The Sexiest Man Alive (33 page)

Her eyes sought his as he strode across the room toward her, and in that moment she had her answer. Her heart loop-de-looped, and then she was in his arms, and he was kissing her, and she was kissing him back, and all doubts vanished from her mind. Finally they broke apart, breathing hard, smiling at each other.

“Look at you,” he said, standing back. “Miss Chief Executive. Is that a new outfit?”

“Magenta’s idea. He thought I ought to look professional for my first day.” She was wearing a pale gray silk jacket with a matching skirt, a coral shell, and heels—the most inconvenient getup possible for a day spent hauling boxes and bending over file cabinets. A thorn from the roses had somehow snagged her panty hose and she had a big run.

“You look good.” Ben hooked a strand of hair behind her ear. “But I kind of like the mud-smeared, granny panties, commando look.” He toyed with the silver chain at her neck, and his voice had a slight catch as he murmured, “You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”

“About what?

He nuzzled her neck. “About marrying me.”

She let her kiss be her answer. “Have you changed yours?”

“Hell, no.” His mouth moved to her collarbone, his hands moved to her breasts.

“Ben. We can’t—someone might see.”

“Right.” He released her, marched to the door, slammed it shut, locked it, then turned to her with a hungry expression that made it clear exactly what his intentions were and which gave Mazie a hot, delicious cowlick to cho-cho shiver.

They sank down onto the new rug and discovered that it was kind to knees, posteriors, and other parts of the anatomy.

Ben raised himself on one elbow. “I really like this carpet.”

“It’s a gift from Mr. Steiner. He said it was a magic carpet.”

“Yeah? The kind that flies? Let’s find out.”

Much too urgent to be gentle, Ben helped her out of her clothes. The panty hose drove him insane; he muttered an obscenity, wadded them up, and lobbed them into a corner. Bra and underpants—off in seconds. No grannies today—silky pink hip briefs that matched her bra.

She helped Ben with his clothes, skinning the shirt off his body, brushing her hands across his broad chest, running them along the flat planes of his abdomen, then reaching down to undo his belt and his zipper. He gasped in pleasure as she touched his penis, which was growing by the second.

“Slow down, Mazie,” he said hoarsely, “or I’m going to disgrace myself.”

Somehow they got the rest of his clothes off, and then he was naked next to her. She loved the feeling of his skin, his rough beard on her cheek, loved the way that she could make him groan with pleasure, skimming her hands over his thighs, his buttocks, his beautiful back—cupping and stroking his testicles. She was starved for him; she could never get enough of him.

Their lips touched, their tongues twined, and the way he touched her nipples ignited every nerve ending in her body, made her cry out for more. His big, rough hands were astonishingly clever at finding all of her hidden sweet spots, making her arch her back, wanting
him everywhere at once.

His head moved lower as he kissed her abdomen, her belly, her thighs, and then she raised her legs to give him access to her core. He teased her slick flesh, making her gasp in pleasure, knotting her hands into his hair and pulling him down. He found her clitoris, rigid and quivering, and flicked it with his tongue. It made her wild and she pushed upward at him in desperation, wanting more, needing more, her entire body taut. Then he sent her over the edge, and she convulsed as pleasure rippled outward through her entire body. Before she could draw breath he clutched her ass in his hands, raised her body, and then thrust into her with hard, urgent strokes, propelling them both toward still higher realms of pleasure. Mazie’s entire body quivered as another orgasm built up. She hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly, surging through her body in escalating waves, giving her a pleasure so intense, it was almost painful. Feeling her clench around him, Ben began to climax, uttering a groan that seemed to come from the depths of his belly, going rigid in every muscle, and then releasing.

Later, they floated gently back to earth.

Ben’s eyes were closed, his long lashes dark against his cheeks. She watched him as he opened his eyes and smiled at her. “The old guy was right. This carpet
is
magic.”

Ben
was magic. She felt sated and satisfied in every pore of her being, and she was so happy, she felt she might burst with it.

They were quiet for a moment, then Mazie said, “I tried to phone you today. I kept getting your voice mail.”

“Sorry about that—I was on the phone a lot. Phoning my relatives, telling them the news.”

“About us?”

“About us getting married. By the way, my mom wants you to call her as soon as possible. To talk about wedding stuff, I guess.”

She groaned. “Too soon.”

“The sooner the better, as far as I’m concerned.” He bent down to kiss her shoulder. “Had any thoughts about our wedding?”

The sexiest man alive was definitely stirring again, and he seemed to be eyeing the swivel chair, as though wondering whether it could bear the weight of a sitting man and a woman with her legs wrapped around his waist. After all, if a rug could be magic, other furniture might have
possibilities, too.

“Well …” Mazie stroked his chest. “There’s something I need your opinion on.”

“Go ahead, shoot. Have I ever been wrong?”

“I can’t decide who to ask to be my maid of honor. Juju or Magenta.”

Ben laughed. “Let them duke it out. My money’s on Juju. Need my opinion on anything else? Like what you should wear on your wedding night?”

Mazie already knew the answer, but asked anyway. “What?”

Ben smiled. “Absolutely nothing.”

