Wednesday arrived. I wasn’t any more rested than I was on Tuesday. Did I mention that roomie Sylvia Day was both on west coast time and a night owl? We stayed out until 1:30 Tuesday night/Wednesday morning. I guess my first clue that it was late should have been the last call at the bar. Or when they shooed us out because they were closing. Didn’t pick up on those…until I saw the clock back in our room. Then we kept talking until nearly 3.

I had a breakfast appointment at 8:30 Wednesday, so the alarm clock at 7 that morning really annoyed the hell out of me.

Breakfast was lovely. I chatted with someone who’s been in the industry a long time. It was great catching up. I left her about 10:30, ran into a few other people (which is a theme for this conference), then met Jenna Petersen for lunch at 11:30. We’re old friends, so we talked about everything, including her new book, FROM LONDON WITH LOVE. We had the funniest waiter, who constantly made cracks about enduring life as a gay man in Salt Lake City (when he lived there). We joked right along with him about how rowdy romance writers are. Apparently, the previous night at least one had already been dancing on a chair. (I know who, but I’m protecting her identity to protect the not-so-innocent :-) )

After lunch, I walked around with Sylvia. We crashed in on the Chapter President’s retreat, where she should have been…but opted to play hookey instead. We perused the goodie room, then made a brief appearance at the bookseller tea. But it was WAY too loud and crowded to stay for long. I did hang out long enough to hook up with Lora Leigh and her hubby (it was a thrill to finally meet my good buddy in person!!), Mary Wine, Lisa Renee Jones, and Sasha White. I also ran into Virginia Kantra, who is such a sweet lady. I rubbed elbows with so many other authors, in part because I made the rounds, in part because it was such a small room.

After we left, we were joined by a few others, including Cathryn Fox, who shared an appetizer platter with me, which her Canadian tastebuds found too spicy, poor thing. We also shared the table with the folks from Ellora’s Cave, including Raelene Gorlinsky and Heather Osborne. It was a great impromptu dinner. After that, I retired to bed, so tired that I could barely stand. Thursday was going to be a BIG day, Friday even bigger. I needed my beauty sleep if I was going to function.

When I came back to the room, I looked at my AlphaSmart, acknowledged the fact I should be writing more on DANGEROUS AND DELICIOUS, then promptly went to sleep!

My current state can be described in three words: Dead. Dog. Tired.

This week, I’ll provide a quick recap of my conference, in case you’re interested about what goes on when 2200 writers inhabit the same hotel (and usually all crash the same bar) and how I manage to keep my sanity in the midst of mayhem that is the RWA National Conference.

Day 1: Tuesday – I’m scheduled to fly out late in the morning and arrive in Atlanta about 2pm. Sylvia Day has scheduled her flight to arrive about the same time so we can share a cab to the hotel since we’re roomies. The best laid plans… She calls me about 8:30 (my time) that morning to tell me that she’s missed her early flight from the west coast. She’ll be on the next one 2 hours later. Hmm. After Jaci being unable to go and Sylvia being late arriving, I’m wondering if this is an omen of a bad conference to come.

Trying to keep an open mind, I board the plane. TONS of writers off to the convention. I sat across the aisle from a lady from Tyler and we had a lovely chat. The trip was over before I knew it.

I caught a cab with several of those ladies, arrived at the hotel in 1 piece, checked in, dumped everything, then quickly went to the registration desk to get my badge. I was ready to be “officially” there.

While checking in, I met a virtual stranger–very nice lady–and we both said we were starving. We meandered over to the mall next door, grabbed a bite of pizza and wandered around a bit. By the time we’d finished and headed back, Sylvia had arrived and wanted a drink after her harrowing day. Rum and Diet Coke coming right up!

After that, we dressed for the Knight Agency’s 10th anniversary party. I got on the bus and… OMG, it’s Rhyannon Byrd and Joey Hill!!! We sat at the back of the bus and gabbed for an hour solid, got to the party, looked around, got a little refreshement and gabbed the better part of the next 3 hours. We had the best time!

Then back to the hotel for another drink, a few bites (was too busy at the party to actually eat), then off to bed for a packed Wednesday.

More tomorrow. I’m off to collapse. SLEEP! I NEED SLEEP!

I’m off to attend the annual Romance Writers of America convention, this year in Atlanta. It’s RWA’s 26th conference; my 15th. Trying to look back, I realize I’ve attended all of the following:

1991 — New Orleans, LA
1992 — Chicago, IL
1993 — St Louis, MO
1994 — New York City, NY
1996 — Dallas, TX
1998 — Anaheim, CA
1999 — Chicago, IL
2000 — Washington, D.C.
2001 — New Orleans, LA
2002 — Denver, CO
2003 — New York, NY
2004 — Dallas, TX
2005 — Reno, NV

I skipped 1995 because it was in Hawaii, and I realized that for the same amount of money I could go to England for 10 days, so I did. I skipped 1997 because I’d just had a baby three weeks prior. I remember some of these conferences more fondly than others. I’ve recapped years past in previous blogs, which you can see here. This year, I’m anticipating for big things.

