look on Brenda's face deflated the denial that was

quickly on the tip of her tongue. With a heavy sigh of resignation she said, “No. No it's
not.” Heather bit her bottom lip, trying to decide just how far this admission should go.
Finally, she just said what was on her mind. “I'm beginning to think something's wrong
with me. The men I date want to, um, shall we say, please me. I just can't seem to …
to…”

Brenda had no trouble finding the words Heather couldn't. “Come? Have an orgasm?

Find satisfaction?” She paused, searching for Heather's reaction before adding, “After
twenty-five years, you deserve some pleasure.” She laughed, a bit choked. “Or might I
rephrase, some relief. That's a long time to go without. You must be bursting with need.”

Heather wasn't shocked by Brenda's bluntness. She'd known her long enough to

expect nothing less. Still, this was very embarrassing. Even with Brenda.

“Um, well, yeah, that about sums it up. All that stuff you said. Check. And now …

well, a few bad attempts can make a girl pretty uptight.”

Brenda snorted. “The type of men you date could make a girl uptight. You date

losers, men who wouldn't know their way around a woman's body if they had once been
one!” Brenda ignored Heather's gaping mouth. “Date a real man and I bet the story would
be different.”

Heather stiffened. “I think you just insulted me.”
In a sudden movement, Brenda perched her backside on the edge of the couch. “You

offend me with your low opinion of yourself. There are lots of people who would kill to
have your looks.”

Heather's eyes went wide. “We aren't talking about my looks. We're talking about,

well…” she moved her hands as she searched for words. Damn, this was awkward.
Finally, she simply said, “other stuff. So don't change the subject.”

Focusing on Brenda, Heather took in her long auburn hair, green-as-emeralds eyes,

and amazing ivory skin. “Besides, you're gorgeous. Of course, you don't understand.”

“Understand what?” Brenda demanded. “Your insecurities? If the answer is yes, no I

don't. You're freaking Barbie.” She wiggled her finger up and down at Heather. “The
only things wrong with you are your self-image and your choice of men.” Brenda jumped
to her feet, grabbed Heather's hand and pulled her to her feet as well. “Come with me.”

“Where?” Heather asked, surprised by the abrupt movement.
“Just come here.” Brenda tugged Heather behind her. Moments later, she stopped in

front of the hallway mirror. Side-by-side, Heather and Brenda stood looking at their
images.

“Tell me what you see,” Brenda ordered.

Heather's eyes drifted to the safe zone, Brenda. She wore no make-up, faded jeans, a

tank top, and her hair was a fiery, beautiful mass of silk down her shoulders. Heather
didn't bother to look at her own reflection in the glass. She knew how she looked.

“I see you and me.” Heather's eyes met Brenda's in the mirror. “What's your point?”
Brenda gave her a reprimanding look. “You know what I mean. Look at yourself and

tell me what you see. Stop looking at me.”

Slowly Heather focused on her own image. “I see me,” she said quietly.
Brenda slipped behind Heather and rested her chin on her shoulder. “You know what

I see?”

“I'm afraid to ask.”
Brenda pretended not to hear her. “I see a gorgeous blonde who would make any

man drool and any female envious. I know I am.”

Heather rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”
Brenda moved so she was facing Heather, hands on her hips. “I'm serious, sweetie.

You don't have braces and bony knees anymore. You're gorgeous. Stop living in the
past.”

Heather shot her a sideways glance and then dared another look in the mirror. It was

true, she was no longer skinny. But she wasn't fat either.

“You know what you need?” Brenda asked, and then added, half under her breath,

“Besides the obvious.”

Heather eyed Brenda. “No, I don't know. That's the problem. But I have a feeling

you're going to tell me.”

Brenda laughed. “You need to dress up in some of that sexy lingerie you sell in your

store, drink some wine, and get in touch with your sexy side. Then, you need to go out
and find the hottest man you can and seduce him. When he falls at your feet you'll be
cured.” Heather was shaking her head no. Brenda bobbed hers in a yes motion, and
added, “I'm willing to bet you'll get over your orgasm blues pretty darn quick.”

The last thing Heather needed was to try and act sexy and become the object of

someone's amusement and laughter. No matter what she had tried in high school, the
guys had always teased her. As an adult she had kept herself carefully guarded, never
showing off her body or acting out her desires. In turn, she dated guys who would never,
ever, push her to be more than what she offered.

“No way can I do that, Brenda,” Heather said vehemently. “No way.” Then with a bit

of defeat in her voice, “Besides, I wouldn't even know where to start.”

Brenda seemed to contemplate a moment. “Ah!” She said, holding up a finger. And

then turning on her heels, she headed toward the living room.

Heather couldn't help but follow, out of curiosity if nothing else. But there was more

to it than that. The deep-rooted truth was—she wanted to feel sexy. No, she needed to.
Otherwise she never would have revealed her twenty-five-year-old secret.

Heather brought Brenda into view just as she held up a video. “Watch and learn.

Basic Instinct, the femme fatale at her best.”

It had been years since Heather had watched that particular movie, but who didn't

know Sharon Stone had been every man's wet dream the year it had hit the big screen?
But Sharon Stone, Heather wasn't. “I … I don't know.”

Brenda held up another video. “Then watch 9 1/2 Weeks.” She made a face when

Heather opened her mouth to speak. “No arguments. You watch, you learn, you practice.

The Saturday after next is Sarah's wedding. There will be lots of men to choose from
there. You'll be ready to seduce by then. If you don't find one at the wedding, we'll go out
afterwards.”

She paused and eyed Heather. “Of course, we'll have to go shopping. To be sexy,

you have to dress the role and stop hiding yourself.” She pursed her lips. “Immediately.
You must shop immediately. How about tomorrow morning before the stores get busy?”

Heather thought of her drab wardrobe, even daring a glance at her simple black pants

and matching knit shirt. Her clothes didn't invite attention.

Maybe a change was in order. But … this was her style. Right? She wore clothes that

fit who she was. Suddenly, she knew the reality of her inner turmoil. The down-and-dirty
truth of the matter was, she was tired of hiding behind her clothes.

Translation … her insecurities.
Something inside begged to be exposed. She crinkled her nose at the word her mind

had conjured up. Exposed. She didn't want to go quite that far. But she did want to go
somewhere.

Brenda offered encouragement. “You will feel better with a new image. I promise.”
Heather glanced at her, and then back at her clothes. Maybe she would. She didn't

like feeling so locked into her present mode. The time to explore had come. No more
hiding. With the decision came a sense of pride and excitement. This was going to be
good.

Her expression began to change. Her lips began to lift, turning her frown into a

smile. “Yes,” Heather said firmly. “Let's do it.”

“Do what?”
The deep masculine rumble of Brad's voice from behind her made Heather still. If

ever there was a test of her courage to make a change, this was it.

Could she face Brad with newfound confidence? It was a test she would have rather

faced after a little practice being a new her … no more hiding.

She could do this.

Chapter Two

Heather prepared to face Brad with newfound confidence. Or at least her best effort

at faking it. There was just one problem. Without even turning to look at him, the
definitive tingling of awareness danced along her nerve endings. What was it about this
man that made her so crazy?

Shoving aside the feelings, she stiffened her spine and prepared herself mentally. But

before she could, her nightmare started. Brenda opened her big, fat mouth. “Heather is
going to get sexy and seduce a man.”

Heather's eyes squeezed shut. Oh God, no. She whirled around so that she had both

Brad and her best friend in view, but her focus was on Brenda. Her cheeks burned, her
stomach twisted in knots, and her eyes shot daggers.

A hiss of a warning came through clenched teeth. “Quiet.”
Feeling Brad's eyes on her, Heather fought the urge to look at him, and failed

miserably. She looked. He was leaning against the archway to the room. Perfect, sexy,
and untouchable.

Her mouth watered.
A tight white t-shirt and soft, faded jeans with one knee torn gave him bad-boy

appeal. Something he wore like a second skin. Always had. Always would.

His hair—dark, well-groomed but inviting—begged for a female's fingers. Her

fingers. His brow lifted slowly, his expression indiscernible. “Anyone I know?”

Her mind was blank. She couldn't think what to say. The new, confident Heather

would come back with some witty, wonderful comment. Of course, she had only been the
new Heather for all of five minutes.

She wasn't ready for this kind of pressure. Mind racing, she reached for the right

comeback. Brenda, unfortunately, took her silence as an invitation to fill in the blanks.

“Nope,” she said cheerfully. “She's finally throwing out those losers in three-piece

suits and going for some new blood. A new wardrobe, a new kind of guy, and a new
attitude. Would you believe she's never…”

Heather's head whipped around to face Brenda. “Stop!” she ordered urgently,

pointing for extra emphasis.

Brad's tone was stiff. “Wait one minute. Are we talking about a stranger here?” He

asked the question as if he was leaning toward agitation. Then, in a tone that requested
her attention, “Heather?” he asked, “What is she talking about?”

This conversation needed to end. Heather didn't look at Brad. Why did he care in the

first place? Oh, yeah, the big brother thing. That really got her irritation level inching
upward. Damn it, she wasn't his sister.

But first and foremost, she needed to deal with Brenda. Fixing her in a hard stare,

Heather said, “Don't you dare say another word.”

Brenda laughed, her eyes sparkling mischievously, not one bit fazed by Heather's

reprimand. Damn her, she was getting a kick out of this. Rolling her eyes in resignation,
Heather turned to Brad.

Her eyes met his and her stomach did an immediate flip-flop. Something about

making eye contact with him always did that to her. She'd never quite understood it. Nor
did it work in her favor at this particular moment.

To make matters worse, he stood there looking like her dream man. An easy job

considering he was just that. The only thing that saved her was the look she saw in his
eyes. The brotherly disapproval thing was staring back at her in clear, easy-to-read form.

She hated it, so she rejected it. Instinctively, she reached for a different kind of

response. She never thought. She just spoke. The words just came out. As if her mouth
was not her own. “Yes, we are talking about a stranger. I'm twenty-five now, Brad. If I
want to seduce a stranger, you can't run and tell my Dad like you did when I kissed
George Parker in the fifth grade. It'll get you nowhere fast.”

His eyes flashed with surprise, and that was enough. He had got more from her than

he expected. Heather didn't need more than that. Not this time. Maybe not ever. She was
going to shake this Brad thing.

Turning to Brenda, she announced, “I'm leaving. This discussion is over.” Then she

grabbed her purse from the couch and started walking.

“Wait!” Brenda yelled, rushing forward and grabbing Heather's arm. “Don't forget

the videos.”

Heather and Brad were almost side-by-side when she was forced to stop. His eyes, a

deep blue, met her lighter ones. “Don't act crazy, Heather.” His voice was so low it was
clearly meant only for her ears.

There was something in his eyes. She wasn't sure what, and for once she didn't care.

She would no longer allow this man to treat her like a schoolgirl.

“I'll act any way I want. Crazy sounds pretty darn good.”
“Good,” Brenda said, clearly proud of her success. “Take the videos, and enjoy.”

Heather broke eye contact with Brad to accept them.

Brenda smiled. “Wine, lingerie, Sharon Stone.” A loud announcement. Despite her

decision to blow off Brad, she didn't like Brenda's words. Not in front of him. And it got
worse as she added, “Practice makes perfect.”

Brad held up his hand, stop sign fashion. “Wait a minute. You're not seriously

considering this, are you?”

Heather swallowed and turned to meet his stare. “What if I am?”
“What are you trying to prove, Heather? You're not that type of girl.”
Damn him and his big-brother syndrome. “Woman,” she primly. “I'm a woman. The

kind that makes her own decisions.”

“You know what I mean.”
“No, Brad I don't. What kind of girl is it that I'm not?”
He ran his hand through his hair. “The kind that jumps into bed with strangers.

You're a good girl. You always have been, always will be. You're going to get yourself in
trouble.” He eyed Brenda. “She put you up to this, didn't she?”

Heather tilted her chin up defiantly. “This was my idea, not Brenda's.” Well, sorta,

but that was none of his business. She wanted to be sexy. She wanted to have an orgasm.
And Brad Carrington had no say-so in the matter. “I have every right to want what all
women want.”

“This is not what women want.”
“It is.”

“What is, Heather?” Brad demanded. “Make me understand.”
Heather found his response amusing. He, who had a million women, and seemed

very into his own sexual satisfaction, wanted her make him understand. “Think about it,
and I bet it will, um, come to you.”

Brenda laughed at Heather's twist on the words. Heather stepped forward and

reached for the door, suddenly feeling more eager to explore her sexy side than ever
before. As a cool San Francisco breeze lifted her hair from her neck, she felt as if she had
been reborn.

She was going to prove to Brad Carrington and the rest of the world that little, sweet,

good girl Heather Brown really was sexy.

Chapter Three

Heather turned the sign in her shop window to read 'closed,' and dimmed the store

lights.

A small smile played on her lips as she scurried toward what she called her circle of

play. Six dressing rooms framed a lounge area where women often pranced around in
lingerie, drank wine, and in general had a good time.

It was a place Heather had created to make her store more than a shopping place.
Many of her repeat customers would spend hours here, trying on lingerie, planning

their fun interlude with some man, and then buying lots of product.

This was the first time Heather was going to use the room for her own fun.
Underneath her conservative black suit was a silky, sexy, itsy-bitsy, black lace bra

and panty set. They had replaced her conservative, not-so-small, plain white set. It was a
first step toward her new persona.

One she had taken the minute she arrived at work.
Surprisingly, it had helped. Just knowing she had something sexy on beneath her not-

so-sexy clothes had felt liberating. A little feminine sway had somehow made it into her
walk, giving her the feel of being more alluring.

And she liked it.
A lot.
Except for the shoes. Her feet hurt. She toughed it out, figuring walking in three-inch

heels was a learned talent. She just hoped practice wouldn't always be so painful.

They did seem to make her legs sexier. That was worth a little pain.
She reached for a black silk robe on a nearby rack, and quickly disposed of her

clothes, leaving only her lingerie and high heels. She tossed the robe aside, not wanting to
hide a minute more of her life away. Her hands ran over the lace top of her panties. She
felt … sexy.

A smile on her lips, she poured herself a glass of the wine she often offered her

customers. Then she settled down on the fluffy pink circular sofa in the center of the
room.

Now all she needed was a little Sharon Stone action. A flip of the remote turned on

the television-video player combination where the femme fatale was already deposited for
play.

The screen filled with the image of Sharon Stone's breast, making Heather's eyes go

wide. She'd forgotten how the movie started. She looked at the perfect breasts displayed
before her … a bit intimidating. They couldn't be real.

Did guys like fake boobs? If so, she was out of luck. She didn't like knives, and

blood made her sick. Actually, pain really didn't do it for her either.

