The Virgin Sex Queen (10 page)

Heart pounding,
Sophie, coward that she was, ran right out the back door and into
the yard. Cheeks flushed, she slid around behind the garage, coming
to a stop to lean against the wall and gulp in air.

Holy cow, had
that really happened? Had Alan really held her, his hands on her
body, doing things that made her heart race and her breath catch in
her throat?

Hell yes. Her
tingling flesh was living testament to that, but right now she had
other problems. Her cousin had come in and there was no way she
could see Sophie being a gasping, lust-ridden mess.

Hang on
.
She paused in the process of straightening her blouse. Lust-ridden?
Sensible Sophie Willow, erotic romance writer and man-less
spinster,
lust ridden?
Heaven forbid, if she allowed this to
get out of hand her secret would be out and her reputation
destroyed. God knew what that would do for her writing career.

Taking deep
breaths, she quickly went through the exercises Ghost had taught
her, focussing herself, calming her pulses. Okay, it was meant for
facing a crowd but what the hell, this had same panicked feel to
it. Mostly. Okay, a little differently, but she still had an
audience. In the privacy of her room later tonight she could mull
over the happenings but right now she had cousins to face. And
Alan.

Oh God. Alan.
Alan!
No way. No way could she let him see how he’d affected
her. If he ever discovered her secret - oh shit!

Clenching her
teeth, she smoothed her hair down and donned a clam façade.
Game
face, game face. You are Sophie Willow, erotic author, experienced,
cool, calm. Be the goddess. Be in control. I am in control. I
am
in control.

“Sophie! Where
are you?” Chelsea yelled out the back door.

“Shit.” Sam’s
voice said tiredly from the direction of his bedroom. “Is that you,
Chels?”

“No, it’s
Wonder Woman.”

“Good, because
I couldn’t face my sister right now.”

“Sophie!”
Chelsea yelled again.

Not only
Chelsea would be in the kitchen but soon Sam would be too, along
with Alan.

Alan.

Game on.

Straightening
her shoulders, Sophie pasted a smile on her face and came around
the side of the garage to greet her cousin, who shrieked at the
sight of her and came jumping down the steps. “Sophieeeee!”

“Hi,
Chels.”

~*~

Sprawled back
in the swing chair on Marty’s back veranda, his bare feet propped
up on a chair, Alan turned the page of the book.

Sitting in a
chair opposite, his best friend had his long legs stretched out and
crossed at the ankles. At his feet was curled his dinky poodle,
Sugar, and on his lap was Cleo the cat. Head resting back, one hand
holding a can of Coke, Marty eyed Alan from his slouched position.
“I can’t believe you’re reading this stuff.”

“Not reading,”
Alan mumbled. “Studying.”

“Seriously?”
Marty waved the can around. “The most you’ve ever read is a
rev-head car magazine.”

“I read other
things.”

“The comic page
in the newspaper doesn’t qualify.”

Alan was glued
to the page he was reading. “Jesus, some of this stuff. I don’t
suppose you’ve ever done it?”

“Depends what
‘it’ is.”

Alan held the
book out to him. Marty took it, read a few lines, grinned and
handed it back.

“You have?”
Alan queried.

“You
haven’t?”

“Don’t avoid
the question.”

Still grinning,
Marty closed his eyes. “Sure, I’ve used silk scarves. Don’t tell me
you’ve never used your handcuffs for more than restraining
criminals.”

“I’m not
denying anything. I have fond memories of my handcuffs. I’m talking
about this other thing.”

Marty cracked
one eyelid open. “What other thing?”

“Feathers.”

“I don’t need
feathers. I have fingers.”

“Fruit.”

“I’m man enough
not to need additives to the bedroom.”

“Huh.” Alan
returned his attention to the page. “Cucumbers?”

“What?” Marty
lurched upright.

Alan smirked.
“Just thought I’d throw it out there.”

“A gherkin,
maybe, but a cucumber?” Marty leered. “I have my own, if you know
what I mean.”

“Gherkin?”

Marty flipped
him the bird. “Cucumber, dingbat.”

Alan flicked
the page again.

“You can’t have
read the page that fast,” Marty said.

“I’m not
reading the lovey-dovey stuff. I’m studying the kink.”

