Blushing Cheeks Volume One

Sample from "The Good Man."



Despite the multitude of chores that awaited him, there were no hurried gestures, no flurries of kisses. He was going to claim all of her, and he certainly wasn't going to do it in three seconds flat, no matter how long he'd waited. Their kisses were deep and slow, with her tongue shyly meeting his as her hand crept up his bare, lightly furry chest to cup his jaw, stroking his full, gray mustache with her thumb.

Mac took his time pulling away from her, his mouth leaving a wet trail down the side of her neck to the scoop front of her gown, to just at the beginning swell of her breasts. He heard her tentative breath as his fingers began unbuttoning the buttons they found there. His mouth nuzzled hers again as he murmured soothing nothings, his fingers working busily until he could separate the two parts of the front of her gown to reveal those wonderful mounds of tight-tipped flesh. He couldn't take his eyes off her, breathing her name in such a reverent manner that she couldn't muster embarrassment, and almost flushed with pride that he found her attractive.

A tanned hand began at her collar bone and ventured south at a crawl, as if they had all the time in the world. He didn't want to startled her, didn't want to make her feel threatened in any way. No, he wanted her to feel cherished . . . desired . . . loved. At first, he simply reveled in being able to touch her like his, that rough-skinned hand rubbing over every inch of exposed flesh with tender possession. Mac's chest swelled with pride when he deliberately caressed each hard nipple with his palm and she whimpered. He repeated the motion and she moaned slightly, stirring restlessly beneath him, not really knowing what she wanted, just that he was making her ache in more ways that she ever imagined she could.

His lips descended, not to hers but to suckle at those teased nipples, standing hard and ready for his warm, wet mouth. Mac thought she was going to buck him off when he claimed a tip and tugged avidly, but his weight was too much for her to move. Emily had to settle for moving her head back and forth on the pillow as Mac pulled and licked then gently nipped at her, creating such a feeling of pressure and pleasure that she didn't think she could stand it, and she said so out loud.

Mac bestowed an evil grin on her that might have had her worried if he were not being so gentle. "We've just begun, my Emily." He leaned more of his weight onto her, resting some on his elbows so that he could take a breast in each broad paw and bring the nipples to his mouth in turn, all the time watching her with loving eyes, her every response both soothing and stimulating to him, making his already fully capable body harden and pulsate and ache to be buried deep within her just that much more.

With a nipple held tightly against the roof of his mouth, Mac reached between them and undid the buttons of her nightie, pushing it partly off to the sides, but mostly leaving her in it. When his right hand moved down over her tummy and even lower, Emily found that, because of the gown, she couldn't move her arms enough to grab him, or even hold him. Suddenly concerned, although her intellect told her she didn't need to be, she called to him anxiously. "Mac?"





Sample from "Cade"



Cade Cutler was different than the other Marshals she'd met, Riley thought as she sat down on the opposite end of the couch. For one thing, he was younger than the others, probably three or four years older than her own twenty-eight, she decided. And good looking, too. Actually, that was putting it mildly, she thought. Tall with broad shoulders and dark hair, he looked like he'd be better suited to modeling than law enforcement. In fact, the reason she'd taken so long to let him into her apartment after he'd handed over his badge was because she'd been staring at the photo on his ID. Even though the picture was barely bigger than a postage stamp, she'd been fascinated by his chiseled features and wide, sensuous mouth.

On the opposite end of the couch, Cade flipped open his spiral notebook and looked at her. When he'd first come inside, Riley had thought his eyes were dark, but up close, she could see that they were more gold than brown. Wow, she thought. She'd never seen eyes quite that color.

"So," he said. "What makes you think that your identity has been compromised, Ms. Barnett?"

He spoke with a slight accent – a drawl, her mother would call it – and Riley wondered where he was originally from as she reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear. "I've seen a black SUV parked outside my apartment building every night for the past week," she explained. "And then yesterday, I saw the same vehicle parked across the street from the bank where I work. That was when I knew I had to call you."