Swallowing a sip of wine, she stared at the breasts displayed so boldly. Slowly, her

eyes dropped to her own lace-covered versions. Did she measure up?

She would have said no earlier in the day. But now, she didn't want to discount

herself quite so easily. Even without a boob job, she wasn't so bad.

Heather set her glass on the small table. Pushing to her feet, she moved toward the

huge double-glassed mirror at the far end of the lounge.

Standing in front of it, she scrutinized herself. Her hair was still pulled in a tight

conservative knot at the top of her head. She reached up and released her clip. Blond
waves fell down her shoulders.

Better.
With an objective eye—for the first time in years—she continued her survey of her

image.

Her hair was nice. Okay, better than nice. She had good hair. There was one positive.

Instead of being a typical blond with blue eyes, hers were green. She had often thought it
was a curse. Tonight, in a different state of mind, she wondered if different was all that
bad.

Realization came to her. She had forgotten how to capture her own uniqueness long

ago. If she was going to feel sexy, she needed to know and love what she was. She
moved a bit closer to the mirror. Studying. Probing.

Huh. Her eyes were actually a nice light green, different from Brenda's deep emerald

color.

Heather sighed. A pleased sigh.
Her eyes dropped to her breasts. Back to her Sharon Stone comparison. Did she stack

up? She laughed at her little pun, walked over to the table, and sipped her wine. Another
giggle, and sip, and she returned to the mirror.

The lace of the bra barely covered her nipples. Her breasts were full, high, but not

too big. She was a good handful for most men. Wasn't she? Not many men had tried them
out for size. She laughed.

It was almost embarrassing how few.
Heather reached up to test the theory herself, filling her palms with her breasts.
She looked down at her hands, pleased to find them unable to make the entire

squeeze. Maybe she did measure up. A slow smile lifted her lips as the first true feelings
of sexiness began to inch their way into her mind.

She slid her hands down her waist, testing her form, as another little giggle escaped

her lips. Maybe, just maybe, she really was sexy. Perhaps it was a state of mind she had
been lacking. Her eyes went to the mirror, intent on viewing herself with a new attitude.

Her eyes went wide as a movement caught her attention. She whirled around.
“How did you get in here?”

* * * *

Brad parked in front of Heather's boutique, Sweet Nothings, and killed the engine of

his SUV. A shadow moved inside the store window—Heather, he was certain—and then
the lights dimmed as if on cue.

Good.
He wanted her alone. They needed to have a heart-to-heart. Her little seduction plan

had played havoc on his thoughts. She had no idea what kind of trouble she was headed
for. Heather was too damn sweet and naïve to dive into some kind of sex game. The
wrong man would take what she offered and then leave her crying.

Or worse.
No way could he just stand by and watch.

He ran a rough hand through his hair. What in the hell was going on in that pretty

little head of hers? She was smarter than this. Shoving open the truck door, he felt the
clear edge of determination.

To stop this madness.
A little truth—the kind he didn't like to admit—began to surface. He'd always had a

thing for Heather. Something he had never, and would never, share with anyone. With
that thought, he hesitated, one foot out the door. Was his motivation for visiting her a bit
self-serving? A part of him reveled in the fact that she had found no one.

Unfairly, he knew. Because there could never be a place for him in her life. Not on

an intimate level. Their past had carved that in stone. But deep down, he had to admit,
hearing her talk about seducing another man had twisted him in knots. Maybe he was a
bit motivated by his own agenda.

He rejected the thought before he allowed himself to fully analyze it. Heather had no

one to look out for her now that both of her parents were gone. Taking care of her was his
responsibility. He had always told her father he would look out for her.

Just one of the reasons he'd never pursued her. She was like a sister to him. With

that, he knew what he had to do. Stepping out of the truck, he slammed the door, and
clicked the lock on his keychain.

It was time he and Heather had a chat.
His feet hit the pavement with heavy steps, readiness in his pace. When he got to the

front door of the store, he knocked. Several seconds later, he knocked again. Impatience
made him reach for the doorknob, and to his surprise, it turned.

Muttering under his breath, he stepped inside the dimly lit entrance. “Damn woman

should be more careful.”

The sound of a television drew his attention. Without hesitation he walked in its

direction, mentally processing his method of handling Heather. Years of dealing with his
sister had taught him a lot about women. Demanding didn't work.

Subtle persuasion was a necessity.
Glancing around the store, he couldn't help his surprise. He'd never been to Heather's

store, and the silky, sexy items she sold didn't fit the image he had of her.

Of course, the name, Sweet Nothings, should have said it all. True enough, he had

often wondered about the name. It just seemed impossible she would own a store such as
this one.

Not that he hadn't fantasized a few times about seeing her in something like … his

eyes latched onto a lacy red bra and panty set. Bingo. Just like that.

Images of Heather peeling off one of her conservative suits, piece by piece, sexy red

lace underneath, made him bite back a low growl. Damn it, he had no business thinking
these kinds of thoughts about her.

Yet, he couldn't help himself. He moved, fingers touching the red brassiere, his groin

tightening. Images of Heather played like a movie in his head. Just thinking about those
lush curves—the ones she tried so hard to hide—barely covered, his hands…

“Damn it, man,” he muttered under his breath, dropping the garment as if it was as

hot as it was red.

He had to stop thinking these things. He needed to get his head straight. And hers.

With renewed focus on his mission, he moved toward what looked like a dressing room
area.

Several steps later, he froze.
Standing before him was Heather. Only not. Instead, the Heather of his fantasies

stood there. The one who would have peeled off that conservative suit, exposing a red
dream of lace. Only this time it was black. Small, sexy pieces of lacy black.

And her hair. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen it down. It had been too

long, that was for damn sure. It fell around her shoulders in a silky mane of waves that
made him wish it was draped over his chest.

Or stomach.
His body reacted instantly. He was outright hard, zipper straining against his

erection. Heather had always done it for him. Seeing her like this set him on fire. Brad
knew he should say something, tell her he was there. But somehow the words just
wouldn't come. He was too spellbound by the barely dressed sexy blond who was tracing
her deliciously lush curves with her own delicate little hands.

What he wouldn't do to have her body next to his. Just once. Without the

consequence of losing her as a friend. No, he reminded himself vehemently, as family.

That thought was enough to jolt him back to reality.
This was Heather.
Still, it didn't quite process. His eyes dropped, focusing on her full, peaked nipples

distinctly pressing against the thin lace. His mouth went dry. She made a muffled soft
sound that made him look up. Her eyes locked with his in the mirror. She turned, and
quickly crossed her arms in front of her chest. “How did you get in here?”

Carefully composed features were his defense. It was all he had. Softly, he cleared

his throat, reaching for his normal voice. “The door was unlocked. You know, you really
should be more careful.”

*

Heather stared at Brad, knocked for a loop by the current circumstances. And Brad's

words. He dared to stand there, obviously gaping at her, and then issue a brotherly
reprimand.

It was absurd. And she wasn't about to let him get away with it. Her mind flashed

with growing irritation. No, anger. She was just plain mad. Hands moving to her hips, she
threw modesty to the wind.

“If you came here to act like my parent or even brother, go home, Brad.” She held

her hands out to her sides, intentionally displaying her body. A bold move she refused to
allow her mind to discourage. “As you can see I'm all grown up, and I assure you I can
take care of myself.”

He let one brow inch up as he leaned his shoulder against the door jamb, an

indiscernible expression on his face. A perfect display of that cool, casual thing he did so
damn well.

As if he hadn't just been staring at her in her underwear.
“Clearly,” he said, and she half-expected, maybe even wanted him, to look at her

body. But he didn't. His eyes stayed locked with hers. “You are indeed all grown up.”

Her brows dipped. “What does that mean?”
He ignored her question. “Good thing it was me and not someone else who walked

through that unlocked door. You might have ended up in trouble.”

Again with the brother routine. Laughter, born witho ut humor, slipped from her lips.

“I can't believe you. I'm standing here in practically nothing and you still manage to
lecture me as if I were a child.”

His eyes seemed to darken, but his voice softened. Gone was the reprimand. “I was

only worried.”

He cared about her. She knew that. Just not the way she had always hoped. Like a

kid sister. Still, his genuine concern deflated her anger.

Her own voice came down a notch. “Why are you here, Brad?”
His eyes narrowed and locked with hers. Neither spoke, but the room was far from

silent. The sound of sex, compliments of Sharon Stone, wild and hot, danced through the
air, seductive in its presence.

Heather felt the warmth of awareness creeping along her skin, making her tingle all

over. Her nipples puckered against the thin lace. Self-conscious of the telltale sign of
arousal, it took a huge effort not to cross her arms in front of her body.

Brad glanced at the television the same time she did.
Heather watched as desire flared on the screen. Michael Douglas laced his fingers

into Sharon Stone's hair, kissing her with a passion born of lust and need. Dampness
pooled between her legs as thoughts filled her head. Thoughts of Brad touching and
kissing her in the most intimate of ways.

She had always wanted him.
Now was no different, though she wished it were. She needed to get him out of her

system, to find a man hot enough to work Brad Carrington out of her mind once and for
all.

Again, their eyes moved in unison, toward each other, catching mid-air.
And that was when she knew … he wanted her too.
Oh, yeah, she knew he had looked his fill when he had first entered the lounge. After

all, she was practically naked. And he was a man. But this was different, this look in his
eyes. He wanted her. Heather Brown.

Hot, smoldering sparks of attraction reached across the room and danced along her

nerve endings. It was in depths of his deep blue eyes, sparkling with life, the fire of
passion.

Watching that video, he had been thinking the same things about her she had of him.

She wasn't sure what to do with this new information. Drawing a deep breath, she tried to
clear her head.

Why was he here?
It was a question he hadn't answered. She wanted to know, now more than ever. And

she wanted to test the water. To validate his desire for her. She wanted—no, needed—to
know.

Heather walked toward the couch and directly toward Brad, slowly allowing her hips

to sway, loving the empowered feeling of being a woman.

His eyes followed her moves. He cleared his throat, almost nervously. “Maybe you

should put on some clothes before we get into my reason for being here.”

Interesting.
Ignoring his suggestion, she asked yet again, “Why are you here?”
Heather sat down on the couch, crossing her legs. Spreading her arms wide as she

rested them on the back of the couch, she knew she displayed herself.

Wanting a reaction.
He didn't seem inclined to answer her question. His eyes went to her breasts, and she

felt the blush from the inside out. She was too new at this to take such close inspection
with ease. Did her breasts sag? Were her nipples showing? Oh, God, her shoes hurt her
feet. But they were sexy, so that's what counted. Maybe once she practiced walking in
them a bit more…

Finally, he spoke, though his voice lacked its normal strength and authority. It was

soft, almost forced. “We need to talk, Heather.”

She wanted to respond the way a confident woman of the world would. A nonchalant

half-smile managed to find her lips. “About?”

“Not until you get dressed.”
She swallowed, knowing how she responded could define the direction of this little

visit. This was a test of her female prowess. Being her own cheerleader, she thought good
thoughts. She could do this. This was the new Heather, bold and confident. Not the bony-
legged schoolgirl. Bad thought. Don't think about the legs. Were they still too skinny?

Inwardly, she shook herself. No! Her legs were sexy.
Reason slowly came as she walked a tight rope between the old and new her. Brad

was actually a safe way to test her seductive powers.

She should take advanta ge of the opportunity he offered. Forcing a smile, one

attempting to be beguiling, she tried to ignore how sexy he looked.

This was about how sexy she looked.
Her.
Besides, focusing on how damn perfect he was would only intimidate her. Not a

good thing. Especially considering she was still such a seduction newbie that even her
three-inch heels wobbled when she walked. Sometimes. When she didn't concentrate.

And she most definitely didn't want to think about all the beautiful women she'd seen

him date over the years. It would rekindle her insecurities and make her feel as if she
wasn't good enough.

And she was. Maybe he wasn't good enough for her. Yeah. She liked the way that

sounded. Damn him for making her want for so many years. It was time to turn the tables.
Make him want. And then maybe she wouldn't give it up.

“I'm actually quite comfortable.” She patted the couch cushion beside her, proud of

how edgy and confident she came off. She hoped. “Why don't you come over here and sit
with me?”

He tilted his head slightly. “After you get dressed.” He grabbed a robe hanging on a

nearby rack and tossed it to her. “Put that on.”

She couldn't think of a brilliant reply. Only a definitive one. “No.”
Now the standoff began.
Their eyes met and held, smoldering sexual tension charging the air. She wasn't

going to put on the robe and he knew it. Her silent message was spelled out clearly in her
actions, or lack thereof.

Checkmate.
Your move, Brad.

Chapter Four

What in the hell was Heather trying to do to him?
Never mind. He'd figure it out later. After she got dressed. She needed to put clothes

on her way-too-tempting body. Now.

A muscle in Brad's jaw jumped. “Heather, don't play games with me. Put the damn

robe on.”

Her expression darkened and she pushed to her feet, breasts bouncing with the

movement. And he looked. He couldn't help it. He was a man, pure and simple. A man
she was freaking killing.

Eyes blazing with the heat of anger, she said, “Don't order me around, Brad.” Her

well-manicured finger pointed at him. His gaze fixed on her delicate little hands, trying to
focus on something safe, something other than her nearly naked body.

It didn't work. That damn finger ended up making him think about how soft and

delicate she was. How feminine. All her efforts to hide behind her clothes had never
worked. She was all woman, and any man with eyes could see as much.

He damn sure could.
“Talk or leave,” she spat at him, hands going to her hips, inviting his eyes to follow.
Inwardly, he groaned, as he forced his eyes upward, me eting her agitation directly. If

he didn't get her dressed, he was liable to do just the opposite. Like peeling off that lacy
bra, and seeing what was beneath.

In a swift move forward, he grabbed a robe on the back of the couch and shoved it

toward her, arm outstretched. Distance being the objective. Reaching for a calm,
unaffected voice, he said, “Put it on so we can talk.”

She stared at the robe a moment, anger making her bottom lip tremble ever so

slightly. And when he should have been thinking about dealing with her attitude, he was
thinking about tasting her very inviting, very sensual lips.

He liked the way the bottom one was fuller than the top. It wasn't the first time he'd

noticed it. Probably wouldn't be the last. “Take it,” he added when she hadn't moved, still
staring at the silk in his hand.

Her eyes lifted to his, dark with challenge. He held her gaze, willing her to break, to

conform to his will. It was a standoff of sorts. One he knew he had to win.

Finally, she yanked the piece of silk from his hand, and a silent 'thank you' whispered

in his head. Giving himself an imaginary pat on the back, he prepared to deal with
Heather's crazy ideas. He would talk some sense into her and then get the hell out of here.

