Second Touch (Emma's Arabian Nights, #2)

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Second Touch

By Ann Mayburn

Copyright © 2013 by Ann Mayburn

Published by Honey Mountain Publishing

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

**DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice, BDSM or otherwise, without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Ann Mayburn will not be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in this book.**

Dear Beloved Reader,

‘Second Touch’ is the second novella in a serial series about Emma and Ryan. This is not a standalone book. You can, of course, read the series in any order you want-no judgment here, but I would highly recommend you pick up a copy of ‘First Kiss’ before you read ‘Second Touch’.

As always I would like to extend a plate of chocolate chip cookies and a bottle of Vodka to my tireless betas Shelly Cornish, Sara Sturgen, and Suzanne Voris who help me translate my babble into something resembling English, and to my editor, Ekatarina Sayanova, a bottle of Valium for putting up with my shit. ;)

Forever Yours,

Ann

Emma followed Ryan through the dimly lit living room of his home, an odd sense of being at once sleepy and keyed up filling her as she watched his oh-so-fine ass work his perfectly tailored black pants. The sun had fully set while they were out on his yacht in a burning blaze of red and gold glory over Lake St. Clair. By the time they made it back to shore, the night reigned. He held her hand as they strolled through his tastefully lit backyard, and she was blown away by how right it felt to be here with him. She didn’t want this blissful happiness to end, didn’t want to leave, and sure as hell absolutely could
not
deal with the thought of never seeing Ryan again. The very thought made tighten her grip on his hand enough that he gave her a questioning look, his brows arching over his dark chocolate eyes. He was so sinfully handsome, and as her gaze traveled down to his lips, she wondered if she would ever grow tired of kissing him. A mental image of kissing Ryan while wearing a white wedding dress flew through her mind, and she swallowed hard at the pang of hurt that came with it, as she ruthlessly banished such images from her mind.

God fucking damnit! She knew this dangerous weakening of the walls around her heart would happen. Emma knew she wouldn’t have the strength to leave him after their wonderful time together today, and she hated herself for being so weak, so needy. His affection was like a drug she craved. She wanted one more moment to fly next to the sun and bask in its warmth before she returned to her cold, lonely existence. Despite all her training as a Domme, all her experience closing off her emotions from her clients, Ryan had somehow found his way to the woman beneath all that armor and that secret, hidden part of her soul felt as if it would die without him.

She was absolutely, totally fucked.

Their bare feet made no sound as they walked across the smooth wood floors in the foyer. Above their heads, the chandelier glowed barely enough to illuminate the room. She studied Ryan in the dim light as he stopped at the front door and turned to look at her. Tall, built like a fucking bull - hung like one, too - he reminded her of a mystical djin right now with his shaved head and the heavy gold spacers in his ears combined with his Middle Eastern good looks. The bad boy image he projected was softened somewhat by the perfectly tailored black pants he now wore and the white button down shirt that gleamed against his dark skin, turning him into an arousing mixture of sin and elegance. His bold features took on an extra depth in the shadows, and while he wasn’t handsome in the classical sense, he made her heart wave the white flag of surrender.

Stupid heart.

Stupid woman.

She needed to walk out that front door, wait about a week, then maybe she would call Ryan and arrange another evening.
Not
a date, but a simple evening spent between two friends on a magnificent yacht, with the bonus of multiple orgasms.

He gave her a small smile and ducked his head in a move she found charming. Damn him. “Thank you for a wonderful evening, Emma.”

She meant to politely thank him as well, to pull the shield of adult manners around herself in order to distance her mind and body from him.

Instead she blurted out, “Can I see the yearbook? You’d mentioned on the yacht that you had a copy. I lost mine years ago.”

His eyes grew wide with surprise and an absolutely brilliant smile, like she’d just given him the best present ever, lit up his face. “Of course.”

When he held out his hand she slipped hers into his and had to stifle a sigh of relief. Okay, she would just look at the yearbook because she was curious about things she’d forgotten about high school. She just wanted to see some pictures and share a few laughs with Ryan about what they were like back then before going home. Also, she’d had a glass of wine with dinner. It would only be prudent to make sure the alcohol was out of her system before she left.

Yeah, right.

Still dressed in the peach silk couture summer dress Ryan gave her, she let him lead her to a room farther back in the house that screamed ‘bachelor den’. Thick, exposed wood beams made up the ceiling of this intensely masculine space with its oversized dark brown leather furniture and massive TV screen on the far wall above a low fireplace. Bookshelves lined the other walls and she gently tugged her hand away from Ryan’s so she could look at some of the titles.

It made her smile to see all the worn paperback science fiction and fantasy titles among endless books about computer programming, philosophy, and a smattering of random subjects.

Ryan moved off to a carved wood table with a collection of cut crystal bottles and matching crystal glasses. Next to the table were a variety of beautiful acoustic and electric guitars displayed on floor stands. She remembered Ryan played in different garage bands in high school and smiled at his collection.

He turned to her and raised a glass. “Can I offer you a drink? I have some pretty decent scotch if you’d like to give it a try.”

Once again, her mouth seemed to be a separate entity from her brain. “I’d love some.”