Passionate Ink, RWA’s first and only erotic romance chapter, is celebrating its first anniversary. In an organization where chapters of 150 members are considered fairly large and noteworthy, we have gathered over 400 “Inkers” who will proudly wear badge ribbons proclaiming themselves Passionate Ink members. I’m especially proud to be a co-founder and current Vice President, and in a position to watch PI grow over the last 12 months. We’ve had online speakers, created book-in-a-week challenges, developed a website and message boards for members to communicate. We completed our first manuscript contest for unpublished authors of erotic romance, Stroke of Midnight. We also pulled off a contest for published authors of erotic romance, Passionate Plume. Awards for both will be given at our gala luncheon at the Georgia Aquarium on Friday.

After that, I’m speaking about plotting the erotic romance to conference goers. I’d intended to speak with Jaci Burton, but she’s had to bow out, due to a grave illness in her family. Big hugs to Jaci! So it’s just me, but that’s okay. I’ve done it before. No sweat.

There are publisher parties, meetings with editors and publicists. My lovely agent, Deidre Knight, is celebrating her 10th year in business with a big party tonight. It’s going to be a blast!

Lack of sleep, voice hoarse from too much talking, and hotel bar bills that cause sticker shock aside, I’m looking forward to a great trip. I’ll blog more about it when I get home!

Kensington Aphrodesia release PURE SEX includes “The Crib,” a novella by Sasha White.

P.I. Alexis Signorino goes undercover as a cocktail waitress in a tough biker bar called The Crib to try and catch a murderer—and she just ran into a suspect: Devon Kaye, looking guilty as sin and twice as hot.

Her gut says he’s not the murderer, but with him Lexy can’t be sure it’s her trusted instincts talking, or her libido. One thing she knows for sure though is that he’s far from innocent, and she likes it.

“Lexy sweetheart, can I have another beer down here?”

I glanced down the bar at one of the few customers I had. Bear set aside his empty mug and Stinky Tim got up to leave. He waved goodbye as I filled a frosty glass with draft. When it was foaming over I strolled down the bar to Bear with hips swinging. Placing the mug in front of the big guy I winked flirtatiously. “Anything else I can do for you?”

“Sure, honey,” he said with a loopy grin. “I could use a tongue bath.”

“That wasn’t what I had in mind, Bear. But if you insist, I know just the girl to give it to you.” Letting myself relax a bit, I strolled out from behind the bar to stand next to him, pursed my lips and let out a sharp whistle. “Daisy!”

Loud guffaws and chuckles echoed in the near empty room when Jimmy’s Rottwieler bitch came trotting out of his office to sit by my feet. She looked up at me adoringly; pink tongue lolling out from between gleaming canine teeth.

“Hey! No need to get nasty. You asked if there was anything else you could do for me!” Bear chuckled good-naturedly.

Scratching Daisy’s head absentmindedly I listened as the two guys left tossed playful insults back and forth. Never one to stay away from her man for long Daisy soon headed back to the office, and I leaned against the bar and joked with them to help time pass.

Basically good men, but of the rough and raw category, I’d just finished telling them a dirty joke when the doors swung open and a group streamed in. I didn’t pay them much mind, until I saw him.

My body temperature jumped and the air crackled with energy. Tall, dark, and dangerous looking, he was pure sin. And I wanted him from the first second I’d laid eyes on him. There was just something about him that called to me. He’d been in the bar a couple of times in the last week, but it never failed that when I started my shift, he was on his way out the door.

Seems my luck was about to change. Stopping just inside the door, he scanned the small crowd, and when his piercing gray eyes settled on me, I met them head on. All thoughts of killers and jail time fled from my brain as I let my gaze roam boldly over his body.

Six feet of lean muscle stood there letting me look my fill from his shiny midnight hair to the toes of his well-worn boots. Wide shoulders tapered into a trim waist and flat stomach. Tight jeans encased well-muscled thighs and a promising bulge just below his belt buckle. I returned my gaze to his face and saw full sensuous lips stretched into a wicked grin. Goosebumps actually rose on my skin as I recognized a kindred soul.

Behind the cocky twinkle in his eyes that said he knew I’d enjoyed the visual tour, I saw secrets.

My insides quivered when his gaze pulled away from mine and raked over my curvaceous body. They settled briefly on the length of leg my short skirt showed, before he followed the half dozen guys he was with to a large table with a lazy, almost predatory, gait.

I’d felt that intense gaze on my body as if it were his hands, and loved every second of it. Mary, the waitress that worked the happy hour shift before I came on, had said he was quiet and never responded to her flirting. But he’d certainly responded to mine.

I recognized the group of guys he was with so I loaded up a serving tray with jugs of beer and frosty mugs, then started for their table, intent on learning more about the intriguing stranger.

Maybe the night wouldn’t be such a loss after all.

Sasha, yummy!! Sounds like another winner. If you just can’t resist, here’s the buy link. I’m not sure I can resist! *g*

Hi! After LOTS of excerpts, most of them mine, some not, I’m back with something purely chatty and unimportant. But there’s SO much going on!!

First, I want to announce my blog winner from last week’s Week of STRIP SEARCH contest. Thanks to all who stopped by and read and left such wonderful feedback about the book! The winner of this contest is Jennifer Y! Jennifer, contact me so we can discuss your prize. Congratulations!