Before he did something he shouldn't.
Apparently, Heather had her own plan. One that didn't match his. She dropped the

robe, silk pooling at her feet. His eyes followed it, shocked at her boldness. Heather
wasn't like this. She was a good girl who did what everyone expected. Slowly, his eyes
traveled from her pink, manicured toes, up the line of her well-defined calves and thighs.

He reached the top of one of those delicious legs, and all but stopped breathing. His

eyes jerked upward, locking with hers mid-air. Her eyes glinted with defiance. “You want
to talk to me?” She didn't wait for answer. “You talk to me as I am.”

His self-praise had clearly been premature. Mind racing even as his body raged, he

covertly sucked in a slow, calming breath. “Heather…”She turned on her heels with a flip
of her hair and diva-type edge. It also gave him a view of her very round, very perfect
butt. Pulsing with a battle between self-control and complete lust, he clenched his teeth.

After several steps, she turned, stumbling slightly. Instinctively, he moved forward,

reaching for her as she wobbled precariously on her too-high heels.

She tripped and reached for him, hands grabbing at his shirt. Brad's hands slid

around her waist, pulling her upwards, trying to stop her from breaking an ankle.

“Ohhh,” she said, as she steadied herself, her voice frustrated. “Damn these shoes.”

Then, her eyes lifted to his, and they stared at one another.

He could feel her soft curves pressing against his body, and his hands begged to

move, to slide down her waist and cup that perfect butt. His eyes went to her mouth. God,
he wanted to kiss her. Slowly, her fingers eased on his shirt, her palms flattening on his
chest. Her body seemed to inch closer.

He started leaning toward her. Not consciously. Instinctively. His mouth inched

toward hers, eyes half closing with the anticipation of the first brush of lips.

“Brad.”
It was the soft purr of her voice, the reminder that this was Heather, that shook him

to his senses. He pulled back, hands going to her arms, still aware enough to steady her.

Accusingly, he demanded. “What's going on with you, Heather?”
She glowered. “You seemed to have a firsthand idea, quite literally, just moments

ago, Brad.”

Ignoring her attitude, and the bite of truth to her words, he repeated his question.

This time his voice was much gentler. “What's going on, Heather?”

Her teeth clenched, and she took a step backwards. The movement forced him to

drop his hands from her arms. “Nothing that is any of your business.”

He kept his response in monotone, careful not to allow his words to agitate her any

further. “This isn't you, Heather.”

Good thing, because even with his careful approach, he ticked her off. Her arms

crossed in front of her body, her eyes flaring yet again with the heat of anger. “How
would you know?”

Okay. Not going well. “I grew up with you.”
Her voice was a bit higher, her response instant. “I had barely hit puberty when you

went off to college. I repeat, how would you know?”

His eyes dropped to her breasts for a mere instant, arms beneath them pressing them

together in an inviting plunge of temptation. To have her would be a fantasy come true.
But impossible.

He forced his eyes upward, looking her in the eye. “I know you, Heather.”
Heather laughed. Short. Irritated. “Well, Mr. Brad Carrington, sometimes there is

more to a girl than she lets on to the rest of the world. Little Heather Brown has a bad girl
begging to come out and play. It's long past due.”

Logic told him she was trying to get a reaction out of him, but it didn't stop her from

getting to him. Images of her being that bad girl she proclaimed to be flashed in his mind,
followed by a sharp pang of something else a bit hard to swallow.

Jealousy.
Pure, poisonous, clear-as-day, jealousy.

The thought of some other man touching her, making love to her, and seeing that

other side of her amazing personality ate at his gut like some sort of acid.

“Stop with this nonsense, Heather.”
“You stop with your nonsense,” she spat back, hands going to her hips.
“My nonsense?” What the hell was she talking about? “I' m not the one talking about

jumping in bed with some stranger.”

“No, because you've been there, done that, and don't you even think about denying

it.”

Damn, she was sexy. And sassy. Translation. Damn, she was sexy. He had to force

his eyes not to drift. The urge to check out those long, ivory legs was killing him. He
sucked in a breath, and slowly let it out. “Look…”

She cut him off, arms flying in the air, and then dropping at her sides in frustration.

Then her hand ran through her hair. Each movement was a tantalizing invitation to his
eyes and fog to his brain. “I'm tired of being the shrinking violet. I want to feel sexy. I
want to dress sexy. I want to be sexy. And damn it, I want a man who knows how to
please a woman.” She crossed her arms under her breasts yet again, and gave a firm nod
of approval for her own words. “That's what I want.”

He felt the first flare of anger, and knew his expression darkened. He couldn't help it.

She was pissing him off as much as she was turning him on. He took a step toward her.
“No way are you going through with this.”

She took a step forward, putting them almost as close as they had been minutes

before. Her finger poked his chest. “You have no say in this, Brad. You're not my
brother, and you're not my father. And guess what?” Her brows inched up, her eyes
challenged, chin tilted up so she could pin him in a stare. “Even if you were, I am too old
for you to do a damn thing.”

“Heather…”
She wasn't through. “I want sex. I want a man. I want, I want, I want, and you don't

have any damn thing to say about it.”

Maybe little Ms. Too Confident needed to get a taste of what she was asking for. His

mind raced, making his thought process sound reasonable. Something predatory flared
deep in his gut. His voice was a low, dangerous purr as he battled with his own internal
conflict. This was for her good, not his. “Be careful what you ask for, Heather, you might
just get it.”

She wet her lips, and he could feel her sudden nervousness. Almost smell it. Good.

That is exactly what he wanted. If he scared her, just think what a man on the make
would do.

He held his breath as he waited for her response. Wanting her to back off so he could

walk away and feel no guilt. Wanting her to stand her ground so he had an excuse to
teach her a lesson.

Wanting her.
There it was. The cold, hard truth.
Her eyes held his even if her lips trembled. “I certainly hope so.”
A rush of adrenaline shot through his veins. He had already given himself permission

to act if she dared him. And she had most certainly done that, and then some. A small
part of his mind, a far off piece, said he would be sorry if he acted.

The rest of him said this was for her own good.

Suddenly he moved—a bit abruptly, perhaps out of the fear he would talk himself

out of acting—his hands slid into her hair even as he pulled her body against his. His
mouth closed down over hers, his tongue sliding between her teeth. Kissing her with a
hunger he didn't try to disguise nor did he make any effort to control, he tasted her with
complete absorption.

It was a kiss meant to end her plans. To show her what a man who was passionate,

hungry, and aroused was really all about. He didn't hold back, his hand sliding down her
hips, around one perfect, ivory cheek, as he pulled her closer.

Her hips snuggled against his very evident arousal.
To his surprise, she moaned, and arched into him, pressing her breasts against his

chest. Their tongues tangled hungrily, her arms now around his neck, his hands roaming
her silky skin. He fought to remember his objective.

Just one more second … the words replayed in his mind, over and over. But she

tasted so sweet, so perfect, he couldn't seem to remember anything but the moment. He
wanted her naked, beneath him, those long legs wrapped around his waist.

It would be so easy with only a few pieces of lace between them. Who would have

ever thought he'd be like this with Heather…

Heather.
Shit.
What in the hell was he doing? This woman was practically his baby sister.

Somehow, his plan had backfired. He had to stop kissing her. Now. She nipped at his
bottom lip, and moaned softly.

Okay, just one more second.
Or two.

Chapter Five

No!
Heather screamed the word in her mind as Brad's mouth left hers. He pulled away

from her even as she tried to close the very distance he was putting between them.

“Stop,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction.
She knew that he didn't want to stop any more than she did.
“I'm sorry, Heather. I don't know what came over me.”
“Don't say you're sorry.” She was glad he'd kissed her.
He shook his head, as if he was denying her words or maybe his own actions. “The

wrong guy wouldn't have stopped.”

She had come too far to back down now. This was what she wanted and she was

going to say so. “I didn't want to stop.”

“Heather, this was a mistake. I thought…”
A mistake. She had wanted him to want her the way she did him. Instead, she was a

mistake. Damn this man. He had kissed her with just as much desire as she had him. He
was messing with her head, playing some kind of back-and-forth game, and she didn't
like it.

“Well,” she said, eyes glinting with defiance. “I guess I should thank you for the

warm up.”

His eyes flared with a distinct look of anger. “Warm up?” he demanded. “Is that

what I am?”

“And I'm a mistake. Aren't we just peachy?” She reached up and started unfolding

his fingers from her arm. “Let. Go.” She put bite behind the very precise words.

“Why are you doing this?” he demanded.
Her eyes lifted to his. “For the last time,” she said, pausing to glare extra hard. Then

she yelled, “Let go!”

He rolled his eyes. “That worked when we were kids. But as you say, your dad isn't

around the corner to come save his whining daughter.”

“Whining!” she demanded. “Let go or I swear I will stomp on your foot with my

very high, very spiked heels.”

And she wanted to. This man had screwed with her head, her heart, and now her

body. Yeah. Just push. She was ready to stomp.

He stared at her a moment, his eyes probing her expression, before he sighed,

obviously defeated, and let go of her arms. She pointed. “And you are right. My dad isn't
here. I'm all grown up. Go home, Brad.”

He didn't move, didn't speak. Finally, in a soft tone, he said, “Talk to me, Heather.”
No way. She was beyond mad. “You wouldn't understand.”
“Try me,” he urged.
And hurt. She was hurt. Mad and hurt. Her lashes dropped to her cheeks.

Whispering, she said, “Go home, Brad.”

The room was completely silent. She could feel his eyes on her, willing her to look at

him. But she wasn't going to. Not tonight. She had too much to sort through in her mind.
About him. About her. About life.

Finally, she heard his footsteps. One by one they faded. Her eyes lifted, catching her

image in the mirror, a plan forming … and then a slow smile slid onto her lips.

* * * *

Brad sat at his desk, trying to sort through a pile of paperwork. With a mumbled

curse, he shoved a file to the side, and turned toward the window.

“Damn it, Heather,” he said quietly, through gritted teeth, “get the hell out of my

head.”

He was knee-deep in a real estate acquisition for Martin's Sweet Delights, a project

that demanded his full attention. But he was finding Heather a huge distraction. Kissing
her, touching her … he replayed the scene over and over.

Pressing two fingers to the bridge of his nose, he squeezed his eyes shut. “Focus,

man. Focus.”

He'd taken over the Martin's file the day he had joined his father's firm three years

before. He hadn't disappointed them then, and he had no plans to do so now.

Pushing to his feet, he stretched, trying to shake off the fog in his head. It was almost

lunchtime, and he had achieved zero, zip, absolutely nothing. The buzzer on his desk
went off, followed by his secretary's voice. “Christi Martin is here to see you.”

Brad frowned. Christi and Kevin Martin were the brains and brawn behind Martin's.

Christi being the brawn. He considered both a friend. He knew them well enough to
know their agendas even if they didn't want him to. Christi only visited when she wanted
something. “As in Kevin's wife?”

A whispered reply of, “Yes, that's the one,” made Brad smile. Bridgette, his secretary

since his arrival at the firm, was near fifty, efficient as hell, and a well-informed, and
quite opinionated, gossip.

Judging from her tone, Brad had a headache to deal with. “Is she…”
“Alone,” Bridgette finished.
That meant Christi not only wanted something, she was up to something. Usually

something he was uncomfortable with, and totally unrelated to work. “Damn.”

As if he didn't have enough woman problems.
“Exactly,” Bridgette said, clearly echoing his feelings. “Should I send her in?”
A voice in the background said, “The answer better be yes.” Christi's. Bridgette

gasped in obvious surprise. Brad couldn't help but smile. Leave it to Christi to liven up a
place.

“Come in, Christi,” he said, with a slight chuckle in his voice. Though she might be a

headache at times, the woman was a gem as well. He liked the way she revved up the
motors of the people around her.

Christi laughed into the phone. It was a throaty, sensual sound that was very much a

part of Christi Martin.

But not as sexy as Heather's. Damn. Where had that come from? Before he could

even begin to analyze his thoughts, his office door burst open and before being firmly
shut again, Christi sashayed across the room, swinging her curvaceous hips as she
walked, filling the room with the scent of jasmine cologne. Dressed in a cream color,
figure-outlining dress, her long black hair contrasted brilliantly.

She was a beautiful woman, who by some odd coincidence shared his birthday, and

many of his likes. One of which was her fondness for her husband. Christi Martin was

madly, crazy in love with her Kevin. The Martins were two of the happiest, down-to-
earth, madly-in-love, filthy-rich people he had ever known.

“I need your help, Brad.”
There was a surprise. His brow inched upward, as he sat down in his chair, preparing

for whatever bomb she might drop. “Do you, now?”

She settled her hip on the edge of his desk, facing him, as she leaned across it on one

hand. Brad sank back in his chair, rocking backward as far as the hinges allowed. He
wanted a good look at her face so he could get a feel for what she was up to if need be.
“Why does that not surprise me?”

She smiled. “Oh, now, now. What has your panties in such a ruffle? I rarely ask for

favors.”

Christi was the most feminine woman he knew who also had a sailor's mouth.

Somehow she managed to pull it off where others couldn't. He corrected her. “You
always ask for favors.”

She pouted. “Not always.”
His brows inched up.
She made a face. “Okay, so with you I do. But it's because I trust you, Brad. And so

does Kevin.”

He laughed and held up his hand up stop-sign fashion. “Yeah, yeah, cut the suck ups.

I'm not in the mood. I have deadlines with your company's name on them, remember?”

She grinned. “Fine, I'll get to it. Besides, it's exhausting sucking up to you. Now,

here's the thing. I have a surprise for Kevin planned for Friday night.”

“His entire birthday party is a surprise,” Brad reminded her. “There's more?”
“How about me jumping out of a cake in a sexy little outfit?” She held up a hand to

stop the words forming on his lips. “I'll use good taste, of course.”

Brad sat straight up. “You've done some daring things since I met you, but this is too

far. The press will eat you alive.”

“Good,” she said with definitiveness in her voice. “Every time they talk us up, sales

escalate. Besides, we market the company as a 'sensual taste delight'. Sweeten your days
and nights is our slogan for God's sakes, Brad. This fits our image.”

“Every time you do something off-the-wall like this, I have a ton of scandal to deal

with,” Brad reminded her. His jaw tensed. “You can't do it. Not with the huge list of
guests,” he pointed, “some of which are investors, or have you forgotten?”

“I didn't come here to ask your permission. I simply need you to distract Kevin when

I give the word. I swear, you're acting like someone's father.” Her brows dipped. “What
happened to the bad-boy attorney I met several years back? You know, the one with a
different woman on his arm every other day, and a pocket full of naughty just waiting to
be unleashed?”

