Sweet Charity (12 page)

The greatest gift is getting what you never thought you wanted.

© 2008 Jaci Burton

Mitch Magruder, rich, successful, wildly popular surfer and entrepreneur, is always on the lookout for the next big wave or the next great deal. So when he’s home for the holidays, he jumps at the chance to build one of his famous hotels right on the white, sandy, Florida beach where he grew up. The only thing standing in his way is Greta Mason.

Divorced with two children, Greta welcomes the struggle to make ends meet at the ramshackle beachfront motel her father left her. The motel means everything to her, and no amount of money—or hot nights of persuasion—offered by gorgeous, sexy Mitch is going to change her mind. No matter how much his touch unravels her defenses.

For once, Mitch finds he’s the one doing the chasing, and Greta’s doing more than throwing a monkey wrench into his perfectly orchestrated world. She’s making him think about things he’s never considered before, things other than the pursuit of money. Things like settling down with the right woman.

Now if only he can convince her he wants more than hot sex, moonlit nights, and her hotel…

Warning: This book contains sun, sand, surf, bikinis, hot men in board shorts, talk of Christmas shopping (ack!) foreplay, midplay, afterplay, and all that deliciously naughty explicit sex (up against the wall, in a limo and…*gasp*…even in a bed!).

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Unraveled:

Greta stood motionless, her feet rooted to the floor of the cabana. Mitch didn’t seem to mind, just swayed back and forth, their bodies connected, not asking her for any more than she was willing to give.

Finally, she found her feet and followed him. He led her around the table. The cabana wasn’t large, and between the table and chairs and the sofa—correction—bed that loomed in the corner, they had to stay close and dance in small steps. But still, it was magical. The music and the man who held her, the scent of salt breezing in from the ocean, the flicker of torches dancing along the edges of the sand outside, was all a sensual assault that overwhelmed her.

Part of her wanted to fight it, but another part of her realized that was stupid. Mitch was an attractive man, and she was a grown woman who’d had too little fun in her life. He’d offered her an amazing night. She’d be foolish to turn tail and run. He wasn’t offering her forever, or even a relationship. As long as she kept her wits about her and realized he was trying to seduce the motel out from under her, she could accept the fun and keep the motel.

She knew exactly what Mitch was up to. But she could still enjoy being with him, without giving him everything he wanted.

“Let’s take a walk.”

He held her hand while she slipped off her shoes. He took off his jacket, his shoes and socks, rolled up his sleeves and pants legs, and they stepped out onto the sand. Mitch led her down to the water’s edge where the breeze blew stronger, whipping her hair, salt stinging her skin and the waves teasing her toes.

She loved it. This was her home, the water as much a part of her as her own skin. The moon cast a silver glow over the dark water, lending its depths a mysterious quality that had always compelled her.

She stopped and turned to the sea. “I used to stand at the water’s edge at night when I was a kid, and could swear all the mermaids and mermen came out in the dark when we couldn’t see them.”

Mitch slid his hand in hers. “I looked for ghostly pirate ships on foggy nights and imagined stowing away and sailing to the ends of the earth.”

She laughed. “The endless dreams of children. How sad that we have to grow up and face reality.”

He looked down at her. “Do we?”

“I hardly think there are mermaids or pirate ships out there.”

“No, but there are new dreams to believe in. The problem with adults is that so many give up on having dreams.”

She turned and started walking again, but Mitch held on to her hand.

“Some dreams aren’t attainable,” she said.

“You can do anything you set your mind to do.”

“Easy if you already have money.”

“Not everyone starts with money, Greta. You just have to figure out what you want, then determine how you’re going to get it. Then let nothing stand in your way until you do.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Having something that really matters to you is never easy. But it’s not impossible.”

“Sometimes it is impossible.”

He stopped, reached for her shoulders, his fingers warm against her wind-chilled skin. “It’s only impossible if you give up your dreams.”

“My dreams died a long time ago.”