Since I ramble really well, I suppose I should get on with it…

I’m trying hard to get back into my latest Shayla book, DANGEROUS AND DELICIOUS after a 2 week hiatus, due to copy edits. Damn temperamental men, Deke and Luc, aren’t talking to me! I’m fighting off a killer headache, along with 100+ degree days, and they’re in a snit. *sigh* Guess I’ll have to find some way to sweet talk or otherwise persuade these gorgeous, stubborn cousins. Anyone want to help me? *g*

In the middle of it all, I’m supposed to be packing and shopping and panicking over my trip on Tuesday to the Romance Writers of America convention in Atlanta. I’m having breakfast with my editor while I’m there. I’d like to chat up the possibility of Blade’s book. For those of you who know what I’m talking about, got messages about that you’d like me to pass on to her?

Last, the insomnia has been hitting me hard lately. Damn it. I’m not a whole person on this itty-bitty amount of sleep. All work and no shut-eye is making Shelley a grumpy girl. I’m going to pop off to bed. On my way to Slumberland, I’m going to stop and stroke Deke’s and Luc’s…egos so they prove more cooperative tomorrow. They’re yummy, so I might be persuaded into stroking more if it would make a difference.

Have a good weekend!

Continuing with my Summer of Excerpts, I’m happy to bring you fellow Samhellion Syndey Somers’ July 4th release, SAY YOU’RE MINE. It’s available to purchase here.

There are two things Violet Calder knows. Magic. And that cops and witches don’t mix. Fantasizing about the sexy detective doesn’t help matters, not when her own clumsiness lands her in the middle of Reece Prescott’s undercover assignment.

Forced to pretend the gorgeous Violet is his girlfriend is one more nail in his coffin as far as Reece is concerned. From day one the Calder family has been a pain in his backside, and that doesn’t look like it’s about to change. But keeping his mind on bringing down a drug dealer gets increasingly difficult with Violet so close.

Knowing she has to tread carefully to protect her family, Violet begins to fear that not even magic will save her from falling for the one man she shouldn’t.

EXCERPT:
Violet pushed his shirt off his shoulders, her palms warm against his skin. She raised her head, and the longing in her gaze struck him like a match to a stream of gasoline.

He tilted her chin back and slanted his mouth across hers.

Oh, sounds yummy and fun. I may have to skip a few hours of thrilling (not!) copyedits and have me a little read fest…

Last installment, gang!! Sorry I’m late. The weekend got away from me. Fun by the pool, tickets to see the touring company of Mamma Mia…and copy edits for WICKED TIES. Busy, busy, busy! But finally, here’s the last installment from my week of STRIP SEARCH.

For this one, I chose something different. I’ve shown you Mark in lots of um…action-oriented scenes. I wanted to end on a more heroic note. He does have good qualities besides those useful in a bedroom, you know? *g* I don’t know about you, but I’d love a man who found my good qualities and defended me to annoying people.

Keep commenting! I’ll chose a winner of my blog feedback contest this Friday and send them a special prize!

Hope you’ve enjoyed the Week of STRIP SEARCH!

Nicki entered the club to pandemonium. With the first floor devoid of dancers or customers, hearing the shouting going on upstairs was as easy as reciting her ABC’s.

“I don’t care what Nicki said,” Pietro shouted. “Blade is her accountant, not you.”

“Are you aware, Mr. DiStefano, that Bocelli is not qualified? He categorized cleaning supplies as food and beverages.”

That was Mark. And he sounded pissed.

“Oh, that doesn’t sound good,” Lucia whispered.

Wincing in agreement, Nicki climbed the stairs, her sister right behind her. They hovered right outside the door.

“Did the totals match the bank statements?” Pietro demanded.

Mark sighed. “By some miracle, yes.”

“Then it don’t matter. Get your ass back on stage and start shaking it so you make this place some money. Nicki don’t got no sense to be thinking you belong in this office instead of in a G-string. What am I saying? She don’t got no sense, anyway.” He spoke as if that fact should be obvious to everyone.

Outside the door, Nicki stopped and gritted her teeth. Sometimes she hated that man. Yeah, blood is thicker than water and all that, but he could be such an asshole.

“Actually,” Mark’s voice soothed after Pietro’s annoying diatribe. “She has a great deal of sense. She hired an experienced CPA to do her accounting: Me. She runs a tight ship, takes care of her customers and employees, understands what her patrons want. She runs her ass off taking care of this place. More than once, I’ve seen her go for twenty-four hours straight just to make sure this club and its employees are properly cared for.”

Did he really think that? Nicki wondered. Gosh, he sounded almost…proud of her. The mere possibility made her smile.

“That’s true,” Zack seconded.

“So?” Pietro’s voice let everyone know he wasn’t impressed.

“So how does you dropping in once in a blue moon and issuing orders that make no sense make you an expert on this place?” Mark challenged. “You discount Nicki, when you have no idea what she does or just how smart she really is.”

Nicki’s mouth dropped. Go, Mark! He’d just had the balls to tell her uncle everything she’d been trying to say for years. Not because she wanted to keep the peace—little of that between them. And not for the sake of family harmony. She’d kept it to herself only because she knew it would be a waste of breath.

But Mark had said it to Pietro—a virtual stranger—just to defend her. Damn if that didn’t warm her heart.

“She’s a woman. What the hell can she know about running a business?” he scoffed. “I need to find some nice Italian boy to put her in her place. Marry her and knock her up. Shut her up for a change and get her out of my hair.”

“Apparently he’s forgotten that most of his remaining hair is on his chest,” Lucia grumbled.

Nicki nodded, fuming. Why did having a vagina somehow make her stupid?