Brad didn't know what to think about having not one, but two, gorgeous women in

less than twenty-four hours accuse him of acting parental. Feeling a bit defensive, he
said, “He's buried in contracts and court dates.”

She slipped off the desk. “I'm not biting. There's more to it.” She scrutinized him a

moment. “I refuse to let you come to the party without a date.”

He fixed her in a stare. “I don't need a woman to decorate my arm just to satisfy

you.”

“I was thinking more to satisfy you,” she chimed back, and then winked. She always

winked. It was her trademark.

“Let me worry about my own satisfaction. Now, if you want this real estate deal to

go through, I need to get busy.”

She sighed. “Fine, but you'll distract him, right?”
“I will, because if I don't you will just get someone else who might actually make

matters worse.” She smiled. In an authoritative tone, he added, “For the record, it's a bad
move.”

“Yes, counselor, point duly noted.” She waved her fingers at him. “Be in a better

mood at the party. I left your favorite up front. Chocolate covered strawberries. Maybe
they'll put you in a better mood.”

* * * *

Heather took a deep breath, watching the lights in the elevator change from floor to

floor. Nervousness fluttered like butterflies in her stomach, making a silent pep talk
necessary.

She had a plan. A good one. Simple. Right. Perfect.
She would march into the office of York, York, and Carrington, and ask to see Brad.

She'd then ask him to lunch. Sexy, confident women did thi ngs of this sort all the time.
At least, that's what the ten back issues of Cosmo she had scoured the night before had
indicated. The inner workings of the new Heather were still fumbling for identity, so she
had resorted to experts.

As a final boost to her confidence, she gave herself a once over. Dressed in a powder

blue, clingy dress falling just above the knee, she displayed a tasteful amount of cleavage.
Any would have been too much in the past. Sexy black sandals completed the outfit, and
to Heather's pleasure, seemed to make her legs forever long. No bony knees this time,
thank you.

Barely there black lace hugged her body intimately beneath her dress, reminding her

of the firepower she packed clear down to the skin.

She was ready to face Brad.
He would, of course, accept her invitation. Then, over lunch, she would tell him…
She'd chosen him as her personal guide to orgasm.

Chapter Six

The elevator dinged, opening the door to Heather's direct path to Brad.
Her stomach stopped fluttering. It downright somersaulted. Surely, a newbie, sexy,

confident woman deserved a trip to the bathroom before the plunge. Decision made, she
stepped off the elevator, avoiding eye contact with the receptionist behind the huge
marble desk. Detouring to a safety zone, she sat her purse on the counter, flattened her
palms on the tile sink and stared at her image.

“Think sexy,” she whispered, “and you will be sexy.”
“You are sexy, sweetheart. You must know.”
Heather whirled to find sexy personified staring at her from just inside the doorway.

The woman's long, dark hair looked like satin, soft and silky, and begging to have a man's
hand in it. Her body, well, it was like something out of a magazine.

Heather watched as the she moved forward, each step as mesmerizing as a practiced,

perfected seduction. And her words, spoken slowly, seemed to purr with a sensual
suggestion. “On you, powder blue is as hot as fire-engine red.” She eyed Heather with an
open assessment. “You look like a bombshell, an absolute siren.”

Heather Brown? A siren? That was hard to comprehend. But this woman didn't give

compliments without sincerity, of that, she was certain. No, a compliment from this
woman was something that went a long way, not just because she didn't give them
readily, but above all else, she clearly knew men.

And for some reason, she didn't mind spilling her story to her. Even if she was a

complete stranger. “I'm reinventing myself. I've never really dressed like this or thought
of myself as you describe me.” Inwardly, she cringed at her own self doubt. Pulling her
shoulders back, she added, “But I'm learning.”

“Ah,” she said. A knowing look in her eyes, she moved to Heather's side. “State of

mind is important. Self-doubt destroys. A little attitude and confidence go a long way.”

Slowly a smile spread on Heather's face. “I can have attitude.”
The woman smiled. “Sure you can, and I'm here to tell you it works. A little attitude

equals a lot of fun. And if you maintain it, you can keep the interest burning hot.”

Heather was intrigued, but knew she was over her head. “I can't get past go, let along

figure out what keeping it interesting means.”

She turned to Heather, and extended her hand. “I'm Christi Martin, by the way.”
Without hesitating Heather turned, and accepted her hand. “Heather Brown.”
Christi let go of Heather's hand as she leaned against the dark granite wall. “I figured

any two people talking about sex should at least know each others names.”

“Is that what we're talking about?” Heather asked, as she leaned against the opposite

wall.

“That's what it boils down to, isn't it? Why else are you dressed to kill, and

thrumming with anticipation?”

“I'm thrumming?” Heather asked appalled.
Laughing, Christi replied, “Absolutely,” and then winked.
A frown filled Heather's face. “Oh. That's not good. Is it?”

“Are you kidding? It's wonderful. It means you're ready to dance the dance.

Discovering a new attraction is such a thrill. Don't get me wrong. Long-term relationships
can be amazing. I'm in one and love it. You just learn little tricks to keep things alive.”

This woman's tricks needed to be in Heather's arsenal. “Like?”
Christi laughed. “You want me to give away my secrets?”
Heather nodded eagerly. “Yes, please.”
“Tell you what,” Christi said after a bout of heavier laughter. “Come to my husband's

birthday party Saturday night, and I'll give you a firsthand look. It's at the Club
Marvella.”

Club Marvella was a highly exclusive, member's only club known to be blessed with

big-name members. Who was Christi Martin to be throwing a party there? “Oh,” Heather
said. “I couldn't. I won't know anyone.”

“Bring a date.” She wiggled an eyebrow. “Or I can introduce you to some good

choices. It'll be great fun. I'm jumping out of a cake to surprise my husband.”

“No way! You're jumping out of a cake at Club Marvella?”
Christi's eyes danced with excitement. “We rented out the entire place for the night

so the club will be closed to the public. Still, Brad, our company attorney, thinks I'm
going to cause bad Press for the company with my little treat to my husband.”

The name registered instantly. “Brad Carrington?”
“That's him. You know him?”
“Yes,” Heather said averting her gaze. “He's…” She couldn't say he was her

seduction target, but it would be so easy to let it slip out. Christi was friendly, and easy to
talk to, and Heather wanted to tell her.

Christi's perfectly plucked brow arched up. “He's…?”
Looking at her, Heather tried for lighthearted. “An old family friend. In fact, I

stopped by to see if he could do lunch.”

“I see,” Christi said, and from her tone and the look in her eyes, Heather knew she

guessed Brad was the object of her efforts. But she didn't push.

“Why does Brad think your jumping out of a cake is bad Press?” Heather asked,

hoping to get a clue to how important Christi was on Brad's client list. And just who,
exactly, had she just talked sex with?

Tilting her head slightly, she asked, “Have you heard of Martin's Sweet Delights?”
Eyes alight, she nodded. “Who hasn't? Talk about to-die-for desserts and chocolate. I

love that place.” She paused as realization hit. Heather pointed without meaning to. No
wonder Christi talked about sex so openly. She had a reputation for pushing the scandal
envelope, as did the company's advertising campaigns. “That's you?”

Smiling, Christi said, “My husband and I own it. Brad is worried that because the

party will be full of high profile people, my plans will be negative for the company's
image.”

Surely Brad had a good reason for concern, but Heather wasn't sure she saw the harm

it would cause. After all, Christi had already created an image for the company that
matched the action. “You market the store as a sexy, romantic adventure. If you aren't
going to be naked, I don't see the problem.”

God, she hoped she wasn't going to be naked.
“Exactly,” Christi agreed, laughing. “I was thinking something like a bustier and a

sexy skirt. Brad doesn't give me credit sometimes. Of course, I will be tasteful.”

“My lingerie store, it's called Sweet Nothings,” Heather smiled. “Kind of similar to

Martin's Sweet Delights, but the lace version. I have more than one rather unique bustier.
You should come by and I'll show them to you.”

Christi winked. “I might just do that. So you own a lingerie store and are just now

getting into sexy mode?”

Biting her bottom lip, Heather nodded. “It's a margarita kind of story. I'll tell you

some time.”

“Speaking of delights, ever tried food in bed?”
Where did that come from? “No, um, never,” Heather said wondering exactly how

she would get the nerve to go down that path when talking about it made her blus h.

She justified her awkwardness in her mind, needing to believe she could be more

open-minded than her response. After all, the timing of the question was odd and rather
out of place in the conversation.

Christi's laugh said she picked up on Heather's nervousness. “You have a very

expressive face, Heather. Better watch that with men. Responding to what I just read in
your face, no, that was not a random, sex-crazed question. We were on the subject of sex,
and then Martin's Sweet Delights. The two happen to make a great combination.” Her
eyes lit. “Boy, could I can tell you some things to do with a big, juicy, chocolate covered
strawberry that would get any man's motor churning.”

Heather's eyes went wide. Her 'getting sexy' education had suddenly taken a rapid

move forward. In her fifteen minutes in a public bathroom, she had learned more than she
had in the entire past twenty-four hours. Correction, make that her entire twenty-five
years of life.

The door to the bathroom opened as two women, chattering, entered. Christi darted

them a look before eyeing Heather. “Better finish this conversation later.” Motioning
toward the bathroom stalls, she said, “Let me do what I came in here for,” she laughed
and motioned to the stall. “Meet me in the lobby, and I'll write down the details for
Friday night.”

Should she go to the party? In the past, Heather never would have dreamt of it, but

now … now she thought living a little sounded pretty good. She smiled. “Okay, I'd like
that.”

Several minutes later, Heather found herself following Christi into the lobby of

Brad's offices, only to find him standing at the reception desk. He was dressed in a black
suit with a matching black shirt and tie. He looked elegant, sexy, and downright arousing.

She tried to keep her inspection covert. She wet her lips nervously, afraid he would

know how intensely she was checking him out. It had been a while since she had seen in
him in a suit, and man, oh man, did it do a girl right. Broad shoulders, lean waist, athletic
body … the material showed it all. Drool-worthy, he definitely was.

His eyes went wide as they fixed on her, and then slowly slid down her body and

back up. “Heather?”

She tried for attitude and confidence though she didn't quite feel it. “Hi, Brad.” She

wiggled a finger at him. A stupid gesture she had done since they were kids. Damn it, she
wasn't getting this right. She wanted to be a sex goddess, not some cute girl-next-door.

Christi chimed in then. “Where have you been hiding her, Brad? Heather's a doll.”

Brad's expression was guarded, but Heather had known him a long time, and she

knew he was not only shocked by her visit, he was nervous about her interaction with
Christi.

“I'm surprised to see you,” he said focusing solely on Heather, his eyes darkening,

his gaze probing. Discreetly, his eyes swept her body again, but not so much so that she
didn't catch the action. Was he thinking of last night?

A slow heat seemed to flare in the depth of his eyes. Her body warmed with the

indication that he liked what he saw. A confidence boost she gladly latched onto. She
needed courage to move forward with her plan.

She swallowed. “I was hoping you were free for lunch so we could discuss that little

plan of mine.”

He was so still, she would have thought he was a statue. That was, except for his

eyes. They seemed to linger on her lips before returning to her eyes. “I was thinking
about your plan actually. Lunch sounds good. We need to talk.”

Delicately she cleared her throat, and fixed him in a defiant stare. “My plan doesn't

include a lot of talk.”

Christi laughed, drawing Heather's gaze, before giving her a little wink. When

Heather looked toward Brad, his eyes were latched onto the exchange. She read him well.
He wanted to know what Heather had shared with Christi.

Well, let him wonder.
Christi grabbed a piece of paper from her purse and leaned on the reception desk,

murmuring a few words to Bridgette, and then looking over her shoulder at Brad.
“Heather's coming to the party Friday night. She wants to see my little surprise for
Kevin.” She turned and handed Heather the paper with a bunch of notes on it. “And, did I
mention there will be lots of single men there?”

Heather smiled, loving the little trap Christi was helping her set. “Sounds perfect. I

can't wait.”

Chapter Seven

Sitting in the Red Snapper restaurant, Heather eyed Brad from over the rim of her

glass, and then took a sip of her tea. He'd hardly said two words on the ride to the
restaurant.

“I like Christi,” Heather told him as she set her glass down. “I couldn't have met a

better person to educate me on the more sensual side of living.”

“Worse,” he said, setting down the slice of bread he was about to butter. “You

couldn't have met a worse person. Christi has no idea what it's like to be on your side of
the fence. She's simply out there, testing people's tolerance levels, and pushing buttons.”

Heat began to move up her body. “What side of the fence is it, exactly, that I'm on,

Brad?”

A muscle in his jaw jumped. “The one where ladies act like ladies.”
Her brows dipped, and the heat seemed to move up her neck. Her expression, words,

and tone all dared him to answer wrong. “Are you saying that I'm not a lady if I want to
explore my other side?”

His eyes shut a minute before he refocused on her. “Look, Heather, what I'm saying

is, you need to keep your business your business. If you follow Christi's lead, it won't go
that way.”

She fixed him in a hard stare. “Maybe I'm tired of hiding, Brad. I've done it far too

many years. I'm going to the party, and I plan to get to know Christi much better. I
happen to like her. She has guts.”

He let out a frustrated breath, pushed his plate to the side, and rested his palms on the

table, leaning forward slightly. His eyes focused on hers. Between clenched teeth, he
said, “I don't want you to follow Christi's example.”

Heather humphed, picked up her fork, and stabbed a baby potato. “I want a new pair

of Pradas.” Her eyes drifted in thought. “They're black with straps around the ankles, and
little white stitching on the toes, and really sexy three-inch heels.” She looked at him,
knowing she was confusing him, but soon he would understand. “But I can't afford them.
I bought the imitations. They aren't as good. The heels are too thick.”

His eyes showed his confusion. “I'm trying to get the female logic in this. What are

you saying?”

She made a face. “We don't always get what we want.” She stuck the potato in her

mouth and chewed. She set down her fork, aware of his gaze, hot and heavy. She looked
at him, into those deep, sea-blue eyes, and saw something there, something not so
brotherly.

For long moments they stared at one another.
Finally, he spoke, his tone soft, and a bit deeper than normal. “What is it you want

from me, Heather? You're pushing my buttons, I can feel it. I know you.”

So there you go. He had called her on her actions. It was so like Brad to find a way

to get some control. But she was ready. She'd come this far, and she wasn't backing
down.

Pushing her plate to the side, she leaned forward, arms pressed to the table. Heather

was aware of what she was doing. Her position offered Brad a ripe view of ample
cleavage.