I’d like to thank my wonderful agent, Andrea Somberg, for her help in finding the right home for the Escape Diaries series. Also Randall Klein, who coaxed a coherent narrative out of my first two unwieldy books, and my current editor, Sue Grimshaw, who manages to keep a myriad of balls in the air at the same time, possibly using supernatural powers. As for my fabulous copy editors—you make me look better than I am. With Ben and Mazie finally riding off into the sunset, I want to thank everyone on the Loveswept staff for all their patience, hard work, and creativity in making my books a success.

B
Y
J
ULIET
R
OSETTI

The Escape Diaries
Crazy for You
Tangled Thing Called Love
The Sexiest Man Alive

PHOTO BY DEE MADDEN

A native of Wisconsin, J
ULIET
R
OSETTI
grew up on a dairy farm, where she neglected her weedpulling and cow-milking duties in favor of reading every book she could get her hands on. At various times in her life, Rosetti has worked in an aluminum factory, coached cricket, competed in a beauty pageant, and sold encyclopedias door-to-door. Writing romances is her favorite job so far because it almost never involves wearing bathing suits or shin pads—although she sometimes dons her lucky tiara. Juliet Rosetti lives in Oshkosh, Wisconsin, with her husband and son and is currently working on a mystery novel.

julietrosetti.net

July is a month of celebration—Independence Day is a holiday we remember with picnics, parades, and fireworks. I feel like celebrating this month’s Loveswept releases in the same way; they make me want to shout in jubilation to let the world know about all our fantastic summer reads.

Coinciding with the heat of the summer we begin with Shelley Ann Clark’s Loveswept debut,
Have Mercy
, where two damaged souls discover that when they’re together, their bodies hit all the right notes. Following that is
USA Today
bestselling author Stacey Kennedy’s next installment in her successful Club Sin BDSM series,
Desired
, featuring the hotly anticipated Kyler. Continuing with the warmth of the season comes
New York Times
bestselling author Tracy Wolff’s long-awaited sequel in her Ethan Frost series,
Addicted
. Then more love on the lam with Juliet Rosetti’s
The Sexiest Man Alive
, continuing Mazie’s on-again-off-again relationship with certified hottie Ben Labeck. Jennifer Chance’s
Fake It
then sparks some serious combustion between a sexy biker and a corporate go-getter who’s ready to let her hair down. And finishing up the month is Lavinia Kent’s sumptuous novel of sensual discovery,
Mastering the Marquess
.

Classic Loveswept relaunches another of our favorites,
A Tough Man to Tame
, by
New York Times
bestselling author Iris Johansen—the unforgettable story of a brilliant young woman and the sexy financial wizard with the power to make her dreams come true.

And ladies, don’t miss Flirt’s release of
Awaken
, book two in Lori Adams’s Soulkeepers series, featuring the hottest love triangle in this life—or the next.

See, I told you July deserves a great celebration!

Read on for an excerpt from

Tangled Thing Called Love

Life and Love on the Lam

by Juliet Rosetti

Available from Loveswept

Beauty is only skin deep,
But ugly goes clean to the bone.

—Dorothy Parker

Fawn Fanchon was seventeen years old when she walked into a swamp and disappeared from the face of the earth.

She had wide-set hazel eyes, glossy dark hair, and a heart-shaped face. She was five feet five, a slender, long-legged girl who managed to pull off chic even in Goodwill jeans and dollarstore jewelry.

She disappeared the evening she was crowned
Miss Quail Hollow
. Her fellow contestants, mostly the tall, athletic blondes Wisconsin grows like sunflowers, included a cheerleading captain, a homecoming queen, and a state tennis champion. They were girls whose mothers bought their daughters pageant gowns from Neiman Marcus, whose fathers were small-business owners and insurance agents, whose families sat down to the dinner table every night for well-balanced meals and discussions of world events.

Fawn’s mother had died three years earlier from a ruptured appendix, her father drove a forklift at a birdseed plant, and her family, who depended on food stamps, often had suppers of microwave popcorn, eaten in front of the television at ten thirty at night.

All the other girls wore bikinis for the swimsuit competition, but Fawn wore a one-piece bathing suit she’d borrowed from an aunt, managing during her brief spin down the runway to look classy while making the bikini-clad girls seem slightly trashy.

For her talent number, she belted out “Summertime” in a surprisingly powerful alto. Nobody had realized Fawn could sing. The Girls from Good Homes had barely registered that Fawn was in the competition. Yet when the preliminary scores were posted the day before the finals, there was Fawn Fanchon’s name, leading all the rest.

That’s when the knives came out.

That’s when the Neiman Marcus girls grasped that a dark horse was streaking up on the outside rail. That’s when the red food coloring was splattered across Fawn’s gown at the
oops-it’s-that-time-of-the-month
spot; that’s when the cayenne pepper was sprinkled into her blusher to burn her cheeks; that’s when
Bet the judges liked your BJs!!
was scrawled across her locker in turquoise nail polish.

The evening gown competition was held on the last night of the pageant. Fawn wore a pink beaded dress she’d sewn on her mother’s old sewing machine, dangly earrings she’d made from a crafts store kit, and high-heeled silver sandals bought at a rummage sale.

If you freeze the videos taken at the moment Fawn is announced as the winner, you can catch the naked hostility on the other girls’ faces before they paste on their
If it couldn’t be me, I’m glad it’s her
masks. If looks were lasers, Fawn would have burst into flames.