He slid his knuckles against her cheek. “They shouldn’t have. You’re way too young to give up on what you really want.”

“I don’t know what I really want anymore. I stopped thinking about myself a long time ago.”

“Maybe it’s time you started again.”

She shook her head. “I don’t need or want anything.”

His slight smile made her belly quiver. “Don’t you? Are you sure there’s nothing you want?”

He wasn’t talking about her motel. She knew it, and he knew it.

Waves pounded the shore, sending water across her feet. But she stood rooted to the spot, her toes digging into the wet sand as Mitch moved in, erasing any space between them.

Now her own blood rushing through her veins obliterated the sound of the crashing surf. Mitch leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. She tasted wine, the salty spray of the sea, and she raised up, twining her arms around his neck to press closer, hungry for more.

Mitch obliged her, sliding his tongue inside her mouth and licking against hers, then pressing his lips more firmly, tightening his hold on her, bringing her closer to him so she could feel every hard inch of his body. He was well toned for a man his age—hell, for a man way younger than him. His body was all hard muscle as she slid her arms across his shoulders and down his arms. He palmed the small of her back and brought her against the rock hard plane of his chest, his abs, the prominent erection she couldn’t—didn’t want to—ignore.

Her breathing shallowed as his kiss deepened, and she forgot that his hands were on her ass, that they stood at the water’s edge, right there in public. Could someone see them? Did she even care? Her brain was fuzzy—too much wine. She wanted to feel his skin under her fingertips. She had sensory overload and her synapses weren’t firing correctly. She needed to think, and yet this one night she wanted to give up thinking. All she wanted to do was feel, and she was doing a pretty good job of noticing that one of Mitch’s hands had cupped the cheek of her ass, the other gripped her hip and was now traveling over her waist, her ribs, and when he covered her breast she gasped into his mouth. His groan against her lips made her tremble.

She rocked against him, her pussy wet and quivering with awakening. It had been so long. She needed a man—just for tonight. Then she could take off the Cinderella ball gown, toss on her shorts and T-shirt and go back to cleaning the castle once again. But tonight, she really wanted to be the princess and enjoy the prince, knowing that she and Mitch were worlds apart, that in a week or so he’d fly off in a corporate jet somewhere, and she’d have wonderful memories of a night spent in his arms, without commitment, without strings. She demanded nothing, and neither would he.

He wasn’t part of her balance sheet. But one week in his bed could tip the scales.

© 2007 Lauren Dane

Since she could pick up a pencil, Belle Taylor has used lists and charts to map out her life. When she achieves a goal, she marks it off her to do list. Simple. But now, just steps away from her corner-office, name-on-the-letterhead goal, she realizes that the life she thought she wanted may come at too high a price.

Exhausted, she retreats home for Christmas vacation to rethink her life, complete with all-new lists. What she hadn’t expected is Rafe Bettencourt, her brother’s best friend, the man who she thought only saw her as a pesky younger sister. But when he kisses her under the mistletoe, Belle finds herself with a whole new set of goals to balance with what she thought she always wanted.

Rafe knows Belle is trying to figure out what to do with her life. He also knows he’s done loving her from afar, and he’s not beneath making it as hard as possible for her to choose to return to San Francisco.

Because Rafe can make to-do lists too—and his plan is to seduce Belle back home where she belongs. At his side. And in his bed.

Warning, this title contains the following: Smokin’ hot monkey love and naughty wish fulfillment, a few words you wouldn’t say in your grandma’s presence.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
To Do List:

Belle let the heat of the alcohol settle into her, bringing a languid fluidity to her muscles. She sighed and looked at the man in bed with her.

“You’re really gorgeous, you know that?”

“I like it when you’ve been drinking, Belle.” He winked and she snorted.

“Whatever. You were going to tell me why you’re suddenly interested in my bases after giving me sweaters for Christmas for the last dozen years.”

He grabbed her ankle and yanked, pulling her down as he rolled on top of her. Wow, he was good.