She waited, not saying a word, hardly breathing, wondering if he would look—no,

hoping. Hoping he would look.

He did.
Quickly, covertly, but he did look. Then, slowly, his eyes trailed up her neck until

they focused on her lips. She licked them, unable to stop herself. It seemed a natural
reaction, a nervous one, but it also implied invitation.

To kiss her.
God, how she wanted to taste him again.
His eyes lifted to hers, probing, as if he wanted to know exactly what she was

thinking. She could almost feel his touch from across the table, so intense was the sudden
warmth surrounding them.

Anyone who looked at them would have known they wanted each other. Maybe even

assumed they were already sleeping together. And they would be if his struggle between
brotherly intentions and pure male lust wasn't so damn fierce.

Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest she wondered if he could hear it. She

forced her words, knowing what she wanted, but suddenly feeling anxious about his
response. She managed a mere whisper. “I want you to be my mentor, not Christi.”

Silence filled the air, but their eyes stayed locked, the battle between attraction and

the past strong and forceful in his. “This is a bad idea,” he said finally.

Not a no. A slow smile slid onto her lips. “So you'll do it?”
“No. And you aren't doing it either.”
She smiled. He couldn't tell her what to do, and he knew it. “Wrong answer.”
Before he could answer the waitress reappeared. “Can I get you folks anything?”
A flash of irritation washed over Brad's features, something so rare for him—a man

of easy temperament—that it shocked Heather. “Nothing,” he said in a clipped tone
without taking his eyes off of Heather.

First, Heather gave him a reprimanding look, and then she turned her attention on the

waitress, an elderly woman who was as sweet as honey. Smiling, she said, “Thanks so
much, though. I think we're ready for a check.”

Once the woman slid the check to the tabletop and disappeared, Heather fixed Brad

in a hard look. “You were downright rude.”

He frowned. “I wasn't.”
“You were,” she said forcefully.
He sighed heavily. “If I was, and I'm not saying I was, it's because you're making me

crazy, woman.”

She scoffed. “Don't blame me for your meanness. Is this a new side to you I don't

know about?”

“Now I was mean?” he asked. “And what makes you think you know me anyway?”
She hadn't thought about how time might have changed him. She was crazy about

the Brad of the past. Who was the Brad of present? “Maybe I don't.” She didn't want to
believe he had changed. “Do I?”

His expression was carefully guarded, his reply a long time in coming. “You do

know me. And I know you. That's why I'm worried about you getting in over your head
with this seduction plan of yours.”

She softened then. His actions all came back to his worry about her, and she knew

that. “I appreciate your concern, Brad, I do, but I'm grown up. You say you know me, but
I'm not sure that's true. I am Heather Brown, the grown woman, with needs and wants
beyond those of yesterday.”

His eyes narrowed. “I am completely aware of the woman you have become, I assure

you.”

And he was. She knew he was. He'd kissed her, and touched her, and today he

looked down her shirt with a passion-filled gaze.

And now he stared at her with such potently dark eyes, she swallowed. “Um, good

then.” She swallowed again. Damn, the man had eyes that seemed to spread heat all over
her skin. “Then you understand I am going to Christi's party and I am going to be there as
a woman, not the kid next door.” She gave him a look that dared him to argue. “How
about I make dinner and you can give me some tips on hanging up the old Heather, and
bringing in the sexier version. You know, from a man's point of view.”

“I have a client in town tonight,” he said, a bit too quickly.
“Then tomorrow night,” Heather said and it wasn't a question. “I'll see if Brenda is

free tonight.”

A scowl filled his face. “For what?”
Years of feeling as if she wasn't sexy or good enough had made her hide from

everything remotely sexual. To really get beyond the past, Heather felt she needed to
explore what she had once hidden from.

“I was thinking I should shock myself into throwing out all my inhibitions. There is

this little shop downtown, Honeysuckle, that caters to, shall we say, adult needs. I
thought Brenda and I could pay it a visit.”

He pushed his chair back and stood up. “You appear to be doing just fine at setting

free your inhibitions. Let's get out of here.”

* * * *

Brenda wasn't available that night.
So Heather stood outside Honeysuckle, staring at the sign, wringing her hands

together. If she really wanted to overcome her self-image, to feel sexy and fulfilled, she
needed to do this.

Looking down at her clothes, she was thankful she had chickened out and resorted to

her standard black slacks and black shirt, comfortable and not too revealing. It felt safer
going to a place like this, a sex shop, dressed in her old, protective gear.

Still, she wanted to do this. So what if she was dressed like the old Heather. Baby

steps, she whispered in her head. They might be small, but progress is progress.

Inhibitions, fears, and self-doubt had ruled her personal life too long. Sucking in a

calming breath, she reached for the door.

“Not so fast.”
The all too familiar masculine voice came from near her ear, a warm breath brushing

her neck, sending goosebumps of awareness dancing along her skin. The door stopped
dead, his hand pressing it shut.

Brad.
“No way am I letting you go in a place like this.”
She turned toward him, feeling a wave of anger. He was so close his body framed

hers. She resented his order, and at the same time hated her purely physical reaction to his
nearness.

If she was angry she wanted to be just that. Not aroused and angry. It was confusing.
If she swayed his direction even slightly they would be touching. His scent, so

familiar, and as always, alluringly male, overwhelmed her senses. Clearly he wasn't here
to show her the ways of seduction.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded. “You had a business thing, remember?”
He looked down at her, his eyes half closed, his eyes looking so blue they were

unnaturally brilliant. “Protecting you,” he said with quiet insistence in his voice. His tone
softened then, but held the same determination, “Do you know what kind of perverts go
into places like this?”

Her brows dipped. “Have you ever been in a place like this?”
“That's not the point…”
She didn't let him finish. It was easier to be mad than turned on when it came to

winning a battle with Brad. “Then what is the point? If you've been here…”

“Not here…”
She waved away his words. “Whatever,” she said a bit loudly. He made a 'shh' noise.

She brought her tone down, but continued as if he hadn't indicated her volume. “You've
been someplace similar then. Are you saying you're a weirdo?”

A muscle in his jaw visibly jumped. “You know what I'm saying. More weirdos than

not come to these places.”

Her jaw clenched. “And they go to grocery stores as well. Are you going to start

picking out produce with me, too?” She paused with a glare. “To protect me, of course.”

* * * *

This is not going as I planned, Brad thought, as he stepped to the side of the doorway

of the sex store, whatever it was called. He and Heather stepped to the side of the door as
a tall, thin man with body piercing and tattoos so heavy they seemed to grow from his
skin entered the store.

“See what I mean?” he challenged, giving a covert nod toward the man.
Heather rolled her eyes. “It's just a way of expression. Give it a rest, Brad. I'm going

inside.”

She looked far too sexy when she was angry. The woman was messing with his head.

He wanted to reach down and kiss the pout right off those sexy, full lips. It was crazy.
She wanted him to see her as a woman, and he sure as hell did.

He was having no trouble seeing her as a woman, not a kid sister.
But he was trying damn hard not to.
Yet with every passing moment, he seemed to fall more and more under some spell.

One that made him want to rip off her clothes, and then throw her on a bed and make love
to her.

Better yet, he'd just bend her over, hands on that lush ass, and show her just what sex

was all about. It wasn't all about love. It was about human need, and animal lust. His

body hardened instantly. Thinking of her naked body pressed against his was like hot fuel
on a fire that threatened to explode.

He shoved away the thoughts. Something he was finding more and more necessary.

The wrong images, ones with him and Heather far too intimate, were becoming a habit.

He forced himself to refocus on the issue at hand. “Don't go overboard with this

whole grand plan of yours, Heather. Let's get some dinner. I'll buy.”

She smiled, and for an instant he thought he had won. “Sounds good. I'll let you as

payment for being a pain in the backside. Right after I' m done here.”

With that she reached for the door and flung it open. As she moved through the door,

he let out an exasperated sigh and stepped forward, following her like some kind of guard
dog.

Heather stopped walking not far inside the doorway, her back to him. He looked

around the room, seeing what she was seeing. Ball-shaped lights hung from the ceiling,
casting a dim glow around the room.

Two round tables made of glass sat just beyond the impressive built-in counter of

solid oak. In the center of each table was a huge flickering candle surrounded by unlit
varieties of the same in all shapes, sizes, and colors.

Even Brad had to admit the tattoo guy, who was nowhere in sight, seemed out of

place in these rather elegant looking surroundings. Still… “Don't get your hopes up. I'm
sure it gets worse past the front door.”

Heather eyed him over her shoulder, giving him a reprimanding look before walking

toward one of the tables. Watching her walk, he noted the sweet little sway of her hips.
She wasn't even dressed to seduce. Quite the opposite.

His body didn't care. He had seen what lay beneath. Besides, what Heather didn't

seem to know was how appealing she was by just being herself. Natural, free, and
genuinely beautiful, inside and out. She was any man's desire. Until now, he had simply
found a place to tuck that knowledge away and not respond to her.

It had worked for him.
Now it didn't. Now, when she moved, he got hard. She smiled. He got hard. She

leaned over and gave him a cleavage shot, he all but came ungl ued.

Sniffing a candle, she turned to him, a soft smile playing on her lips. Without even

thinking about it, he moved forward to find out the source of that smile. As he stopped
beside her, she held up a candle toward his nose.

“Smell,” she said, and so he did.
Her brow inched up as if asking him if he knew what it was, but she told him instead

of letting him answer. “Honeysuckle. Like the store's name.” She set down the candle and
squirted on some perfume before holding up her wrist.

No way out of it, he leaned forward and let his nose taste the sweetness that was her.

The flavor his lips had already tasted. Unable to stop himself, his eyes drifted shut, as he
soaked in her essence. His mind drifted back to the moment his lips had touched hers.

“You like it?” she asked softly, snapping him out of his reverie.
His eyes slowly lifted. She was staring up at him with big eyes. They held a look in

them he would have sworn to be a seduction ploy if this was anyone but Heather.

But it was Heather.
The girl who had grown up next door to him.
The woman who epitomized pure, honest sweetness to him, more so than any other.

He smiled softly, trying not to think about how good she smelled. “It reminds me of

the honeysuckle that used to grow behind your porch when we were growing up.”

She tilted her head slightly to study him. “I remember. I'm surprised you do.”
He remembered a lot more than the honeysuckle. Heather had been a special part of

his young life. Until he hit high school age, they had talked for hours on that very porch,
right by that honeysuckle.

“Of course I remember. The smell was addictive.”
“Addictive,” she repeated, staring at him for long moments before abruptly breaking

eye contact. “Sounds like I need to make this one of my purchases.” She scanned the area
by the front. “I need a basket or something. I might want more things.”

She scurried away so quickly he was left standing there, staring after her. She said

something to the clerk. Enthralled, he studied her, realizing how much he found her every
action attractive.

Realization seeped into his thoughts.
He had always thought she was appealing. Always. Now, with her trying to tempt

and tease and seduce another man—for the first time ever—he had to deal with those
feelings.

Feelings? What feelings?
Lust?
He tried to fight the thoughts racing through his head. No way was he going to think

it was more than that. Oh, hell. It was more. With Heather, it wasn't just sex or a casual
relationship. They had a bond, a friendship. Acting on his physical desire would
potentially destroy something he never wanted to lose.

So despite the fact that he couldn't stand the idea of her wearing honeysuckle

perfume and sexy lingerie for some other man, he couldn't do a damn thing but stand by
and watch.

His jaw clenched. No, that wasn't true.
Any man who wanted Heather was going to have to pass his tests and meet his

approval.

Heather stopped in front of him, basket in hand. “There are videos in the back.”
He'd hoped to avoid this subject. “Do you have any idea what type of movies they

are?”

Heather bit her bottom lip, and then nodded. “Yes, but I figure they will be

educational. Maybe you could watch one with me?”

Her voice was oh-so innocent as she said the words, but his eyes narrowed, as

suspicion budded. Yes, this was Heather, but surely she wasn't so sweet she didn't know
what she was asking of him. He was the one getting the education here, an education into
his own limits of restraint.

Chapter Eight

By the time they left Honeysuckle, Heather had selected several candles, a bottle of

perfume, a video, and a book on getting in touch with your inner sexuality.

Brad's discomfort had become almost comical. Heather couldn't help but push him a

little further over the edge. He was always acting like such a big brother, it seemed only
right that he be taught a lesson.

After all, she was not his sister, and had no desire to be seen as such. It was time he

saw her for the woman she was. And if she could see herself as such, then so could he.

She'd make sure of it.
She unlocked her car door, and turned to face him. “Well, I'm off to watch the video.

Want to join me?”

He stared down at her, his gaze probing. Then he leaned forward, hand on the roof of

her car, half trapping her. Not that she minded. He smelled like male perfection, and
having him so near was everything she wanted. “You know exactly what you are doing,
don't you?”

Her brows dipped. “I told you what I'm doing. I'm exploring my sexy side. The

question is, are you going to help me or not?”

His eyes dropped to her lips. He wanted to kiss her, she could tell. He looked up.

“Stop playing games, Heather. It doesn't suit you. Stop it now.”

Inwardly, she quivered, but it didn't stop her from acting. Her hand went to his chest.

“This is no game, Brad. Of that you can be quite certain.”

He looked down at her hand, and she could have sworn she felt him suck in a breath.

“No, it's not,” he said quietly before his gaze lifted. “You don't seem to get what kind of
fire you could ignite.”

Oh, yes, she did. “I want fire. I want heat. Bring it on.”
He leaned forward, lips close to hers. Her eyes half shut, anticipation thrummed

through her body. His breath brushed her lips. Any moment he would kiss her. She felt
those long moments in every inch of her body. Wanting him, feeling her nipples tingle,
and a funny feeling swirl deep in her stomach.

Then suddenly his mouth was by her ear. “I don't play with fire, Heather. Stop this

silliness before it's too late.”

Abruptly, he was gone. She watched his retreating form, her chest heaving slightly.

Partly from anger. Partly from pure, hot desire.

“Damn you, Brad Carrington.” She squeezed her keys in her hand. “This isn't over.”

* * * *

Anticipation had made the week slow.
And Brad had called her several times the day after their little sex shop visit, but she

didn't take his calls.

At the time, she had figured—let him pay for his behavior—let him wonder what

was going on. And she had expected him to show up at her store. But he hadn't.

Nor had he called after that first day.

She had to admit, though only to herself, she was a bit let down that he hadn't called

or come by. Each night as she locked up the store, she had silently hoped.

“You look amazing.”
Heather snapped out of her reverie at Brenda's words. She sat behind Heather on the

couch, enjoying a glass of wine. Standing in front of the mirror, Heather was indeed
pleased with her appearance.