Amused, Marty
rubbed the cold can of Coke along his forehead. “I’m getting
worried about you. What is this sudden obsession with erotic
romance?”

“It’s not an
obsession. I’m trying to figure out what makes her tick.”

“The
heroine?”

“No, you jerk.
Sophie.”

“Sophie? What
are you on about? How is studying her writing going to make you
understand what makes her tick?” Marty’s gaze sharpened. “And
why?”

Alan glanced
up. “Mate, she slapped my arse.”

Marty stared at
him in silence for several seconds before saying, “Makes a change
from slapping your face.”

“There! See?
The chick isn’t normal.” Alan tapped the book in his hand. “And
these hold her secrets.”

Marty glanced
at the book cover. “
Hot in the Kitchen
. Cooking?”

“No. Sex.”

“Chilli makes
her hot?”

“I don’t think
you’re taking this seriously.”

“Seriously?
Mate, are you kidding me?” Marty looked incredulous. “You’re
reading girly porn as a way to see inside this woman’s head! Not
cool, man.”

“It’s not girly
porn,” Alan said.

“It’s
definitely not cooking, either. I mean, come on,
Hot in the
Kitchen
? Really?”

“Not girly
porn.” Alan studied the cover. The heroine was wearing an apron
that barely covered her naked boobs and bum, and the hero had a
chef’s hat in hand which he held strategically over his otherwise
bare loins. Alan grinned. “But it sure as shit is hot.”

“I rest my
case.” Marty drained the can of Coke.

Alan pulled a
book from the little pile beside him. “Want one?”

Marty looked at
the cover. “
Hot Sin
? Seriously?”

“Dunno. I
haven’t studied it yet.”

“Jesus, I can’t
believe I’m doing this.” Marty grabbed the book from Alan’s hand
and settled back into the chair. Hooking one ankle over the
opposite knee, he started browsing through the book.

Disgruntled,
Cleo got off his lap and disappeared into the house.

Alan,
meanwhile, was riveted. Strawberries up the whazoo? Who’d have
thought of that? As for the dairy products, whipping cream licked
off a nice set of boobs was one thing, he’d done that before, but a
spray can with a handy nozzle put in a strategic place, well, that
was just a whole different ball game. However, he could certainly
see the benefits in licking that area clean, inside and out.

Grinning, he
continued onwards. Sophie Willow could write some bloody hot stuff.
He found himself adjusting his position a couple of times, and when
he glanced across at Marty, it was to see his friend with his mouth
partly open, his eyes a little wider than normal, avidly caught up
in some sex scene.

There was
definitely something to be said for girly porn.

And there was
something to be said about Sophie. For some reason her face kept
imposing itself over the heroine’s in his minds eye. And the
hero…before he knew it, he was so caught up in the eroticism of the
story that he was imagining that Sophie was the heroine and he was
the hero and they were setting that kitchen on fire. Holy spatula,
talk about honey in crevices and sucking icy poles, licking and
sucking and tasting and shagging on tables.

Okay, he’d
shagged on a table and across a kitchen counter, but he’d never
done some of the stuff that was burning holes in his eyeballs as he
read it.

He’d never look
at a kitchen or a can of whipped cream in quite the same way again.
Or strawberries. Or quite a few other things.

Another
disquieting thought hit him, right at the same moment that Marty
lifted his head to look at him.

“Hey,” said
Marty, “You reckon Sophie’s done all this?”

“I guess so.”
Alan shifted in his chair again, hoping his best friend couldn’t
see that he had the beginnings of another impressive boner. Hell,
they might be best mates, but boners weren’t shared. “She must
have.”

“Yeah.” Marty
stared thoughtfully at him for several seconds before returning his
attention to the book.

Sophie doing
those erotic, intimate things was enough to make his boner even
harder, the thought was tantalizing. But doing it with another man?
That thought was enough to have his boner deflating a little. Who
had she done these things with? Who’d restrained her, like that
scene in
Punishing Laura
? What man had spanked her, for that
matter?

Mind now
shifting to more unwelcome places, Alan stared unseeingly at
Marty.

What bastard
had seen her splayed out, what faceless man had filled her with
cream and licked her out? Who’d pushed her over a kitchen counter
and taken her from behind?