“Are you blind?” Mark asked, his tone indicating that Pietro was more likely insane than visually impaired. “Nicki deserves so much more. She’s too vital to be married to some chauvinist whose primary goal in life is to get her pregnant, keep a mistress, then piously attend Mass every Sunday. She’s extremely smart—”

“Lucia is the one with brains. Nicki’s assets are in her bra.”

Both she and Lucia gaped at Pietro’s rude comment. Nothing should shock her at this point, Nicki knew. But her uncle had reached a new low.

“Lucia is bright with books and learning,” Mark conceded. “But Nicki knows people. She knows how to make sure they have a good time in this place. She’s efficient and clever—”

“You keep taking up for her, and I’m gonna start suspecting you of banging my niece. That won’t make me happy.”

Blade hadn’t flat out told Pietro about her fling with Mark? Shocking. Or maybe he just hadn’t had time yet.

“Whatever sex life Nicki and I may or may not have is absolutely none of your business.”

“I’m her guardian.”

“She’s twenty-six years old,” Mark reminded him. “Trust me, Nicki is totally equipped to live her own life without your interference. That includes running her club.”

“So you are banging her. Since you’re not Italian, I won’t have you in the family. You’re probably not even Catholic,” Pietro spat.

“Again, none of your business.” Mark’s voice had gone from hard to implacable. Not a good sign.
“Do you want your arms or legs broken first?”

Ugh! Mr. Old School had been watching gangster movies again. Having heard more than enough, Nicki set to burst in. Bad-news Bocelli interrupted her.

“Look, dancer boy. You heard the boss man. Turn the books back over to me and no one gets hurt.”

“That’s Nicki’s decision. If Nicki says you’re the man, fine. Until then, I’m here to stay. Now excuse me.”

Nicki heard Mark’s double-edged tone. Was he warning Blade that her choice applied to matters beyond who did her accounting? The thought pleased her.

A moment later, footsteps told Nicki that Mark intended to leave the room. Time for her to intervene before things got really ugly.

“Let’s drop in on the overgrown boys,” she whispered to Lucia.

“Amen,” her sister shot back. “If you don’t, He-Man and the Hulk will start fighting right there in your office and reduce it to rubble in ten minutes.

“Yes, but my money is on Mark to win.” Nicki smiled.

Their mere appearance at the door to the office had Pietro scowling, Bocelli staring, and Mark pretending not to look relieved.

Poor guy, having to put up with the Italian version of Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum. Mark had earned a little backup. Everything he’d said to her uncle thrilled her. He’d defended her abilities, her intelligence, her right to make her own decisions. If he didn’t believe in her and didn’t give a damn, he wouldn’t have said anything. Oh, he might have fought for his job, but not by reciting a laundry list of her capabilities.

Gotta love a man who knew it didn’t take a penis to ensure an IQ larger than one’s shoe size. And while not all men were sexist pigs these days, she knew enough to realize that Mark’s willingness to put himself on the line to defend her was something just a little special.

Thanks for hanging out with me this week!

Getting toward the home stretch, but there’s still a few juicy tidbits about Mark, the hero of my recent release, STRIP SEARCH with you.

Today’s excerpt provides a glimpse of Mark’s ideas about the perfect way to deal with stage fright. This is a definitely over 18 excerpt, so if you’re not legal yet, please play elsewhere.

“When you’re up on stage,” Nicki whispered, her lips a breath away from his neck, “don’t think about the audience as a whole. Think about being somewhere else. Or being alone in the club. Or focus on whatever you were thinking about when you auditioned for me. That was perfect.”

“Dancing for you was easy. You looked at me like a starving woman cases a buffet.”

“You made me feel hungry for you,” she confessed. “Whatever you did that day, it was like magic. Can you do it again?”

“Maybe. If you’re in the audience, watching, it might work.”

“I will be. I promise.”

“That day I auditioned for you, I imagined getting my hands on your body, giving you pleasure.”

Nicki sucked in a breath. “Mark…”

“I still imagine it every time I see you.”

She didn’t respond for a long minute. The music cascaded around them, lilting, a caress to the ear drums, a soft seduction. The dim golden lights beamed a spot on the stage to Mark’s left, leaving him in shadow with a warm, cinnamon-scented woman in his arms.

The way she pumped his libido up with a steady stream of lust wasn’t smart. It made no sense, how badly he wanted to taste Nicki. To claim her. But Mark couldn’t wait another second.

Cradling the back of her neck in his hand, he tilted her face to the perfect angle and stared down at her. Her red lips parted, her breathing grew shallow. Reading her breathless anticipation only made his gut tighten again, his erection that much harder.

Damn it, why this woman?

He stopped cursing, stopped questioning, when he slanted his lips over hers. He didn’t ask for entrance or cajole. No patience. He simply took full possession of her mouth. Nicki opened for him without hesitation. Her fingers clawed their way up his shoulders. She stood on the tips of her toes to press her lips into the kiss. And she moaned. God, the sound was like heaven as it sang down his spine, and then directly into his cock.

A haze of lust fogged his mind. He had to have her. Now. No more waiting, no more wondering why she scorched him like a desert brushfire blazing a hundred thousand acres.

It just was—and he was done questioning it.

His hand at the back of her neck found the zipper to her sexy red dress on the first feel. As he guided it down the length of her narrow back, the metallic glide accompanied the music.