A black strapless dress, with a nice slit that showed lots of leg, and sexy sandals

came together looking very sexy. Her transformation had been quite amazing.

Still it was hard to be excited. Brad's lack of pursuit had smashed her confidence a

bit.

“You look uptight.” Brenda met her gaze in the mirror and then patted the cushion

beside her. “Come sit with me and drink some wine.”

Heather sighed and turned toward her friend. “Yes,” she admitted. “I think that might

be wise.”

Brenda reached for Heather's glass that was sitting untouched on the table. “How

soon will your ride be here?”

Sinking down onto the chair, Heather accepted the glass and took a sip before

responding. “What time is it?”

With a quick glance at her watch, Brenda said, “A few minutes before seven.”
Heather took another sip of wine, feeling her heart race in her chest. “I have fifteen

minutes.” Not long, she silently added. The thought made her take another sip of wine.

“Be careful,” Brenda warned. “We both know you aren't a drinker.”
Heather gave her an irritated look. “I have hardly had half a glass.”
“What did you eat today?” Brenda demanded. Heather had to think. Never a good

sign. Brenda's look said she knew all too well what Heather's hesitation meant. “Exactly
what I thought. You never eat when you're nervous. Alcohol and no food, along with a
low tolerance is bad news. What you do tonight has to come from within. I wanted you to
take a few sips to calm your nerves. But I don't want you tipsy.”

“I'm fine,” Heather said. “The last thing I need is you acting like some protector.”

Then without thinking, she added, “Your brother does that quite nicely all on his own.”

Brenda snorted with disgust. “He has been an absolute bear this week. I hope he gets

drunk and laid tonight. Then maybe I will get some peace.”

Heather almost choked on a sip of wine. She began coughing, wiping off half her

lipstick as she swiped at the wine on her lips.

“Good grief,” Brenda said, taking her glass. “Be careful. You okay?”
Swallowing, Heather nodded yes. A necessary lie. Brenda had no idea how close to

home she had hit. Or how much she too wanted Brad to get laid this very night.

By her.
Not ten minutes later, Heather found herself walking toward a black stretch limo.

Inside her purse were two condoms, compliments of Brenda. Heather had blushed when
she handed them to her, but deep down she had been glad to receive them. She would
have been embarrassed to buy them.

And she really wanted to need those little plastic-wrapped Trojans.
She eyed the shiny car as she neared. This would be a first for her, and she couldn't

help feeling a bit excited. All dressed up, a party, and fancy car. It felt exhilarating.

The driver held the door for her and she climbed in, prepared to sit down.

To her utter shock, Brad was inside. Her heart raced in her chest, her stomach

lurched. She maneuvered so she sat directly across from him. His eyes were dark, his
expression indiscernible. He wore a tux and looked incredible.

Sexy.
Perfect.
Mouth feeling as dry as a desert, she swallowed, pressing her palms into the leather

of the seat. “I didn't know we were sharing a ride.”

“We weren't.” His voice was soft, and carefully elusive.
Her eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”
“I wanted to make sure you put your little man games to rest.” His eyes slowly

moved downward, making a slow slide down her body. They lingered on her legs before
lifting. “I see you haven't.”

Her eyes flashed. “Because I don't look the role of old maid, I'm playing games?”
Brad let his brow inch up. A challenge in his eyes. The car began to move. Heather

was glad. The sooner she got away from his accusations, the better.

He continued to push. “We both know you have an objective tonight.”
Yes, she thought silently. Just not the one he had in mind. A much as she desired

Brad, she also, at that moment, wanted to hit him. “I am simply taking pride in who I am
as a woman.”

He was silent a moment. Accusation was gone from his eyes. “You didn't return my

calls.”

He sounded almost wounded. Or maybe it was wishful thinking. Slowly, her

heartbeat calmed. His words did something to her. Made her warm inside. She eased back
into the leather seats, and let her elbows relax.

Her voice was softer now, her anger already starting to shimmer away. “Because I

knew you would act like you are now.”

“Is it so bad that I worry about you?”
No. Yes. She was glad he cared. But still. “Is it so bad for me to live a little?”
“You're playing a dangerous game.”
“One you could stop.”
“I've tried.”
He was ignoring the point. He could be her guide. She knew darn well he knew what

she was saying. “Try harder,” she said, eyes boldly holding his, words short and to the
point.

Their eyes locked and held. The tension in the air was as thick as a heavy blanket.

Time seemed to stand still. She met his dark, indiscernible expression with her own bold
challenge. She'd come this far, she wasn't backing down now.

He knew what he could do to change her plans.
But he wouldn't. She knew he wouldn't.
As if he had heard her silent challenge, he moved forward, taking her off guard.

Before she knew what was happening, his knees shackled her own. His hands settled on
her thighs.

Instantly, her breath caught in her throat. “What are you doing?” she whispered.
His brow inched upward. “Isn't this what you want?”
“Brad…”
“Shh.”

She swallowed. His hands were on the move, inching up her legs, under the hem of

her skirt. Slowly, gently, he pressed her legs apart. Panic rose, but she shoved it back
down. This was what she wanted.

It was also the last thing she expected to really happen.
She felt his gaze shift to her legs, hot in its inspection. Her reaction was instant. The

tiny throb between her thighs, the one already forming, intensified. Already her panties
felt wet from her desire.

Crazy, but very real.
Brad really did it for her. Men had tried so much more to draw her into the heat.

Never, ever had she felt what she felt with Brad. He managed to ignite a flame burning
with the sizzle of need.

For him.
She'd always wanted him.
His finger found her inner thighs, inching upward. She held her breath, anticipating

what was to come. Suddenly, his eyes lifted to hers. No longer was his expression
unreadable. Pure masculine desire burned in his gaze.

So hot it turned her inside out. How long had she waited to see this look in his eyes?
The question was lost as his fingers continued their slow, sensual path along her now

ultra-sensitive skin. His big, warm hands felt like a seductive inducement of passion. Like
an invitation to experience the wonders of a world she had never known. As addictive as
breathing. Like a need that had to be maintained. Dangerously so. At that moment, she
knew once she crossed a certain intimacy line with Brad, she would never want to go
back. They would never be what they had been before.

Never be just friends.
The sexual chemistry was too strong. They would always remember it. Thus they

would be forever changed. She now knew why he had resisted her request to be tutor to
her sexual pleasure. He had feared they could never go back.

But it was impossible to use reason to escape the moment. They were both lost in the

experience. In the need. She wanted him so damn badly it almost hurt.

His eyes locked with hers, so hot she should have looked away. But she didn't.

Boldly, his fingers stroked her panties. She gasped at the touch, fighting back a low
moan. It was almost embarrassing how easily she responded to him. Another caress of his
fingertips and her lashes fluttered to her cheeks.

This was what she had waited so very long for … a man who made her feel.
Suddenly, his mouth was on hers, his tongue slipping between her teeth, just as his

fingers pushed aside the lace barrier, stroking her sensitive flesh. Her legs inched farther
apart on their own accord. Or maybe he did it. She didn't know. Didn't really care. She
just didn't want him to stop. The more he touched her, the more she wanted. Her tongue
slid along his with a hungry urgency, her hands on his shoulders.

Her need to explore took over. Her hands went to his face, to his hair, and back to his

shoulders. Still she wanted more. But the gentle rhythm of his fingers moving along her
clit threatened to take her very ability to move. And when he slid one finger inside her,
she moaned into his mouth.

He nipped her bottom lip. “You're so damn wet.”
“Ye…” She didn't finish the one word she attempted because his mouth was on hers

again.

Then she felt him move, he was on the seat beside her, and momentarily his mouth

left hers. She touched her lips, dazed, wanting more. Before she could really process what
was happening, he was turning her so they faced one another.

And, God thank you, he was kissing her again.
His hand found her breast, and she shivered from the touch, arching her back into the

caress. Instinctively, her hand covered his. She liked how it felt, having him touch her
there. Her aggressiveness seemed to feed his desire. He kissed her more passionately, his
mouth lapping at hers, his tongue delving deep to taste her. And then slowly his mouth
trailed down her jaw, her neck, and then lingered near her collarbone. He pushed aside
the black silk of her dress, freeing her breast. His tongue ran down her skin as his fingers
plucked her nipple and then pinched, preparing her for the warmth of his mouth. He
suckled her nipple, soft and then a bit rougher, mimicking what his fingers had done. Her
back arched, her breathing erratic with excitement.

When his mouth found hers, she made a sound borne of pure pleasure, and tried to

press closer to his body. Her hand traveled to his back, loving the flex of muscle beneath
her palm. She wanted to feel his skin, to touch him without the barrier of clothes.

That thought jolted her a bit back to reality. Nerves kicked in. Would he like her

body? Then she felt it … the slowing of the car.

Her body went on red alert, stiffening in his arms. She tugged at her top, and pulled

her lips from his. He stared down at her, his eyes dark, accusing. His mouth started to
descend again.

She put her fingers on his lips. “Stop,” she whispered urgently.
He gave her a probing stare, and took her hand in his. “I'll stop, but I hope I made my

point.”

She blinked at him. “What are you talking about? What point?”
Something inside her already started filling with dread. She wasn't going to like what

he had to say. She shoved away from him, adjusting her clothes. “What point, Brad?” Her
lips and voice quivered but she didn't care.

“You're over your head. Another guy wouldn't have stopped when you said to. You

put on the red light. You got scared. Be glad it was me and not someone else.”

Everything inside her turned cold. This had been nothing more than his own little

game. The car door opened behind her. Tears threatened, burning the back of her eyes,
but she refused to let him see her cry. Inwardly, she reached deep inside herself and
found a mocking, confident voice. “I was trying to warn you the car was stopping, Brad. I
guess you didn't do a good enough job of distracting me or maybe I wouldn't have
noticed.”

She saw his eyes register shock just before she turned and slid out of the car. As her

feet hit the pavement, regret, deep and painful, settled in her stomach.

Indeed, her relationship with Brad had changed forever.

Chapter Nine

Wordlessly, Brad leaned against the mahogany bar in the far corner of the room, as

distant as possible from the hustle of party jubilee.

What the hell had possessed him to touch Heather again?
Ah, but he knew the answer. He plain and simple wanted her. Didn't want anyone

else to have her. Seeing her dressed to seduce, looking gorgeously tempting, had enraged
him.

Because he knew it was for some other man.
And he knew he felt for her what he shouldn't.
Reality had started to form through the clouds of suppressed feelings. Touching her,

as he had in her store, had begun to tear down the distortion of the past.

They had always been close. Feelings beyond the obvious had always lurked beneath

the surface. At least on his part. And after experiencing how she responded to him now,
he was pretty damn certain for her as well.

As adults, distance was all that had kept them from evolving beyond the family ties

that had brought them together.

Her snide remark had been nothing more than a protective lashing out.
One he deserved.
He'd struck the first blow.
Fearful, she had pushed him away and would simply turn to another. It had been

unlike him, and borne of his anger that she would even consider seducing another.

The days away from her—the ones he used to come to grips with reality—had also

allowed anger to chur n. He didn't want the woman he probably was in love with playing
some seduction game with another.

Probably. “Shit,” he murmured, and tipped back his glass and finished off his

bourbon and coke.

He set it down on the bar with a loud clank. “Another?” the bartender asked.
Brad started to say yes, and then changed his mind. “No, thanks man.”
He knew he needed a clear head to deal with Heather. No way was he going to watch

her go home with another man. If she was looking for lessons in bedroom skills, he had
already crossed about every line possible.

He damn sure wasn't letting anyone else be her instructor. Any reservations he'd had

before were now dead and gone. If she wanted to find out what it felt liked to be nice and
fucked, he'd be happy to oblige.

Then he'd make love to her.
As many times as it took to prove to her she didn't need a game to find what she was

looking for.

* * * *

Heather sipped her second glass of wine, brought to her by a man named—of all

things—Brad.

He was a doctor, about ten years her senior, and quite nice. He personified tall, dark,

and handsome. And he wanted her.

She saw it in his eyes.
But she didn't want him. So when he was paged to go to the hospital, she'd been

relieved.

Sitting at a table covered with a dark-blue silk cloth, she looked around the room.

There must be at least two hundred people present. Elegance was everywhere she looked.
Warm blues and whites were the theme with huge floral arrangements at the corners of
the dance floor. Dimly lit, the room flickered with the glow of vanilla-scented candles on
each table.

It was a room that had been designed with great care, and a whole lot of money.
She had yet to see Christi. A blessing as far as she was concerned. Already she knew

the woman was perceptive as hell. No way could she hide how upset she was. Brad's little
lesson had hurt. So much so that she had to face the truth. She had wanted him to really
want her. Oh, she knew he was attracted to her. But deep down, she wanted more than
that.

She wanted Brad to feel as much for her as she did him.
A Cinderella dream. Her Prince Charming. She refused to name her feelings beyond

the form of a little girl's dream. Somehow, it seemed safer, less painful.

She sipped her wine, feeling the light-headedness of no food and alcohol. In the back

of her mind, she heard Brenda's warning. She shoved it away.

Brad was somewhere in the crowd, watching her. She felt his eyes on her. Hot and

forbidding. Like a hawk circling its prey. He was waiting to scold. To act like the big
brother and stop her from experiencing life.

She tipped back her glass. Well, he could just go to hell.
If ever there was a night she needed to get lost in some man's arms … it was tonight.

Maybe the doctor didn't do it for her, but somewhere in the crowd there was a sexy man
who could make her feel like a woman.

She pushed to her feet.
Someone who could make her forget Brad.
With that thought, she turned to start walking. As if her silent prayers had been

answered, she ran smack into a hard chest. Her nostrils flared at the scent of a spicy
cologne. She looked upward, to meet the probing eyes of the tall blond god who had
suddenly appeared.

She wobbled on her high heels, and his hands steadied her. It brought back a flash of

Brad doing the same in her dressing room. Fiercely, she shoved away his image.

The man smiled. He had a nice, handsome smile. His jaw was square, his facial

features strong yet so perfect they could be called beautiful. “You okay?” he asked, in a
voice that was as warm as a summer's day.

And still her mi nd went back to Brad. Comparing. She managed a smile, not moving

away from this very likable man's touch. Hating how much she hoped Brad saw.

“I'm fine,” she said, a note of flirtatiousness in her voice. “Sorry about that. I didn't

see you.”

His eyes warmed in response to the obvious invitation in her voice. It gave Heather a

feeling of success. Confidence in the form of male attention. “I was actually about to see
if I might share another glass of wine with you and perhaps, a dance?”

