urge to slap herself grew. Where was the set of cojones she’d used to move out of her parents’ and live her own life away from all the crap money entailed? She straightened, flipped her hair over her shoulder and checked to make sure she didn’t have anything green between her teeth. That’d be a mood killer for sure.
She was here to get her sex on.
“Good luck.” Jordan shoved through the door and headed straight for the bar. If he wasn’t still sitting there, she would cry.
“Go get him, Jordan,” she heard from the friends she’d come with. It gave her courage. Hell yes she’d get him. She’d use his body as her pole and show him all kinds of new moves.
His closely shaved dark brown head hung over his beer and his shoulders were slumped. Damn. She’d thought he’d been interested. She hadn’t mistaken the way his nostrils had flared when she’d started toward him earlier or the way his eyes had widened. There’d been a flash of lust, damn it. On both their parts.
Jordan was suddenly close enough to reach out and touch him. Mmm…he smelled so good. Like man and cologne and yum all rolled into one, and she smelled it even over all the combined alcohol and smoke odors of the bar.
It was do-or-die time. Jordan tapped him on the back. “Hello.”
His head whipped back so fast she was amazed he didn’t give himself whiplash or fly off the stool. Catching himself before that happened, he darted a glance between her and her friends before settling on her face.
His eyes were green. Pale green. Beautiful. Her panties went wet just looking into his gaze.
At least she knew she hadn’t dried up quite yet.
“Hello.” Oh man, the sound of his voice made her shiver. Deep and sensual. It curled around her to the point she swore she could feel his mouth moving on her throat.
“I’m Jordan.” Did she stick out a hand to shake? Where the hell was her inner college chick?
“Max.”
Max. Perfect. She wanted Max. Right here, right now. If only clicking her heels together and pronouncing, “There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home,” would get her anywhere.
He seemed to contemplate something. It made her nervous. Picking up men used to be so easy. Of course those were the days of trying to attract the media attention just to piss her mother off. Right now, Max was going to give her a complex.
“You wanna dance, Jordan?” He said her name like he was trying it out on his tongue.
She wanted to shout, “Try my clit out with your tongue too, please.”
She refrained. No use scaring the man off before she’d gotten out of tonight what she wanted.
He hopped off the barstool—or stood at any rate—and towered over her five-foot-six frame. Maximillian. Maximillian? Is that how she saw him? Appropriate because right this second she felt like she’d just won a million bucks. He had to be a good few inches beyond six feet, muscular too, as evidenced by the fit of his shirt beneath his leather jacket. She wanted to rip the shirt off and lick his abs, see if he tasted as good as he smelled.
Please God let him be this big across the board. She needed big. Needed to be filled to capacity plus some. Her clit actually ached at the thought of him between her legs.
She’d turned into a hooker. A pole-dancing, stranger-picking-up, begging-for-big hooker.
One fateful detour. A raging storm. She didn’t see this love coming…
Merry Christmas, Paige
© 2009 Mackenzie McKade
Holding a knife against a child’s throat isn’t exactly how Dr. Paige Weston had planned to spend her Christmas holiday. But a jolt from an air pocket and here she is, performing an emergency tracheotomy as her flight to Fiji diverts to Kauai. The one place she swore never to return.
Beside the fact her patient comes first, what’s the chance she’ll run into her ex-fiancé—the man who jilted her when another woman turned up pregnant? Then she realizes the island hospital is woefully understaffed,
She was here to get her sex on.
“Good luck.” Jordan shoved through the door and headed straight for the bar. If he wasn’t still sitting there, she would cry.
“Go get him, Jordan,” she heard from the friends she’d come with. It gave her courage. Hell yes she’d get him. She’d use his body as her pole and show him all kinds of new moves.
His closely shaved dark brown head hung over his beer and his shoulders were slumped. Damn. She’d thought he’d been interested. She hadn’t mistaken the way his nostrils had flared when she’d started toward him earlier or the way his eyes had widened. There’d been a flash of lust, damn it. On both their parts.
Jordan was suddenly close enough to reach out and touch him. Mmm…he smelled so good. Like man and cologne and yum all rolled into one, and she smelled it even over all the combined alcohol and smoke odors of the bar.
It was do-or-die time. Jordan tapped him on the back. “Hello.”
His head whipped back so fast she was amazed he didn’t give himself whiplash or fly off the stool. Catching himself before that happened, he darted a glance between her and her friends before settling on her face.
His eyes were green. Pale green. Beautiful. Her panties went wet just looking into his gaze.
At least she knew she hadn’t dried up quite yet.
“Hello.” Oh man, the sound of his voice made her shiver. Deep and sensual. It curled around her to the point she swore she could feel his mouth moving on her throat.
“I’m Jordan.” Did she stick out a hand to shake? Where the hell was her inner college chick?
“Max.”
Max. Perfect. She wanted Max. Right here, right now. If only clicking her heels together and pronouncing, “There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home,” would get her anywhere.
He seemed to contemplate something. It made her nervous. Picking up men used to be so easy. Of course those were the days of trying to attract the media attention just to piss her mother off. Right now, Max was going to give her a complex.
“You wanna dance, Jordan?” He said her name like he was trying it out on his tongue.
She wanted to shout, “Try my clit out with your tongue too, please.”
She refrained. No use scaring the man off before she’d gotten out of tonight what she wanted.
He hopped off the barstool—or stood at any rate—and towered over her five-foot-six frame. Maximillian. Maximillian? Is that how she saw him? Appropriate because right this second she felt like she’d just won a million bucks. He had to be a good few inches beyond six feet, muscular too, as evidenced by the fit of his shirt beneath his leather jacket. She wanted to rip the shirt off and lick his abs, see if he tasted as good as he smelled.
Please God let him be this big across the board. She needed big. Needed to be filled to capacity plus some. Her clit actually ached at the thought of him between her legs.
She’d turned into a hooker. A pole-dancing, stranger-picking-up, begging-for-big hooker.
One fateful detour. A raging storm. She didn’t see this love coming…
Merry Christmas, Paige
© 2009 Mackenzie McKade
Holding a knife against a child’s throat isn’t exactly how Dr. Paige Weston had planned to spend her Christmas holiday. But a jolt from an air pocket and here she is, performing an emergency tracheotomy as her flight to Fiji diverts to Kauai. The one place she swore never to return.
Beside the fact her patient comes first, what’s the chance she’ll run into her ex-fiancé—the man who jilted her when another woman turned up pregnant? Then she realizes the island hospital is woefully understaffed,
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