Free For All (Red Light, Book Four) by Jayne Rylon Page B

shoulder. “Have a great vacation, Alex.”
    “T-thanks.” The tourist doesn’t take his glittering eyes off me long enough to blink.
    Rick walks his bike beside me. “Blow him a kiss and I guarantee you’ll find him outside your window tomorrow night.”
    “So what are you now? My pimp?” The twinge in my chest is quick yet fierce.
    “Since when are labels our thing? I’m proud of you.” Rick nuzzles my temple. “Besides, I have a feeling you’d be good for him. You could change his life forever. The poor bastard. He’s clueless. And…well, I’d be lying if I said I don’t get off on how desperately other guys covet what I have.”
    “Really?” A skim of my thigh against his crotch confirms the desire roughening his voice.
    “Fuck, yes.” He shifts far more stealthily than our new friend and clears his throat.
    Before thinking, I open my mouth. “You know…”
    “What?” He traces my cheekbone when I hesitate.
    Why not go with it? I grin, slow and sure. “There are plenty of swingers’ clubs around the city.”
    When Rick doesn’t answer right away, my stomach sours. Have I found the thing that will turn him off? It’s been looking as likely as a successful hunt for a unicorn or maybe a five-headed dragon, but I can’t help myself. I worry I’ll stumble over his limits one of these days. And then it will be too late to rescind the offensive offer. Maybe it already is. “Never mind.”
    “No.”
    My gaze flies to the flush livening his tanned skin.
    “Don’t do that, Sarah. When will you learn to trust me? I’m not about to bolt, for Christ’s sake. Give me a second here, okay? You plant sexy ideas like that in my imagination and it’s going to take me a few seconds to file them away for later. I don’t relish the thought of coming in my pants in the middle of all these strangers.”
    “Finally something that doesn’t flip your switch?” I raise an eyebrow, savoring the lightness I haven’t ruined yet.
    “Hussy.” He yanks me to him in a bear hug and plants a warm, lingering kiss on my parted lips.
    Someone passing by in a pedicab rickshaw whistles. I totally agree. The steam billowing from my ears might make a similar sound if I were a cartoon hooker instead of a real life sex worker.
    “I take it back. Even erupting like a teenager could be hot with you by my side. When we’re together, that’s all that matters. You’re like some crazy sex drug.” He squints then shakes his head. “A love drug.”
    We’ve both enjoyed plenty of romps in our lives. Release. Fun. Comfort. Companionship. No one knows better than I how many different facets can be cut into the act. None of those myriad experiences reflect with the intensity of our bond, which is easily bright enough to blind. It litters the landscape with rainbows every time we touch, no rain required.
    “You know. We could turn around, go home and leave the canoeing for another day.” I nibble on his lower lip, imagining a sleepy day off—sweet, slow sex followed by nature lulling us with the rocking of my houseboat. It rises and falls on tiny waves caused by vessels trundling down the Amstel, oblivious to the passion we share inside. Steamy windows create the only evidence of our lust for the captains with eagle eyes or tourists with telephoto lenses floating just outside our walls.
    Rick moved in over a month ago, despite his initial kneejerk protest to the cohabitation proposal I’d blurted out during our romantic Valentine’s Day trip to Schagen. That excursion had included an introduction to his divorced parents. It had taken a killer massage with a spectacular happy ending to melt the tension seeing them—together yet not—had infused in his shoulders.
    Still, by then neither of us could remember the last time he’d stayed at his apartment during the days we generally dream through as creatures of the night. He conceded it seemed wasteful to renew his lease when I’d purchased our sanctuary, the profits from our