Cade waited for her to continue, but when she didn't he pointed out, "A lot of people have black SUV's, Ms. Barnett. Are you sure it was the same one?"

Though his tone in no way suggested that he didn't believe her, Riley still bristled. She was frustrated that no one in the Seattle office seemed to believe anything she said. Each time a Marshal had come out, they had displayed less and less concern.

"Of course, it's the same one," she said sharply.

Cade glanced up. "Did you get a look at who was inside?"

She shook her head. "The windows were tinted."

He scribbled something down on the notebook he was holding. "What about a license plate?"

Again, she shook her head. "I didn't see it," she told him.

"What about the make and model of the SUV?" he asked.

Her brow furrowed. She'd been too frightened to even think about looking at stuff like that. Besides, she wasn't very good with cars. She shook her head.

Cade closed his notebook and slipped it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. "We'll look into it, Ms. Barnett, and get back to you," he said, getting to his feet.

Riley did the same, her frown deepening. "How are you going to look into it? Will you be posting Marshals outside my apartment building then?" She really hoped so; she hadn't slept well the past couple of nights.

He inclined his head. "If we determine that you're in danger, then you'll be given protection," he told her. "But I don't think you have anything to be concerned about. As I said, a lot of people own black SUV's."

Riley stared at him in disbelief. Did she have to end up at the bottom of some river somewhere before they believed her? She opened her mouth to argue, but Cade Cutler was already walking toward the door.

Annoyed, she followed after him. "How will you know if there really is a threat from the SUV if there's no one here to see it?" she persisted.

In the small entryway, he turned to give her a placating smile. "Like I said, we'll look into it."

She folded her arms to glare at him. "You're not going to do a damn thing, are you?" she said sharply. "Now that you people have already gotten my testimony, you couldn't care less about what happens to me."

His jaw tightened. "I'll be in touch," he said, ignoring what she'd just said as he turned to leave. He was just reaching for the doorknob when the greeting cards on the table along the wall caught his eye.

Riley watched in confusion as he picked one up and read it, and then did the same to another and another. But before she could ask what he was doing, he turned to fix her with a hard look.

"What the hell are these?" he demanded, holding up the cards.

Her brow furrowed. "Birthday cards," she said, her tone implying that it should have been obvious to him.

"I can see that!" he growled. "But this one's from your mother! And these," he added, gesturing with the others, "are from the rest of your family!

She shrugged. "Duh! Who do you think sends birthday cards?"

His eyes narrowing, Cade tossed the stack of birthday cards back onto the table and strode toward her. "How about, duh, you're in the Witness Protection Program? Which means that you're not supposed to tell anyone where you are. That includes your family! You're so worried about your identity being compromised and here you are broadcasting it to the world!"

Ignoring the implied insult, Riley lifted her chin to glare up at him. "My mother would never tell anyone where I am," she told him coldly. "And neither would any of my sisters."

His brows drew together. "Really? How reassuring," he scoffed. "What about the people who might be snooping through your family's mail to find out where you are? Have you thought about that?"

She frowned at the words, wondering if that could be true, but then told herself it was ridiculous. Nobody, not even Albert Donatti, the main mobster she had testified against, would bother with digging through the mail just to find her. Besides, even if he had, her family had addressed the envelopes to her new name.

Riley gave Cade another shrug. "That would be impossible because my mom and my sisters didn't put my real name on the envelope," she said. "I'm not stupid, you know!"

"That's debatable," he retorted. "So, how many relatives does your family have living on the West Coast?"

She gave him a confused look. "What are you talking about?"

He held up the card from her mother. "It doesn't matter what the name on the envelope says," he told her. "The card says Happy Birthday to My Daughter on the front. I think people will figure out that it's you."

Before she could say anything, he added, "I'm going to have to call my boss and let him know about this."

"Good," she muttered. "Because I want to talk to him, too. That way I can tell him that you don't know what the hell you're doing, and that he needs to send someone out here who does!"

At her words, Cade paused in the act of reaching into his pocket for his cell phone, his eyes narrowing. "Okay, that does it!" he growled.