She winced internally as her excuse about not wanting to drive drunk went up in flames. She hated this. Emma made it a policy to try to never lie to herself, yet here she was making up one flimsy justification after another as to why she was lingering. The hard truth was she wanted Ryan with a desperation that scared her, and every tactic she used to keep men at a distance was failing miserably. Even the thought of having to work with one of her regulars tomorrow night at Kiss of Blue, of bringing her clients the relief they so desperately craved and she loved to provide, couldn’t dampen her need for Ryan. While the orgasms he’d given her on his yacht had been spectacular, she wanted him inside of her so bad she ached. Ryan poured two glasses of scotch and offered her one. When he looked at her, his gaze softened. “Come on, Emma. Sit with me. Don’t be afraid, I promise I’ll behave.”

Irritated that he could tell she was scared she lifted her chin and pulled herself together, moving to take a seat on the wide and deep couch. It was so big that her feet barely hit the floor so she curled them beneath her and took a sip of the drink, amazed at how smooth it was.

“Wow, this is good.”

Ryan turned from where he was looking through the bookshelf and smiled. “Glad you like it.”

A moment later, he took a seat on the couch next to her, teasing her with a hint of his delicious cologne as he set his drink on the table then opened up the cover of the yearbook. She scooted closer, resting her chin on his shoulder while he flipped through the pages. When he came to her senior picture she groaned.

“Oh God. Look at the size of my hair! And all that eyeliner. Jesus, I look like a prostitute that got hit by lightning.” Horrified, she inspected the photo of her six years ago with her hair teased into what she thought at the time was the height of sophisticated fashion.

Laughing, Ryan moved so he could put his arm over her shoulders and drew her closer to his side. She stiffened against him, perversely angry at how good it felt to be held by him, but he didn’t seem to notice. He stroked her bare shoulder with his thumb while keeping his attention on the yearbook.

“I thought it looked good.”

She snorted and leaned down a bit more so she could read aloud the caption beneath her picture. “Favorite Movie:
Mallrats
. Favorite Food: Chicken Florentine. Where I’ll be in Ten Years: Ruling the world.”

Her voice broke on the last word and she tried to battle the sense of despair filling her. While she wasn’t unhappy with her life, it was so not how she’d envisioned it. Instead of happily teaching kids, maybe married to some guy, and all the other things she’d thought adulthood would be like, she was trapped by her job, trapped by her family, and stuck in a holding pattern just like Moira said. Funny, before Ryan reappeared, she thought she was doing okay, but faced with the truth of the situation, she wasn’t happy.

She was miserable.

God, if her eighteen-year-old self could see her now, she’d be appalled.

Ryan pulled her closer to his side, set her drink on the table, and placed a gentle kiss on her head. “Well, you’re certainly ruling my world.”

“Dork,” she said in a thick voice and swallowed hard.

“Let’s see, your favorite color is pink and your favorite song is
My Sacrifice
by Creed. I met them you know, out in LA. Really cool guys.”

She looked up at him, grateful for the distraction even as she fangirled a bit at the idea of Ryan meeting Creed. “You met Creed?”

“Yeah. The guitarist lived a couple houses down from me in Malibu. Really nice guy. He has a golden retriever who loves to catch a Frisbee; that’s how I met him. That dog will wear your arm out.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Nope,” he grinned, obviously proud. “In fact, I think I could do a pretty good job playing the acoustic version of the song if you’d like. I swear I’m better than I was in high school...at everything.”

He gave her a very lecherous wink and she shoved at him, laughing. “Go grab one of those pretty guitars and show me what you’ve got.”

“Oh, Emma, you have no idea how much I want to show you what I’ve got,” he said in a deep voice that was pure seduction.

Her pussy clenched and she shook her head with a bemused smile. “I want to hear my song.”

“Your wish is my command, Mistress.”

Leaving her with wet panties, again, he moved across the room and paused to pick up a remote from the ledge of the fireplace. A moment later flames roared to life in the hearth. He dialed down the lights and she grinned. She had to give it to Ryan, he certainly knew how to set the mood.

After spending a few moments looking at his guitars he finally picked up a beautiful one made of blond wood with dark wood inserts. It had the patina that came from constant handling and she wondered how old it was. When he returned, he didn’t sit on the couch next to her, instead taking a seat on a chair near the fire.

He looked up at her and smiled as he tuned the guitar. “My voice might be a little rough. I don’t have much time for singing in bands anymore, so don’t throw anything at me.”

Despite his playful words there was a tension about him now that softened her heart. She wanted to comfort him, to let him know she appreciated him doing something for her that obviously made him nervous. “I’m sure it will be wonderful, just like everything else you’ve done for me tonight. Thank you, Ryan.”

He looked down and she swore he was blushing, but it was hard to tell in the flickering light of the fire. The graceful way his long fingers moved over the strings of the guitar as he warmed up reminded her of him using those talented fingers on her. She swallowed hard, finding him unbearably sexy.

When he began to play, she thought her heart was going to stop. His low, rich voice made the song somehow more sensual, more real, and the sounds he coaxed from that guitar were magic and moved her on a soul-deep level. He began to sing a song about thinking about the past and the decisions that made a person who they were today. He sang in a lower key than the song was written, but he effortlessly adjusted the music to fit his range.