Nicki stiffened. “Mark…”

He answered by capturing her mouth again and sliding his hands to the clasp of her bra. As he nibbled on her lower lip, he swept into her mouth with a melting kiss meant to drown her in the lust he felt. Mark swept away the top half of her dress with insistent fingers until it pooled around her hips, ready to come off with one tiny tug. Her bra followed, and he dropped it to the ground as he broke the kiss to fasten his hungry gaze to her nipples. Rosy nipples. Hard, swollen nipples.

An instant before he leaned down to seize one with his mouth, Nicki raised her hands and covered her breasts. She did a really lousy job, though. Her palms barely covered the essentials. Lots of pale, rounded flesh beckoned him between her fingers. God, he’d love to have a picture of this. Arousal itched just under his skin, distracting him from everything except scratching it. The only thing sexier would be to watch her stroke herself.

In fact, the idea made Mark smile. He moved that to the top of his priority list.

Nicki retreated a step. “Mark, this isn’t a good idea.”

He snapped his gaze up to her face. She said the words, all right, but her voice, breathy and uneven, along with her dilating blue eyes, told him it was her head objecting. Her body wanted him just as bad as he wanted her. Until she stopped lying, he wasn’t listening.

“Put your hands down.”

“I think we should talk. What if Blade—”

“I don’t give a shit about Bocelli. This is between you and me. Put your hands down before I tie them down,” he growled.

She blinked, hesitated. But her chest rose and fell with a shaky breath, then another. Her lips parted, flushed and moist. Her hands began to tremble. Arousal had to be creaming her slit, because he smelled her in the air between them. It nearly brought him to his knees.

Oh yeah, the rational part of her was fighting it. Too bad that part of her wasn’t going to win. Even without his seduction, Mark sensed her lust growing faster than she could fight it off.

“Now, Nicki.”

Mark was relishing the thought of making good on his threat to tie her down when she slowly lowered her hands, exposing the hard peaks of her nipples and the gentle slopes of her breasts to his greedy gaze.

“Good girl. Now take the rest off—dress, panties.”

She closed her eyes. “Nothing good can come from this.”

No doubt, she was right. After all, Nicki was a suspect.

But with every word, every scrap of resistance, she tested the unraveling thread of his patience. He’d never found himself so hungry, so demanding of a woman, felt such a deep need to have her full cooperation in her own surrender. Something about Nicki… She had to submit utterly; he wouldn’t accept anything less.

“Orgasms aren’t tragic.” His voice sounded like something rubbed raw with sandpaper. “Don’t lie to me. Don’t lie to yourself. Do you want me?”

Nicki hesitated, bit her lip. “Yes,” she finally whispered.

“Then take everything off.”

Biting her lip, Nicki opened her eyes on a sigh. But the truth now darkened her upturned blue eyes. She did want him and she accepted that fact.

Mark’s heart pounded like a hundred horses circling the track at the Kentucky Derby as Nicki raised her hands to the dress about her hips, wriggled once, twice, then let go. She stood before him wearing nothing but black, wrap-around stilettos.

A surge of lust had his hands clenching into fists. Desire burned his blood. He never remembered feeling anything as strong as the demand pounding at his body, the ache pooling in his cock, the need to have her open to him, accepting him, taking everything he could give.

“Are you wet?” As if he didn’t know the answer. Still, he asked in slow, controlled tones, fighting off the urge to rip his clothes off and fuck her until he didn’t know his own name.

“Yes.” She swallowed.

“Prove it.”

Nicki’s gaze clung to his—wide, uncertain, confused. Then she looked down, past her flat stomach, all the way to her pussy, and hesitated. Her gaze, now shimmering with heat, climbed up his body, to his waiting stare.

Taking a deep breath, Nicki covered her dark, shadowed mound with her hand, fingers sinking slowly between her slick, pouting lips. As he watched, Mark felt a jolt of lust as potent as a livewire.

She spread her legs slightly, brushed her clit with her fingertips.

“Deeper,” he urged. “Get inside.”

For once, she did as he asked without pause. Her fingers sank deep, and a moan slipped from her parted lips. Then she eased them out to toy with her clit again, rubbing in small, whispering circles until her eyes slid shut and she arched her neck on another moan.

God, she looked hot, wanton—a woman seeking her own pleasure, baring it to him. It enticed the hell out of him, made his erection swell yet again against his leather pants. She likely knew she affected him, and he didn’t care. At the moment, he was her adoring audience of one.

Her moans shortened to panting mewls. Her fingers swept over the swollen bud of her clit more rapidly. With her free hand, she grasped one breast and pinched her nipple.

Desire surged through him, trapping the breath in his chest, stopping his heart.

Damn, a man could only take so much teasing. Mark had always enjoyed spectator sports, but when given a choice, he’d rather be a player. This was no exception.

“That’s enough.”

Nicki’s eyes fluttered open. The lost-in-pleasure haze in her eyes was like a Bruce Lee kick to the gut, potent, disarming.

“But…”

“You still haven’t proven to me that you’re wet.”

Squeezing her thighs together, Nicki winced. “I’m so close…”

“Tonight, any orgasm you have comes from me.”

Her fingers started moving again. Oh, it was subtle…but Mark wasn’t blind.

“It’s my body. If I want an orgasm—“

“You’ll let me to give it to you.” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away from the wet flesh he couldn’t wait to explore, to possess.

“Damn you!”

“Prove it to me, Nicki.”

Swallowing, she jerked her wrist from his grasp and held up her fingers. Glossy and thick, her juices coated her skin and all but dripped to her palm. Mark smiled in savage satisfaction.