Riley braced herself for another one of his snide comments, and was totally surprised when Cade grabbed her by the arm and marched her over to the couch instead.

"What are you...?" she began as he sat down, but the rest of what she'd been going to say came out in a rush of air as he gave her arm a quick tug that sent her tumbling headlong over his knee.

Riley was so stunned that she simply lay there draped over his lap as she tried to catch her breath. When she finally came to her senses a moment later, it was to push herself upright, but a strong hand on her back held her down. What the hell was he doing?

Outraged, she turned to glare over her shoulder at him, only to let out a startled gasp when she felt his hand come down hard on her jean-clad bottom. Oh my God, the brute was spanking her!







Sample from "Her Personal Trainer."



Chase walked into the designer kitchen with its gleaming silver appliances and highly polished cherry wood cabinets. There wasn't a crumb on any of the tiled countertops, not a hand towel, nothing out of place. Interior design perfection, like the foyer and living room had been. He admitted that it all looked nicely elegant and probably went along with what most people would think a designer in high demand's home would look like. After only a few short minutes with Elizabeth, though, he had a feeling this was all for show. She hid things from the world, maybe even from herself. Like hiding what he suspected was one spectacular body beneath that baggy t-shirt. Like buying into some crazy belief that she needed to change to please someone else. He had a feeling that it wasn't her appearance that needed the makeover. It was her self-confidence. And not in relation to her career. He suspected she had a great deal of confidence in her abilities to design the perfect executive's office.

He started working his way through cabinets that had an abundance of expensive china and pottery, as well as crystal stemware of all kinds. Finally he found a cabinet with somewhat casual glasses. An obviously well used plastic tumbler with a faded K-State logo sat tucked at the far back. He smiled. It seemed to prove his theory that there was far more to Elizabeth Wingate than she allowed the world to see. And, oddly, he wanted to discover the "real" Elizabeth.

Filling the glass with water, he thought of the time he'd wanted to take off from his hectic work schedule. Maybe this wasn't some sunny beach, but KC would do for his little Rand R. Especially since it came with the intriguing Miss Wingate. He knew he'd have no problem playing the personal trainer role since he was a physical exercise nut. He'd just have to intercept Abigail before she located a real trainer. And he'd have to manage to fulfill the work he'd already contracted for with the local business needing his headhunting skills. But since Elizabeth would be working as well, he didn't see any problems. Other than she might get a tad pissed if she discovered he was a fraud.

He carried the glass back to the living room and found the brown-haired beauty attempting to get off the sofa. Her face was pinched in pain as she suddenly bent over to grab at her left calve. Leg cramp. He knew the signs.

Within a second he had set the glass down on the dark wooden coffee table and knelt in front of her. He shoved her hands away and replaced them with his own. He worked the tightened muscle with gentle care and watched the white lines of strain ease from around her pink bow mouth. A very desirable mouth that he would definitely kiss as soon as possible.

"Oh, thank you," she groaned, slumping back against the sofa.

"No problem." He continued massaging the leg, inching down to her slender ankle and her long, slender foot. She jerked and sucked in a breath, ticklish. He grinned. "By the way, I'm Chase Sawyer."

Her brown eyes had softened at his massage and she watched him with interest. "You've got quite a way with your hands."

His body was starting to react to the nearness of a woman who seriously attracted him, and to touching her soft skin after he'd pushed up the leg of her sweat pants. His voice was huskier than appropriate as he said, "Yes, I do. You'll appreciate them even more when I…when I give you a massage after a good workout." He prayed she didn't look down and see how hard he was now.

She swallowed hard, blinking. She'd obviously thought of other uses for his hands, like he had. She gently tugged her leg free and sat up straighter. "When shall we begin? I'm a person who deals best with schedules. Will you come up with a workout schedule? Where shall we workout? There's a physical fitness center in the building that I suppose we could use."

He smiled. "Babbling again."

Pink tinged her cheeks and he found it incredibly endearing. "How about we have dinner together later and I'll present a basic workout schedule to you then?"