Now his boner
was battling with his temper. Jesus, he could practically feel the
steam coming from his ears. His fingers tightened on the book. What
male had trailed a feather over her whazoo and tickled that little
clit, watched it harden, then sucked it until she came apart
screaming?

Who the
hell
had touched Sophie?

Who’d watched
her get undressed, and for that matter, who had undressed her?
Who’d slowly taken her clothes off, who’d ripped her undies away,
who’d made gentle love to her, who’d grabbed her and shoved her on
the sofa and taken her in rough love?

He didn’t even
realise that he’d crushed the cover of the book in his hand until
Marty’s voice finally penetrated his rage-induced haze.

“Alan? Mate?
What’s wrong? Alan?”

Breathing
heavily, and it had nothing to do with lust, Alan focussed on him.
“
What?!
”

“Whoa.” Marty
held out both palms. “Settle down.”

“I am settled.”
Teeth clenched, Alan was a practically breathing fire.
Who the
hell was the bastard who’d touched Sophie?

“Really? ‘Cause
you look like you’re about to stroke out.” Leaning forward, Marty
peered at him intently. “You need a cold drink.”

No, what he
needed was to bust some faceless man’s nose. Or faceless men.
Jesus, how many men had seen his Sophie naked? Touched her, taken
her, done naughty things to her?

“Alan!” Marty
shook his shoulder. “Man, are you all right?”

“What? Yes, I’m
fine.” Taking a deep breath, Alan eased his hold on the book and
tried to get himself under control. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look
fine.” His friend studied him. “Unpleasant thoughts?”

He had no idea.
“Not at all.”

“Yeah.” Marty’s
eyes dropped to Alan’s hand, still gripping the book though not
crushing it any longer. “Whatever you say.”

Sophie had a
book signing this morning. Alan straightened. Would her last lover
be there? One of those men who’d seen her naked and done dastardly
things to her, things she’d enjoyed? He could feel the steam
starting to build inside him again.

“Maybe you
better lie down,” Marty suggested. “Give the girly porn a
rest.”

“It’s not the
girly porn,” Alan growled.

Yeah, if any
man was having lingering feelings for Soph - and what man in their
right mind who’d tasted of her ample delights wouldn’t? - he’d be
hanging around that book signing, just waiting for an excuse to
whip her away to a motel and strip her for his pleasure.

Not bloody
happening.

Alan shoved his
feet into his thongs. “I gotta go.”

“Go where?”

“Soph’s at a
book signing. I’m going.”

Arms folded
across his chest, Marty looked him in the eyes. “I don’t think
that’s a good idea.”

“I don’t give a
shit.” Alan strode through the back door and into the house.

Marty was hot
on his heels. “Alan, think this through. I mean, why the book
signing? There’s going to be women there - oh.” His step faltered.
“Oh, not cool. You’re going to pick up women? Man, have those hot
books got your dick in a knot?”

“I’m not
picking up chicks.” The idea was ludicrous. “I want to check on
Soph.”

“Check on
Soph?” Marty’s footsteps sped up. “What’s going to happen to
her?”

“Nothing.”
I’ll see to that
.

“Alan-”

Alan was
through the door, letting it fall shut behind him, hearing Marty
swear as it obviously thumped into his face. Then Marty was coming
down the stairs beside him. “Alan, for the last time-”

Beeping the
panel van’s door unlocked, Alan grabbed the handle and wrenched it
open. “See ya.”

Marty shook his
head worriedly. “Shit.” Stabbing a finger warningly at Alan, he
ordered, “Stay right here. I’m coming with you.
Stay!
” He
ran back into the house.

Impatiently he
waited while Marty locked up and came back down the stairs. Without
bothering to go around the bonnet, Marty leaped up and slid
impressively right across it, a manoeuvre that would normally get
him the bird from Alan, but this time Alan didn’t even care.
Muttering things about idiot friends, Marty slid into the passenger
seat and buckled on the seat belt.

Winding down
the window, Marty rested his elbow on the doorframe and tapped his
fingers along the edge of it.

All Alan could
think about was finding out who was shagging Sophie, and whoever it
was better just back the hell off. Glowering, he changed lanes to
pass a slower car before whipping back into the left lane.