His Final Seduction

He felt an itch to take a camera from the bag and start filming Avery, just so he could figure out what he thought about her. He splayed a palm to the back of his neck. Stop thinking about her. He had a job to do and he didn’t let anything get in the way of his work. Not even a delicious morsel like Avery.

They arrived at the resort and got checked in. Jake enjoyed seeing the guests’ reaction to the over-the-top glitz and glamour of the resort. It put him in mind of an R-rated version of the MGM Grand in Las Vegas. Lavish fountains, sexy movie posters, provocative music piped in through the sound system, clips of erotic scenes being played out on television monitors scattered throughout the resort. As guests checked in, 9 1/2 Weeks was on.

He walked up to Avery, who was in line for the registration desk. “About that date—”

“Pick me up at eight,” she said. “And take a razor to your chin. I’m not a fan of stubble burn.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re bossy as hell?”

“All the time.” She batted her lashes.

“Yeah, well, this dog doesn’t jump when you snap your fingers. Sorry, I’m otherwise occupied. I can’t make the date.”

She didn’t appear the least bit perturbed. “You’re standing me up?”

“I am.”

“I can see why you’re not married.”

“How do you know I’m not married?”

“For one thing, no ring. For another thing, I asked the bus driver.”

“You asked about me?”

“Of course. If we’re going to be dating, I have to know you’re not married. I don’t date married men. I got burned once, never again.”

“We’re not dating.”

She simply smiled at him and stepped up to the registration desk as the clerk called, “Next in line.”

“We’re not,” he repeated.

“Uh-huh,” she said mildly.

God, but the woman was irritating. He wasn’t going to stand here and argue with her. He already had an assigned bungalow. He didn’t have to wait in line. Shouldering his bag, he stalked off and he could swear he heard her giggling behind him.

Irritated, he headed for the back exit, wondering what it was about the woman that had gotten under his skin. He didn’t like feeling this way. Emotions were messy, troublesome things. He preferred to keep himself above the fray. And now this woman had him squelching emotional impulses right and left.

He let himself into the bungalow decorated to replicate a 1940s era movie set and dumped his bag on the metal table. The table had a green Formica top that reminded him of the one that used to sit in his grandmother’s kitchen. Then he took his gun from the holster strapped to his leg and laid it beside the camera bag. He made a quick call to check in with the Lockhart Agency. After that, he moved toward the bathroom. He liked cool showers after a long flight.

But he never made it to the shower. As he passed through the bedroom, he noticed the blinds were open. He moved across the black-and-white tiled floor to draw them closed. Always the watcher, he peeked outside first.

In the bungalow across the way, the blinds were open, as well. The distance between the two dwellings wasn’t more than three feet and he could see right inside the other bedroom.

What he saw froze him to the spot with his hand wrapped around the swivel rod of the blinds. His cock hardened, rising up to strain against the zipper of his jeans.

In the bedroom next door, Avery Bodel was stripping off her clothes right in front of the open window. Her back was to him as she pulled her shirt over her head and gracefully tossed it to the floor. Her hands went to the clasp of her bra, and she slowly undid each eye hook. He could see the ink art on her lower back, a simple dark blue design of tangled vines.

Watching her, his throat convulsed. She slipped off the bra and turned slightly, giving him a side view of her perfect breasts. Not too big, not too small, just the right size. She unsnapped her jeans and shimmied them off, leaving her standing there in nothing but a spectacular red satin thong. His cock throbbed painfully.

He should snap the blinds closed or step away from the window, but he couldn’t make himself move. Nothing could wrench his gaze away from the glory of her feminine curves.

She reached up to pull her hair into a ponytail and secure it high on her head with a band. Her complexion was flawless, but he found himself grinning when he spied the cute little dimple in the center of her right butt cheek.

Jake gulped. Turn away. Turn away.

But he did not. Could not.

She lifted one long, lean leg up to the corner of the bed, then leaned over to peel off her sock, then repeated the action with her other leg.

His breath was coming in hot, raspy gasps. All the muscles in his body tensed. A groan slipped from his lips and his fingers tightened as he imagined sinking them into the sweet flesh of her rounded bottom and holding on for dear life as he pumped into her.

With her back still to him, she hooked her index finger through the tiny little scrap that constituted her panties and slowly inched the material down, wriggling her hips seductively.

His erection was blinding hard. He couldn’t even think, much less breathe. Sweat beaded his forehead from the desire boiling his blood.

Then she turned, head down as she kicked off her panties, giving him a full and unobstructed view of her. Those perfect breasts sported pert pink nipples. A golden ring glinted at her navel. That sweet patch of hair just above her sex told him she was a natural blonde through and through.

She raised her head, stared right into his bedroom window and slyly winked just before she reached out and shuttered the blinds.

4

Initially, withholding affection heightens longing

—Make Love Like a Courtesan

VENICE WAS an architectural symphony. A simmering fantasy of mist and sunshine. A meandering labyrinth of pathways, bridges and canals. A sweet poem of complex dreams.

Jorgie had often daydreamed of visiting the most romantic city on earth. She’d visualized herself strolling the cobblestone streets, gliding the waterways in a graceful gondola, shopping in the popular Rialto district. She imagined she would stop to watch artisans expertly practice the art of blowing glass or mask-making. She’d thirsted to drink Bellinis at a sidewalk café. And she’d thought about kissing Brian on the Bridge of Sighs.

Well, so much for that last part. But she didn’t need a man to enjoy Venice. She was young and alive and even though she was scared, she felt a perfect thrill she’d never felt before. It was a delicious combination of curiosity, optimism, hope and excitement. She was on her own in a foreign country and it felt good. Avery had been right. She did need to go it alone for once in her life.

The group arrived via vaporetto, a water taxi sardined with Eros guests, and by the time they reached the resort, Jorgie was already in love. How had she managed to live twenty-five years without visiting this special place?

The guests were met at the lavish resort—a restored Venetian palace once occupied by royalty—by Eros employees costumed in period clothing from the Italian Renaissance. She found herself searching for Quint in the crowd, but she didn’t see him. The bite of disappointment was unexpected. She didn’t recall seeing him on the vaporetto, either.

She checked in and turned to go to her room when she spied Quint and her heart went all wonky again.

He was dressed like an eighteenth-century nobleman, in rich fabrics and lush colors of the time. He seemed taller than he’d been on the plane, his eyes sharper, his presence wholly regal. His personality filled the room. His jovial laugh, as he said something to the dozen or so women who collected around him, slid slickly off the thick stone walls.

Here he was, Casanova in the flesh. He glanced over the heads of the other women, caught her gaze and offered a lopsided smile meant only for her.

The other women gaped at him with dumbstruck expressions on their faces, as if the heavens had opened up and he’d come tripping down the stairs just for them. They hung on to his every word. Groupies.

Who knew he had groupies?

Although she longed to join the flock, something inside of Jorgie would not let her puddle at his feet. Yes, he was good-looking. Yes, his smile stirred her soul. Yes, she’d had a crush on him when she was thirteen. Yes, she wanted to kiss him so badly she couldn’t breathe, but she sure as heck was not going to let him know that. And be like all the others? No way. She had her pride.