Last excerpt tomorrow. I’m off to pick something special… Enjoy!

I’m back again! Today, I’m bringing you Mark’s…teasing side. The man doesn’t always say exactly what’s on his mind. Sometimes, toying is just way more fun if you have a point to make. :-)

“You’re not still pouting about your costume, are you?”

Nicki. Mark whirled toward the sound of her voice to see her entering the stage area from the left, dressed in a denim skirt that showed a long length of thigh and a white sleeveless top that gathered right beneath breasts, which he lamented that he hadn’t gotten his mouth around when he’d pressed her between the wall and his raging hard cock three days ago.

She’d been avoiding him since.

“I don’t pout,” he returned.

Rolling her eyes, Nicki flashed him a kitten’s smile. “All men do. Whether you call it brooding or contemplating or ‘needing space,’ it’s pouting.”

“So do you women have a name for that thing you do when you avoid us, like you’ve been doing to me?”

Her mouth tightened. “I have not.”

“Isn’t that code for `needing to catch up on a few things?’”

“There’s no code for being busy. It’s just a fact of life. I have more to accomplish than to buff myself up at the gym by day and take my clothes off at night.” She tossed the glossy curtain of her inky hair behind one shoulder. “Besides, I don’t owe you an explanation. We’re not dating.”

Mark cupped his chin and pretended deep thought. “No, we’re just almost having sex against your breakfast nook wall.”

“It was just a kiss!”

He held in a laugh. “Okay, we’ll go with your terminology. A kiss, as I knew it, was much less involved. But I definitely like your idea better. I’ll be sure to win more bets from you so we can…explore that definition more.”

Nicki’s face turned several shades of pink. “Don’t be a smart ass. You cornered me and we kissed. I let things go on a bit too long. Out of curiosity, more than anything else.”

Curiosity? Yeah, right. Did she expect him to believe in the Easter Bunny, too?

“Hmm. So the hard nipples in my palms and the damp panties pressed against me, that was curiosity?” He grinned. “I like your way of being curious. I noticed the more demanding I got, the wetter you got. What other burning questions do you have that I can help you solve?”

She drew in a harsh breath and stepped closer, blue eyes flashing. Oh, boy. Nicki had a temper, and Mark had no trouble guessing that he was pissing her off good. Too bad. He wasn’t about to let her deny that their “kiss” packed all the punch of an X-rated Christmas and Fourth of July celebration rolled together.

He couldn’t forget it. Why should she get off easy?

“Oh, and your reaction was so cerebral?” she shot back. “I doubt very much that was a…a lead pipe in your jeans.”

Mark figured he could play this one of two ways. One, he could `fess up to the fact she’d charged him up enough to supply Vegas’s power grid for a month. Two, he could downplay, even deny, his intense reaction to her—and watch the fireworks.

He’d bet his second degree black belt that her pride wouldn’t stand for the latter.

Feigning a shrug, he said. “A hard-on is like a reflex for a guy. You’re female, I’m male… It happens. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Really? And you’re just tossing my reaction up in my face to inflate your own ego?” Her glare was half disbelief, half fury.

Pretending to ponder, Mark wandered a bit closer. “I hadn’t given it much thought. Maybe I am.”

She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes. Mark swore she was counting to ten.

“This is why I don’t date. No one in the asshole population appeals to me. You all feed us every line of crap you can think of and—“

“You think I’m lying?” Mark did his best to sound offended.

Nicki’s eyes threatened to bulge from their sockets.

One way ticket to Las Vegas: three hundred fifty dollars. A week’s stay at the Bellagio while he convinced Nicki to give him this crazy job: eighteen hundred dollars. Cost of pizza to bribe his way into her apartment: fifteen bucks. Seeing her reaction to his claim that she didn’t particularly affect him sexually: absolutely priceless.

Holding in his mirth, Mark regarded her with the blandest expression he could manage…anticipating the imminent pyrotechnics.

“Yes! You pinned me to a wall. You extended the kiss. You—you lifted my shirt and—“

“I enjoyed it. Don’t get me wrong.”

“But I personally didn’t affect you? Any pair of breasts would do? You just had an erection that felt harder than granite for no other reason than the fact I’m estrogen-based?”

Nicki was winding herself up, and Mark was enjoying the view. Amazing that she hadn’t stopped long enough to realize he was feeding her a line of bullshit just to yank her chain. His sister Kerry had ceased falling for his elaborate practical jokes when they were still teenagers and taken the fun out of everything. His sexy new boss was fresh game.

“You know, I don’t know,” he said finally. “Not just any female gets me going, obviously. I doubt someone like Joan Rivers would get a rise out of me.” Mark paused, pretending to consider the situation. “Come to think of it, I haven’t really been interested in anyone for awhile. Maybe it is you.”

“Maybe? But you really don’t know?”

Her feminine pride stung, he could tell. Poor baby. Next time, she’d know better than to write off the amazing chemistry between them. But today, he had a point to prove.

“Yeah, maybe.” He shrugged. “How can I really know?”

Nicki’s gaze, full of fire and challenge, skimmed his body, pausing over what he might politely call his lap.

“No lead pipe at the moment, it appears.”

“Nope.” Mark nearly bit the inside of his cheek to hold in a grin.

She slowly prowled toward him, hips swaying, those blue eyes glinting with an adult-style dare. No question, she was coming after him with both barrels.