His eyes were a dark, seductive brown. Eyes that should easily draw a woman under

his spell. But for her, Brad still controlled her thoughts … and apparently, her body.
Inwardly, she sighed. Maybe, after another glass of wine, she would stop thinking of him.
Maybe then, she could let this sexy specimen of male perfection rock her world.

Please, she thought. Please.
Continuing to pine for Brad would only cause her pain, and she knew it. He'd proven

that in the car.

No one who loved her could taunt her so. She swallowed, shocked at the thought.

Had she really thought he loved her as a man did a woman?

No. No. No. She had not thought that.
And, damn it, she refused to love him.
Resolutely, she decided she needed drastic actions. She slid her arm under the elbow

of the new guy. “I'd love a glass of wine.”

* * * *

Brad had talked a friend into distracting Kevin for him. Any minute Christi would

jump out of a cake and make a total freaking spectacle of herself.

Usually it would be his worst nightmare.
Tonight, he just didn't give a shit. He had another thing on his mind.
Like Heather dancing with a man who whose hand was way too close to her ass. And

she didn't even seem to mind. She was laughing and smiling up at him. Bastard.

She'd been with him for an hour, talking, laughing, and now dancing way too

closely.

It was taking all the restraint he possessed to stay away from her. He battled some

primal need to stake his claim. To go onto the dance floor, throw her over his shoulder,
and carry her off.

His hands balled into fists at his sides, as he fought his urges. But then he saw it …

the man pulled her tight against his body, his hand running along her back to mold them
together.

He snapped.
Before he even processed his own thoughts, he was on the move.

Chapter Ten

Heather thought she heard Brad's voice.
“Heather.” There it was again.
She blinked, wondering if it was wishful thinking.
“I'm cutting in.”
Heather leaned away from Ryan, the architect who promised to be any girl's dream

man, except hers. “Brad?”

He was looking at her, his dark blue eyes turbulent, stormy, almost dangerous.
Then he took her hand, and started pulling her behind him. She heard Ryan protest,

but she couldn't respond. Brad was half dragging her through the crowd.

They went out a door and into another room, a barely lit banquet room clearly not

being used for the night. She found herself pressed against the wall, Brad's hands on
either side of her head.

Effectively, his body framed hers, trapping her against the wall. His eyes followed

suit, as he pinned her in a potent stare. Something dark and demanding laced his voice.
“What the hell are you trying to prove?”

She'd never seen him like this. Very controlling, and … it enhanced his maleness.

Made him rawly sexy. It had a dual impact, enticing as easily as it made her angry. His
scent, all male and alluring, wrapped around her. She shoved away her attraction to him.
He was being big brother, treating her like a child. Acting as if she was a little girl who
had misbehaved.

“My actions are none of your business, Brad.” She pushed his unmoving chest.

“Back off.”

His eyes flashed, surprising her as he allowed anger to surface. Brad never shown the

darker side of his emotions. Rarely had she seen him lose his temper. He spoke through
clenched teeth. “You have always been my business, Heather, and you damn well know
it.”

Try as she might, she couldn't stop the tiny thrill his possessive tone gave her. But, of

course, he meant it quite brotherly. So much for a thrill. “Oh please, Brad,” she said, her
utter frustration in her voice. “Drop the big brother routine.”

“I'm quite clear on who and what I am to you. I think you're the one who is

confused.”

Right. She wanted things from him he wasn't willing to give. Why had she ever

thought she could use him to define her womanhood, and not lose her heart? It hurt—this
thing that was going on between them.

She cut her eyes away from his. “Whatever, Brad.”
“Do you want that guy you were dancing with?” His voice was low this time, and his

breath seemed closer, a warm trickle whispering against her neck.

She turned to face him, not expecting to find his mouth so near hers. It was hard to

speak when he was so close. A step and they would be touching. But she wasn't going to
back down. “What if I do?”

He spoke through clenched teeth, a hiss of a whisper. “Answer me, damn it.”

Her eyes shut. Fine. She'd answer and then maybe he would leave her alone. “No. I

don't want him.”

There was a long silence. “But you were going to go home with him, weren't you?”
Her lashes lifted, her eyes probing his expression, seeking … for what she wasn't

sure. Finally, “No.” She paused. “Maybe.” Damn it, he was so close. It was hard to think.
Her body literally thrummed with alertness, wanting him to touch her. Her nipples were
hard, her panties wet. “I don't know. I'm confused.” She needed an excuse to end this
conversation so she said, “I drank too much wine, I think.”

Without warning, he closed the distance, molding his body to hers as his hand slid up

her leg and cupped her ass. His mouth lingered a mere breath from her own.

And he was hard. She felt the evidence pressing against her stomach, spreading a

revelation of sorts through her mind and her limbs. She wanted him, but he also wanted
her.

Still, his actions, his touch, shocked her. It also made her burn for more of him. She

wanted him closer. So close it would be like crawling under his skin and absorbing his
very essence.

She had dismissed the car incident as his idea of a lesson. Oh, she knew he had been

turned on, but after the way it ended, she was certain they would never touch again.

And even if he wanted her, she thought his big-brother mentality would win over his

physical desires.

Her hands settled on his shoulders. She could feel the tension in his body, the rumble

of anger simmering beneath his surface. And his words … they echoed what she felt in
his body.

“Were you going to go home with him?”
“I don't know,” she answered, but she did know. She wouldn't have gone home with

another man. She wanted Brad.

No one else compared.
His hand squeezed her ass as he pulled her up higher so she had to stand on her

tiptoes. His erection settled between her thighs, making her gasp ever so slightly. But she
didn't feel shy like she thought she might. Like she had with other men. She felt urgent.

His lips moved to her ear. “But you considered it.”
“Yes,” she said in a barely audible voice.
“Because you wanted to know what it was like to fuck until you could fuck no

more?” He lifted her leg to his waist. Every inch of her body wanted what he threatened
to offer. Heat seemed to gather between her thighs. To have him … it was like a dream
come true. The answer to her body's needs. But not like this. Not when he was angry.
“You wanted it, didn't you?

She was turned on beyond words. So hot she could barely think. But she so didn't

want to be. His anger was like a living creature, so full of life. This was a Brad she didn't
know.

It seemed wrong for him to speak in such away. Worse, something about it turned

her on. “Don't talk to me like that.”

His hand squeezed her ass, and then kneaded. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip as

she bit back a moan of pleasure. She wanted to arch her hips and press her body against
his. It took all of her will to hold herself in check

“Why not?” he asked, moving so that he could pin her in a stare. His eyes reflected a

mix of both anger and pure, hot desire. His words taunted her with a challenge. “I thought
you wanted to learn about sex, Heather?”

Oh, how she did. Sex with him. “You're angry at me.”
A muscle in his jaw jumped. “What makes you say that?”
Suddenly, his anger registered on a new level. He seemed more vulnerable than he

ever had before. She reached out and touched his cheek. His eyes instantly seemed to
soften, a tormented look replacing the anger. Her words were a mere whisper but the y
held pure, hot truth. “I want you, Brad.”

And she did. Never, ever had she wanted a man with such desperation. His very

presence was like a drug. It was as if she was sinking into a cloud of forbidden, urgent
passion.

For long moments, he said nothing. She felt the silence like some sort of slap. Would

he back away from her after she bared her feelings? Would he end this as he had ended
their episode in the car? She felt the burn in her stomach, the first pang of hurt. It was the
anticipation of his decline. Of being turned away by a man who meant so very much to
her.

She turned her head away, desperate to find a shelter within herself. A way to hide

from him. And from herself. “Let go of me, Brad. I know you don't really want this to
happen.”

His lips went to her ear again. “Do you feel how hard I am for you, Heather?” Then

his lips brushed her lobe, soft as a feather. Arousing. Tender. “I want you, too.”

She experienced his words as if they were a breath of fresh air. Relief spiraled, but

passion took over. She felt the warmth of his breath on her neck like an arousing, all-over
caress. She shivered with the wholeness of the feeling. Slowly, she turned her head to
look at him. “You do?”

Suddenly, his mouth was on hers, and he was kissing her passionately. She kissed

him back, clinging to him, arms circling his neck, breasts pressing into his chest. Every
inch of her body was on fire, burning for his touch, aching with urgency for all he could
offer. His hand cupped her breast even as the fingers of his other hand moved beneath the
thin lace of her panties.

Her dress fell to her waist, and her purse—which had been crossed over her

shoulder—hit the floor. He began pinching her nipple. Not gently. It was a bitter-sweet
pleasure, drawing a moan from her lips. She barely registered his softly-spoken words, a
warning to be quiet. Her mind was absorbed with her raging desire.

Every touch, every taste, seemed to feed their pure, animal hunger for one another.

She couldn't touch him or taste him enough. If she could have crawled under his skin she
would have. She needed to feel him nearer. And he felt it too. They pressed against each
other, and their tongues met with deep strokes, their bodies as one, moving in a small
little rocking motion.

Her hands traveled his body, shoving at his jacket, reaching beneath to feel his chest.

He kissed her neck, trailing his lips from one spot to the other with delicious perfection.
Her head fell back against the wall as pleasure took control.

Suddenly, his lips left hers, and she wanted them back. Until she realized his eyes

were focused on her breasts. She swallowed a small hint of embarrassment, not able to
look at him. Despite her anxiousness, she sensed his arousal. He liked what he saw. And

she liked how that made her feel. His gaze was like a burning flame on her skin, making
her nipples tingle and burn for his touch. She felt sexy and desired.

Each second that passed made her yearn all the more for his touch. When he finally

filled his palms with her breasts, she almost cried out with relief. Her eyes squeezed shut,
her head resting against the wall. Contrary to the urgency she sensed in him, he gently
kneaded before roughly plucking at her nipples. The contrast was deliciously arousing.

The need to experience—once and for all—the true fulfillment of coming with a man

inside her was like a fire that threatened to consume. She couldn't take it anymore. She
leaned forward, her eyes catching his in mid-air as her hands went to his pants. She
wanted them unzipped and out of the way.

The instant she felt his arousal pressing against his zipper, she had to touch. She

cupped his hard dick and then caressed it. She loved how it felt to touch him there, to feel
the evidence of what she had done to him. She even wondered what it would be like to
taste him. One day she hoped to find out.

He moaned as he covered her hand. Torment in his eyes sending her a major warning

sign. A flash of fear raced through her mind. Was he backing out? Was he about to say
this was another lesson of some sort? Then he said, “We don't have protection.”

Relief washed over her. “My purse.” She felt him stiffen, and knew he didn't like that

she was prepared. “Your sister gave them to me.”

He seemed to calm then. “Damn Brenda,” he cursed, but he let her leg slide to the

floor, reaching for her purse, and handing it to her. She dug out a plastic wrapper and
dropped her purse to the floor, uncaring as a few items spilled out. Her hand shook as she
tore open the condom.

She couldn't believe she was about to have sex in a public place, and with Brad of all

people. As if he sensed her jittery state, or perhaps noted her shaking hands, his mouth
was suddenly on hers, drawing her back into the fire.

He took the condom from her even as his tongue seduced her with erotic strokes, one

after the other. Wave after wave of desire rolled inside. She was once again lost, barely
registering the movement of her leg as lifted it again. Nor did she know when he rolled
the condom in place.

Instead, she moaned as he touched her clit, and then slid his fingers across her wet,

sensitive flesh. For long moments, he teased her, stroking her and even sliding a finger
deep inside.

Until she absolutely ached for him. “Please,” she whispered against his lips.
He answered by pushing her dress higher, his hand skimming her thigh in a seductive

tease as it moved up her leg. Moments later his finger slid back and forth in the wetness
her arousal had so readily provoked. “I want you, Brad,” she whispered hoarsely.

“And I want you, Heather.” As if he needed to prove his words, she felt the hard

length of his cock slide between her legs, the perfect testament of his arousal. “Oh, God,”
she said, as he moved her panties to the side. Her lips trembled as he kissed them, his
fingers teasing her clit even as his teeth nipped her bottom lip. Her breathing was erratic.
Her need was intense. Potent.

“I want inside,” he said, his lips near her ear, his mouth skimming her neck and her

check.

“Yes,” she mouthed, but no sound came out. That is exactly what she wanted. Him,

inside her. Now. He didn't immediately enter her, teasing them both as he slid the head all
along her core, covering it with her wetness, preparing them both.

“Please,” she said desperately, not able to wait a moment more. She'd already waited

a lifetime.

He answered her plea, sinking deep to her pussy. She clung to him, her eyes closed,

as she absorbed the amazing reality of the intimacy they now shared. Now she felt
complete. Yet … she also felt as if she didn't have enough. Of him. She needed more. It
was as if relief fed a driving force for her to want more. He stayed in that one spot for
long moments. He kissed her with long, deep strokes. As if he wanted the moment to last.
His tongue probed with such thorough sensual completeness, she could hardly breathe.

Yet her body wanted what only he could give.
More.
Slowly, he pulled back, until only the tip of his penis was still inside her. She made a

desperate sound, afraid to lose him. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, trying to hold
him. But then he thrust hard, sinking deep into her body, and then stroked her inside. He
did it again, and again, each time getting a little faster, a little more urgent. They moved
together, pressing against one another. Stroke by stroke, they met one another, kissing
each other on the lips, on the neck.

A sensation was forming … a ride to ultimate satisfaction. Something new and

amazing and bittersweet in the way it played on her body. She wanted it, but she didn't.
Not yet. But now. She moved with the feeling, her body pulling him deeper, her hands
digging into his back and she tried to get closer and closer. He made sounds of pleasure
that told her he felt what she did. Her body to called to his.

As she reached for more, he moved with her, his body meeting her needs, beggi ng to

deliver.

Urgently, she arched her hips, reaching for the ultimate reward the tightness in her

core promised … needing it in a way she could never describe to anyone. Not sure she
could stop if someone walked in at that moment. She just needed it. Needed him.
Yearning for that untouchable pleasure she didn't know, but wanted so badly to
experience.

And then, it happened.
She squeezed his arms, eyes tightly closed. She felt the build up roll into wave after

wave of pure, untouchable, unimaginable pleasure. It rocked her body, making her gasp
for breath. There was no scream, no moan, no anything. So intense was the pleasure that
she could hardly breathe. In the back of her mind, she heard him say he was coming. It
pleased her to know she pleased him. And it made her own pleasure so much easier to
enjoy.

When finally she calmed, she found his face buried in her neck.
Her hand went to his hair, a smile forming on her lips. This was pure heaven. To

make love to the man she had wanted for so very long. To have him hold her, and touch
her, after the fact. To feel so very complete…

But then he spoke, and everything she felt in that moment was smashed. “I'm sorry,

Heather. I should never have let this happen.”