She studied her clasped hands in her lap. "I suppose I should tell you that sometimes I need incentive to follow through with tasks I don't particularly like. For instance going to social events that I don't want to attend. Or starting an exercise regime."

Chase stood and went to look out her sliding doors. The woman had one seriously nice view of the Country Club Plaza area. "I could probably come up with incentives to keep you focused on the goal." He turned her way. "Or did you have something already in mind? Something that has worked for you in the past?"

She didn't look at him, just continued studying her hands. Her cheeks had turned rosy. For a second he didn't think she would answer, but then she said quietly, "Discipline maybe."

The word "discipline" brought thoughts of physical punishment to mind. Something he wasn't opposed to, but he was certain she couldn't have been hinting at that. "Could you be more specific?"

"I know you'll think this is stupid, totally politically wrong these days. But then what isn't politically incorrect today?" She blew out a sigh and glanced up at him and then beyond him. "I grew up in a family that believed in discipline. I was spanked." The word "spanked" came out in a near whisper and her cheeks reddened even more.

Chase stared at her. Not horrified, as she seemed to think he might be. Intrigued. And turned on. Over the years he'd playfully spanked a couple of women in foreplay scenarios. The women hadn't really liked the idea all that much after they'd done it, but it sure aroused him. The thought of a sweet bottom turned over his knee, and his hand gradually turning it a pretty shade of red… Oh, yeah, it definitely got him interested. The idea that a hot woman like Elizabeth would even remotely consider letting him spank her had his heart pounding, had his entire body excited. No, he wouldn't mind at all applying some heat to her bottom now and then. And he sure would like to follow it up with some heat between the sheets. Or on top of the sheets. Or anywhere, anytime she'd let him make love to her. But that wasn't what they were discussing now.

"I'm fine with applying strong incentive when necessary for you to stay focused and reach your goals. I'll come up with what I think will be the best workout schedule for your particular needs." As she looked at him again, he added, "I'll work you hard; count on that. I'm a strong believer in physical fitness."

"Well, you ARE a personal trainer. I'd expect as much." She wiggled her toes and winced. "I'm not big on exertion, as you can see. At least physical exertion. I imagine I'll balk now and then, try to get out of whatever you have planned for that day."

She looked so cute there with her baggy t-shirt covering some spectacular breasts—so he'd learned when she'd been pressed against him—and that sadly limp ponytail. He couldn't wait to start working out with her, and to hopefully see a lot more of her body. He was getting aroused all over again and fought it down.

"I fully understand the importance of staying on line to reach goals. I promise you, you WILL meet yours. And I WILL deal with any balking attempts in a manner that will encourage you not to do so again. Are we in agreement?"

She hesitated a second and then nodded. "Yes."

He headed across the room and she limped after him, finally stopping to say miserably, "Tomorrow. Can you just get me the schedule tomorrow?" When he faced her, she was studying her toes. "I'm thinking about staying off my feet the rest of the day and night."

Glancing down he noticed for the first time little blisters on the sides of her little toes. That anyone would be so idiotic to wear shoes obviously not intended for jogging irritated him. Acting without thinking, he walked back, took hold of her arm and tugged her around until she stood facing him slightly bent over. Then he swatted her sweats-covered bottom hard several times. She squirmed and yelped, "What's this for? Stop!"

With a final swat, he let her up. He knew it couldn't have really hurt, except her pride. She glowered at him and waited for his explanation.

"That was for being stupid enough to even consider jogging in inappropriate shoes."

"You don't think having blisters was enough punishment?" she pressed, although she stepped away from him.

"Are you questioning what I did and why?" This was her chance to change her mind about the whole exercise thing, particularly about the "encouragement" part of the agreement. He didn't want her to change her mind, but he needed to give her this out.

She worried her lower lip a second and finally shook her head. "No. I still need your help."

He breathed a sigh of relief and left the apartment promising to contact her the next day. Now he needed to find that partner of hers, and see if he could do a little sweet-talking. See if he could convince her to let him be the personal trainer she'd planned to find for Elizabeth.