He could hardly wait.

Mark expected the full frontal assault. It was her easiest and quickest shot to his libido. But no. She surprised him by brushing past him, her breasts barely grazing his arm. Stopping behind him, she ran a finger lightly down his spine—a mere ghost of a touch. Sensations shivered their way through his body, bursting out from his center.

His cock began to twitch.

Drawing in a deep breath, he waited, feeling Nicki ease to his left. Her hand trailed from his hip, over his ass and down his thigh, as she sidled up to his left shoulder. Once there, the lodging of her breasts on either side of his arm was clearly no accident. Damn, he wanted to turn to her, grab her, introduce her back to the stage floor for about the next two hours. Reminding himself that he was trying to convince her that he was unmoved, at least for now, he did nothing.

“You know,” she whispered, her voice sex-filled and uneven, “It’s important that the male dancers remain impervious to all the temptation presented by the club’s female guests. If you have trouble controlling your reaction to women in general, we’re going to have a problem. You’ll need to practice resisting your…reflex.”

He looked down, and Nicki’s sultry smile nearly blasted a hole in all his plans. Half challenge, half invitation, that smile beckoned, communicated her power as a woman, taunted him with her self-confidence. She would do her utmost to turn him on.

Well, she was welcome to try. More than welcome.

“No…reflexes?” he asked.

Nicki slanted a saucy smile up his way. “G-strings don’t leave much to the imagination. It’s a no-no to show too much. Takes all the mystery out of things.”

“I see. How do I practice resisting, as you suggest?”

“Let’s see how much practice you need first.”

Her game amused and thrilled the hell out of him all at once. He couldn’t wait to see where this was going. “All right.”

Blue eyes lit with mischief, she stood on tiptoes to whisper, “Pretend you’ve just finished your first number and you’ve approached my table. Let’s see how you react to this.”

Before Mark could even begin to guess her intent, Nicki nibbled on his earlobe, then brushed her mouth against the sensitive column of his neck. He shivered as the mounds of her breasts pressed against him, her warm breath heating his skin. Damn, she smelled good, like cinnamon and citrus all mixed.

But he managed to keep in control.

Nicki reached across his body. One of her hands founds its way into the disco-deep V of his black shirt and nestled against his skin. The feel of her touching him…wow. More than one of his fantasies in the last few days had been all about that.

He swallowed as she smoothed her palm down his bare chest and abdomen. Her slow fingers journeyed back up, leaving tingles in their wake. That added to his rising temperature.
Might be a good idea to start thinking of Joan Rivers right about now…

As her slow, sure palm reached his chest once more, her thumb toyed with his nipple in teasing strokes, back and forth, back and forth. Both nipples stood at attention. Goose bumps broke out across his skin, along with a light sweat.

Nicki tossed him a teasing smile and licked those full red lips he hadn’t quite forgotten tasting. At the sight, he sucked in a breath, as a jolt of desire radiated down toward his dick.

Gritting his teeth, Mark managed to keep his “reflex” under control. Barely.

“See,” he said. “I’m good to go.”

Liar, liar, liar. The strain in his voice proved it.

“Oh, I’m just getting started.”

That sounded deliciously ominous.

“Nicki…”

The woman predictably ignored him and pulled him down to press a barely there kiss to the corner of his mouth, a series of kisses against his jaw. She pressed her entire body flush against him, and the feel of her nipples against his chest nearly drove him past his control. She was small and lush and fiery in his arms, and Mark clenched his fists at his sides to keep from grabbing her and letting his hands communicate his rapidly growing interest in the concept of having her naked on top of him.

Mark barely realized that Nicki was nudging him backward until he almost stumbled. She kept on, driving him back with her hands at his hips and her lips grazing his throat.

Holy shit, she smelled good. Noticing a woman’s scent…he couldn’t remember the last time he had unless, like with Tiffany, the store-bought musk made him sneeze. But this was all Nicki. A pinch of spice, a bit of tang—and a hint of her arousal, the scent he knew he’d wallow in once he had her naked and legs spread for his waiting tongue.

Oops, his “reflex” was kicking into gear at that thought.

She forced him back another step. He retreated the next pace on his own, hoping he could avoid contact with her lower body, especially the good parts. She would know she’d won then.

Time to think of…oh, even Joan Rivers wasn’t killing his mood, mostly because he couldn’t get Nicki out of his head. Damn it! Remember jail. Think of Blade Bocelli’s ass nailed to a prison wall. Picture Barney Fife break dancing.

Too late.

The back of his knees hit a chair that doubled as a stage prop, and down he went. He landed on his ass with a thud in the metal chair. His bulk nearly sent it tumbling back, but he caught himself. He had no time for self-pats on the back, though.

Not when Nicki dropped to her knees before him.

Want more? I’ll be back tomorrow…

Happy hump day! Today’s installment of the Many Moods of Mark show him in a different sort of action. It’s good to have a man willing to defend his woman. But things don’t always work out as planned…

Once again, this isn’t appropriate for the under 18 crowd. If that includes you, there are lots of other places to play. If you’re legal, read on!

Mark shook his head. Not only did Nicki look good, but she clearly wasn’t all bad on the inside. He knew she loved her sister. She seemed to care about Zack’s issues with his grandfather. Though she ran a tight ship, she did her best to make the people who worked here feel valued—except him.

Maybe he just had a “KICK ME” sign on his back.