His mouth met hers, insistent, wet and hot. It was just the two of them, no worries about someone walking into the hallway. She let go of her control and gave in, sliding her hands up his arms, over his shoulders and into his hair. Soft, so soft and cool against her skin.

Heat licked at her insides when his tongue confidently invaded her mouth. When he rolled his hips, she moved, wrapping one of her calves around his ass, opening herself to him and holding him in place.

He broke the kiss, and looked into her face. “Just making sure you’re still with me. I think about your bases a lot. I have for several years now. I told myself it was stupid to give in but you taste too good to resist. You’re here, I’m here and we’re both adults who know and like each other.”

“I’m still with you, although you’re not feeling me up or anything, which if I recall correctly, is part of the bases thing, right? And how long? God, you’ve wanted to kiss me and…” she shivered violently when he trailed fingertips up her belly, against her bare skin under her tee shirt, “…do that? You just kept it to yourself when I’ve like had the dirtiest fantasies ever about you?”

He tweaked a nipple then as he appeared to have to make a lot of effort to breathe.

“Christ, Belle, I can’t believe you just told me you had dirty fantasies about me.” He leaned down and sucked her nipple right through her tee shirt, leaving her no alternative but to hold on and enjoy it.

“I do. I did. All the time. You have no idea how good you look. Or crap, maybe you do. Should we get under the sheets?”

He laughed, breaking free of her nipple and looking at her again. “Honey, it’s killing you to muss these blankets isn’t it?”

“Well, the coverlet will get wrinkled and…oh my…” She lost her ability to think when he reached between them, into the waistband of her loose cotton pants and stroked over her pussy through her panties.

“You’re so wet and hot I can feel you through your panties.”

“Fuck the coverlet. Let me touch you! Why do you keep moving away?” she demanded.

“First things first. No fucking tonight. I want us to be totally sober when that happens so I can take my time and make you fuck drunk instead. I will make you come though because I have to see it. I’d invite you to sleep with me tonight but I have to be up at four-thirty and you need your rest. Tomorrow night you
will
tell me all your naughty fantasies though.”

She blew out an exasperated sigh. “Whatever it takes to get you to let me touch you.”

He laughed and she thought he’d never looked sexier. Rolling away a moment, he pulled off his jeans and shorts while she made quick work of her clothes too. When he turned back to her he groaned.

“Belle, you’re beautiful. A glorious invitation to sin right there wrapped in velvety pale skin.” As he moved to touch her, they both gasped at the shock of pleasure from bare skin meeting bare skin.

His mouth touched every part of her. The spot just below her ear, the hollow of her throat, the sensitive skin just beneath her breasts, her nipples, the backs of her knees. All the while, his hands touched wherever his mouth didn’t.

But he wouldn’t let her do much other than receive pleasure. “No, Belle, if you touch me I won’t last. Please, let me love you.” A lock of hair fell over his forehead, obscuring his right eye.

She managed a shaky nod, needing him so ridiculously bad she couldn’t speak. However, that was nothing compared to the way it felt when he slid down, between her thighs and shouldered them wide open.

Belle watched, fascinated by the way he drew his tongue over the seam where thigh met body. He stopped, breathing her in and she knew somewhere in the back of her mind she should be embarrassed but all she felt was utterly turned on and wildly flattered by the possessive action.

And then his mouth was on her pussy and she fell back against the pillows with a gurgled gasp of pleasure. Over and over, his tongue flicked, licked and teased every inch of her pussy until she thought she’d explode.

Her nipples throbbed, her skin tingled, her toes pointed and still he drove her relentlessly higher. He devoured her with avarice, devastated her with the way he seemed to crave her cunt. No one had ever gone down on her like this.

Finally, he drew her clit between his lips, gently scraping his teeth over it while at the same time sliding three fingers into her gate. It was too much and she lost it, falling hard into an incredibly intense orgasm.

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