For several seconds, she just stood there, her hand unmoving on his head. What a

fool she was to believe he would be as thankful for their joining as she.

She wanted to be cool about this. To thank him for giving her first proper orgasm.

But emotion rolled out of control. She shoved at him. “Get off me, Brad.”

He moved to look at her, grabbing her hands so she couldn't keep pounding on him.

The action forced him to let go of her leg, and pull out of her. Still, she felt his body
nuzzled between her thighs. She wanted him to move.

“Wow,” he said in hushed tone. “Calm down.”
Through clenched teeth, she said, “I don't want to calm down. We had sex. Don't

worry, I won't tell anyone, Brad. You can…” she stopped a minute and took a shaky
breath, “…you can maintain your big brother routine. Just stay away from me as you do
it.”

He still held her wrists. “Heather…”
“Let. Me. Go.”
They stared at one another. With a grim set to his jaw, he let go of her hands.

Heather scrambled to get her clothes in order. Her back to him, she heard him doing the
same.

Once she was reasonably in order, she forced herself to turn and face him. Defeat

overpowered her anger. And a feeling of loss. “How did we turn out like this?” she asked
in a pained whisper. “We were close. Now…” Her voice trailed off.

She wanted him to say something. To ta ke back the regret she had heard in his

apology. To tell her he wasn't sorry at all. That he wanted a repeat and so much more.

But all she got was silence.
She turned away, feeling sick to her stomach. When Brad had warned her that the

wrong man would take what she offered, and then leave her broken-hearted, she had
never thought he would be that man.

* * * *

He knew he should go after her.
Instead, he leaned against the wall of the vacant banquet room and silently cursed

himself. What in the hell was he thinking?

He had just had sex with Heather. In a public place, for that matter. Could he feel

any lower? She deserved to be made love to, not fucked against some wall.

And there it was.
She deserved so much more.
And he wanted to give it to her.
He let the thought roll around in his mind. With each passing second, the idea of him

and Heather, together, making love, and yes, damn it, if he was lucky, being in love, felt
better and better. It was what he really wanted. Decision made, he pushed off the wall.

No more big brother routine.

Chapter Eleven

The phone was ringing.
Heather buried her head under the pillows. She didn't want to wake up. The ringing

stopped and started again almost instantly. Sighing heavily, she forced her pained eyes to
open. It had to be Brenda. It was just like her to call over and over until she got an
answer.

Pushing herself to a sitting position, Heather blinked against the pain in her puffy

eyes. She'd never considered herself a crier, but the night before had been like a
rainstorm.

The phone stopped ringing again, but she didn't bother lying back down. “One, two,

thre…” Ring.

She reached for the nightstand and picked up the receiver. “Hello, Brenda.”
“It's Brad.”
She gulped. “Um, oh, sorry.”
“We need to talk,” he said quietly.
“No,” she said, hating how her voice cracked. “We don't.”
“Heather…”
“Brad, no. We both know we can't turn back the clock. Let's just leave this alone.”
“I don't want to lose you,” he said softly.
God how she wanted his words to mean one thing when she knew they meant

another. “We're adults, Brad. We can still be friends. Besides, it's not like we see each
other a lot.”

He was silent too long.
“Brad?”
“That wasn't what I meant.”
She thought a minute. Oh… “I'm not going to tell Brenda, don't worry.”
He made a funny sound. “Last night was…”
“A mistake. I know. You made that very clear.” She was proud of how strong she

sounded. Inside, she was dying, but she didn't want him to know. “I need to go.”

“No…”
Suddenly, a ball of emotions was lodged in her throat. She hung up the phone and

unplugged it.

* * * *

Near noon, Heather stood in the kitchen of Sweet Nothings, and watched her part-

time employee, Emily, take a bite of day-old pizza.

She had pretended the store was really busy, which it wasn't, to avoid Brenda's

millions of questions about the party. She had called four times. Each time Heather had
made excuses to get off the phone.

Emily motioned at the pizza box she'd brought from home, and then swallowed. She

was a college student who thought pizza was the only food group that existed. You'd
never guess from her petite figure. “One more slice. Want it?”

Heather shook her head. “I'm not hungry.”
“You look pale,” she said, shoving a strand of long brown hair behind her ear as if

she wanted a better look. “Are you sick?”

Did a broken heart count as sick? “No, I'm fine.”
The bells on the front door chimed. “I'll get it,” Heather said, “You eat.”
Emily nodded. “Okay, but I'll hurry. You know we always get a big lunchtime rush.”
Heather walked into the main room of the store, and her eyes went wide. Christi

Martin stood in the center of the store, fingering a white lacy lingerie set. She was
dressed in a red knee-length dress. Flashy but perfect on her elegant figure.

She turned as if she sensed Heather's presence. “Surprise,” she said with a big smile.
“Hi,” Heather said. “I can't believe you're here.”
“You said lingerie, and I came running. Besides, I missed you last night and was

worried.”

“Oh,” Heather said, shocked at her concern, but also very delighted. Christi was

feeling like a friend. A new one in bloom. “I was a little under the weather. I hated that I
missed your big cake thing.”

She grinned, her hands coming together in excitement. “It was so great! My husband,

Kevin, was blown away.” She looked around the store. “Why don't I try on a couple
things while I tell you about it?”

Heather smiled. This was such a needed distraction. “Okay,” she said. “Try that pink

one right there.” Heather walked over to one of her favorites to show Christi.

“I'm not sweet enough for pink,” Christi said with a laugh.
Heather was already having fun. Her stomach knots even loosened a bit. “And what

a great illusion it would make.”

Christi raised an eyebrow. “And I thought you were an amateur.”
Heather shrugged. “Helping others get sexy is easier than doing it yourself.”
An hour later Heather sat on the dressing room couch next to Christi. Emily leaned

on the doorframe keeping an eye out for new customers. She was enjoying Christi as
much as Heather was.

“So ring me up,” Christi said. She had spent a good five hundred dollars. Heather

was pleased. “But first,” she held up a finger and reached inside her purse. “Tonight I am
having a little private wine tasting at Pier 39.” She held out a piece of paper to Heather.
“Please come.”

“Oh,” Heather said, “I don't know.”
“Why not? It's will be fun. Come.” She looked at Heather expectantly. “Please?”
Heather reached for the paper, accepting it reluctantly. What if Brad was there? She

looked at the invitation. She liked Christi and she had just spent a lot of money in her
store. How could she say no? But still … Brad.

“So?” Christi said, a hint of pressure in her voice.
Heather looked at her. She really had no option. “Okay. I'll be there.”

* * * *

Heather parked in a garage near the pier. Walking across the street, she focused on

walking in her high-heel sandals. Practice makes perfect. She knew that, but would be
very happy not to wobble when she walked.

She wore a black pantsuit, slim and fitted. The top had a sexy scoop neck, and the

pants make her look curvy in all the right places.

It would have been easy to slip back into her old attire after her Brad incident, but

she had done a lot of soul searching. Hiding from the world wasn't the answer.

She hadn't remade herself for Brad. She had done it for herself.
The boat sat at the end of the deserted pier. Massive in comparison to the rest of the

boats, it was a sight to see. Deep brown so perfect it managed to shine even at night. The
overhead lights seemed to dance along its surface. Martin's Delight was elegantly painted
on the side, along with a picture of a big strawberry.

No doubt who owned this boat.
As she neared the boat, she pulled her invitation from her purse. Had she gotten the

night wrong? There wasn't a soul in sight. No. The invitation said this was the night.

“Huh.” She eyed the boat again. Everyone must be below deck.
She shoved the invitation back in her purse, and shrugged. A few seconds later she

stepped onto the deck of the boat. “Hello?”

Nothing.
She moved around the boat, walking toward the back side. And that was when she

saw him. A lone figure standing at the railing, back to her.

Brad.
She would know him anywhere. Her heart fluttered in her chest, and her stomach

flip-flopped. This was what she had feared. Running into Brad this soon after being
intimate with him was torture. She wasn't ready to deal with the rush of emotion it
provoked. Everything inside ached. She had such deep feelings for him.

Feelings that could never be known.
That would never matter.
Slowly, he turned. His eyes were like deep, dark pools of enchantment as he looked

at her. He wore black perfectly fitted slacks, and a gray button-down shirt, open at the
neck. Her eyes caught on the hair that played along the v-shape of his open buttons. Their
encounter had been limiting. She'd have loved to touch his bare chest.

She shoved away the thought. “Where is Christi?”
“Come look at the water with me,” he said. “It's a beautiful night.”
“No,” she said, not wanting to be near him. “Please just take me to Christi.”
He stared at her a moment. She felt the probe of his gaze like a warm wash of

awareness. “Very well,” he said quietly, and then started walking toward her.

She kept her feet planted solidly on the deck, but it took effort not to back away from

him. He walked toward the cabin, and motioned for her to enter first. She felt like a
teenager, nervous beyond reason. Even her hands were clammy.

She discreetly took a breath, and then walked in front of him, using the handrails to

maneuver down the stairs on her high heels. With every step down, her heart seemed to
pound harder in her chest.

When she finally hit below deck, she froze. There was no one in the cabin. Candles

flickered around the room, casting it in romantic shadows.

Her eyes toured the room, remotely taking in the expensive art hanging on the walls,

and the compact, but elegantly carved furniture. Her real focus was the absence of others.
But her eyes caught on a bottle of champagne sitting on the coffee table. Big, plump

strawberries sat next to it. A memory of Christi's suggestion regarding fruit flashed in her
mind.

Brad's intent was crystal clear. He wanted to do a whole lot more than talk.
Brad's hands settled on her shoulders, his body close to hers as he stepped into the

cabin, and directly behind her. She started to move, to give him room, but his hand slid to
her stomach, gently stilling her.

“What are you doing?” Her voice was soft, a tremble evident on the last word.
“We need to talk.”
She turned to look at him, and he moved his hands to her waist, clearly intent on

keeping her near. His touch aroused her senses, her memories of their intimacy. Emotions
ran wild inside. Anxiety, anticipation, and yes, desire. But she knew sleeping with him
again would be a mistake. “You tricked me.”

His eyes were warm, intimate. “I had to talk to you.”
She was scared. Scared to want him the way she did. Scared of what it meant. She

couldn't do another sex-only thing with him. Her heart had already made itself known.

“I told you we don't need to talk. What happened,” she averted her eyes from his,

afraid she would show too much of her emotions if she didn't, “well, it just did. I'm going
home.”

“No,” he said, and then shocked her by bending over and picking her up.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, feeling panicked by his sudden move. Having

sex with him again would only make tomorrow hurt more.

He walked toward the couch, carrying her without effort. “Making sure you hear

what I have to say.”

“Brad, this is crazy.” Her protest was meek. Being in his arms wore down her

defenses. It would be so easy just to sleep with him again. She wanted him.

He sat down, and positioned her backside at the end of the couch, her legs over his.

They sat tightly pressed together. His fingers brushed her cheek. “I'm sorry.”

She looked down. “It's done.”
His palm cradled her cheek. “Are you going to ask what I'm sorry for?”
She looked up at him, loving how intimate his touch was. “You … you didn't want

what happened to happen.”

His mouth moved close to hers. “I did want it to happen.” His lips brushed hers in a

soft caress. “I wanted it like I've never wanted anything in my life.”

Her hand covered his, where it still rested on her cheek. “But you…”
“I was a fool.” His lips pressed against hers, lingering for several seconds. “I have

always wanted you. It just felt wrong.”

Tears started to form, her eyes burning. “I wanted you, too.”
He looked at her. A tear escaped and he caught it with his finger. “Ah, sweetheart,

why are you crying?”

“I don't know. This is just emotional. I thought…” She stopped herself, a new wave

of fear, she willed herself to be strong. “What are you telling me, Brad? Be direct. I need
to know.”

His thumb brushed her lip. “I want to make love to you.”
She sucked in a shaky breath. “No…”
“Not have sex.” He bent his head and kissed her then, his tongue seducing her with

sweet, loving caresses. She made a sound of pleasure, her arms going around his neck.

He was silently showing her the difference. His lips lifted, lingering just above hers. For
several seconds they breathed as one. “I want to make love to you today, tomorrow and
the day after.”

“Brad,” she whispered, not sure what else to say.
“I want to explore all we can be together.” He leaned back then, and looked her in

the eyes. He watched her closely. “What do you say, Heather?”

She wanted to be sure this was real. “No big brother act?”
“Never again.”
“And your sister?”
“Will be happy for us.” He paused. “This isn't some lesson in seduction, Heather.

This is you and me. The real thing.”

She could hardly believe this was happening. “Yes,” she whispered, smiling. “I want

that very much.”

He smiled then, and slowly leaned toward her. “I want this too,” he whispered. “So

very much.”

His lips found hers, his tongue sliding between her teeth, slowing, making love to her

with his mouth. But then, it was as if they both hungered together. They deepened the
kiss, moving so she was half on his lap.

“Come here,” he said hoarsely, moving her so she straddled him.
She didn't hesitate, easing her leg over his waist, and slid her arms around his neck.

His hands were in her hair, on her back, and then, God yes, on her breasts.

She kissed his neck, his cheek, his ear. “I can't believe what you do to me,” she

whispered.

“And you me,” he said, his lips trailing along the curve of her top. He pulled the thin

straps of her shirt down her shoulders and then did the same with her bra.

She was barely holding onto reality as he filled his hands with her breasts. He moved

to kiss her again, and she pulled back. “Wait.”

He looked up at her with the desire burning in his eyes. “What, Baby?”
She loved hearing him call her that. It almost made her forget her objective. But …

now that she had her perfect man, she planned to delve deeper into her sexy side. “The
strawberries. I hear fruit can be very sexy.”

He slid his hands behind her back, pulling her breast against his chest, and her lips to

his. “Anything is sexy with you, Heather.”

The End

About the Author:

Lisa Renee Jones lives in Austin, Texas, a college town where sexy cowboys and UT

Football players almost seem to be the harvest. The eye candy produced stimulates the,
um, well, mind. Needless to say, Lisa doesn't have trouble conjuring up new men for her
books.

Having spent years in the corporate world, Lisa laughs at the shocked reactions her

ex-peers have when they read her writing. Her response—every good girl has a fun,
slightly naughty one dying to get out.

Hers is loose and loving it!

We invite you to visit Liquid Silver Books

http://lsbooks.com

for other exciting literary erotica romances.

Waiting For You—Glenda Diana

Weekend Games—Chris Tanglen

Destiny's Magick—Rae Morgan

Love Lessons—Vanessa Hart

Portal—Sydney Morgann

Bittersweet—Louisa Trent

Business or Pleasure…or Both?—Rae Morgan and Jasmine Haynes

And many, many more!!