Both of the bartenders locked up and headed out, followed by the wait staff. Other than Lucia, he and Nicki were alone.

After glaring a dagger or two his way, Nicki’s sister said, “I’m off to bed. Lots of research to do tomorrow. I want to wrap up early in case my friend Ashley can visit in a few weeks. You don’t mind, do you?”

Before Nicki could say a word, Bocelli breezed in the side door, dressed head to toe in black.

He looked like the GQ model of the thug underworld, sporting a hundred dollar haircut, two days’ growth on his jaw, and a black leather jacket to ward off the desert wind. And all that money had come from somewhere, starting right between Mark’s ex-wife’s thighs.

When the asshole spotted Nicki, his strut became a stride as he crossed the room.

Much to Mark’s satisfaction, Nicki turned her back to the jackass. Maybe there was trouble in paradise…

“Heck, no, I don’t mind!” she answered Lucia. “I think it’s great that Ashley wants to leave her sheltered existence and visit Sin City. The two of you could do damage,” Nicki asserted.

“A history professor and a librarian. Won’t we set all the men on fire?”

“What if you do, Doc?” Bocelli drawled. A challenging smile curled up his mouth.

As if she couldn’t resist a moment longer, Lucia’s gaze slid to the resident Goodfella. Her expression said he both fascinated and scared her. Finally, a frown creased her forehead, and she looked away.

Nicki’s face tightened at the exchange. Was she jealous at Blade’s subtle flirtation with her sister? The man had to be doing it to piss Nicki off.

Purposefully not looking at Blade, Nicki hugged her sister. “Good night, Lucia.”

“You look tired, Nik. Go to bed soon, huh?”

“I will, Mother.” She laughed.

Lucia took herself upstairs, leaving behind an awkward silence.

For about two seconds.

Then Blade turned and took two aggressive steps forward. “Nicki, I wanna talk to you.”

“Not now,” Nicki barked before Bocelli even reached her.

“When? Hell will fucking freeze over before I let this go another day. We gotta talk about this, Nicki.”

“Not at three in the morning!”

Bocelli grabbed Nicki’s arm and tugged her closer.

Mark felt his fist closing around the dishrag he held. The sight of Bocelli’s hand on Nicki made Mark’s blood pressure soar.

“Ten minutes. Maybe fifteen, tops. You got that much time,” Blade challenged.

“I’m tired, and I’m not in the mood to deal with you. Take your hand off of me.”

In typical thug fashion, Bocelli ignored her. When he tugged her even closer and towered over her, Mark nearly lost it. If the motherfucker hurt a single hair on her head, Bocelli was going to die painfully.

“You forget who you’re talking to. Don’t screw with me.”

Nicki ripped her arm from his grasp, then flashed him a narrow-eyed glare that impressed Mark with its meanness.

“Ditto that for me, buster. I’m sick and tired of your attitude. You don’t own this place, and you don’t own me.”

Bocelli took a menacing step forward.

Mark had had enough.

He threw down the dishrag and dropped the plastic bin of glasses on the nearest table. They rattled in the tense air. Both Nicki and Blade both turned to him in surprise.

“You’re not going to be alive long enough to worry about this conversation if you don’t get the hell away from her,” Mark told Bocelli.

“What, are you her fucking bodyguard?”

“I’d like to be the one to teach you some manners.”

“Mark—” Nicki pleaded.

Blade cut her off. “Yeah? How? You gonna fight me?”

The Italian thug’s insolent pose made Mark gnash his teeth. He crossed the room, grabbed Nicki by the shoulders, and shoved her behind him. Then he glared down at Bocelli. The other guy was only a handful of inches shorter than him, but Mark relished every bit of it.

“I’ve got a black belt, and I spent six years boxing. Pick your poison or leave her the hell alone.”

It occurred to Mark belatedly that he was defending the very woman he’d been cursing just minutes ago. That aside, the fact remained that he hadn’t liked bullies on the playground when he’d been a kid and he didn’t like them any better now.

“Mark,” Nicki said from behind him, slender fingers latched on to his biceps. “You don’t have to do this.”

He heard her utter the words, but a quick glance over his shoulder showed her wide blue eyes filled with equal parts fury and fear. She might not need him here, but she wanted him.

“Well, ain’t this sweet,” drawled Bocelli. “So, what’s the price of chivalry these days? A piece of ass? She give you some?”

The urge to taunt Bocelli that he’d had more of Nicki’s ass than the son of a bitch ever would leaped to the tip of his tongue. The only problem was, it wasn’t true. He swallowed the bitter lump, and Blade smirked, almost as if he knew what was going through Mark’s mind.

Fury rose inside him, like an elevator careening to the top floor. As if bursting through a glass ceiling, his control shattered. If someone had told Mark steam was coming out of his ears, he wouldn’t have been surprised.

“That’s it. I’m going to pound your face.”

“Mark!” Nicki screamed and grabbed his right arm.

Fine. He had another arm that worked, which led to a fist itching to plow Bocelli’s smug smirk.

His left hook connected with Bocelli’s jaw. Satisfaction poured through Mark when the asshole’s head snapped back and he staggered. Mark wrenched his right arm from Nicki’s grasp and followed with a fist to Blade’s stomach.

He set up to punch the thug in the nose when Bocelli retreated and flung back one side of his jacket. He withdrew a stainless semiautomatic from his shoulder holster and pointed it right in Mark’s face.

More tomorrow… Enjoy!