Stand By Your Man by Susan Fox Page A

his desk in Vancouver, working regular hours. Preferring to have his own wheels, he’d decided to make the six-hour drive rather than fly. He’d get in around midnight.
    That meant it didn’t matter how long the meeting lasted. Still, she fidgeted, impatient with the others’ inefficiency—particularly that of the President who was chairing the meeting. Volunteering was great, but people should volunteer for jobs where they had some actual competence. She could do more on her own than it took this five-person board to accomplish in twice as long, but if she tried to take over and run the meeting, the others would be offended.
    Was she being judgmental again? A high school girlfriend had teased her that all would be well if the world would only appoint Karen as Queen of the Universe, so she could whip everyone else into shape. Although Karen had given the obligatory “Ha ha,” privately she’d thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea.
    When the meeting finally ended, Karen drove home, took a leisurely shower, and slipped into new lingerie—a cami and shorts set. Used to wearing a uniform or practical casual clothes, she admired her reflection in the bathroom mirror and luxuriated in the silky slide of the rose-pink fabric against her lotioned skin. So much for the guys who looked at her uniform and wrote her off as butch. Jamal had the sense to see, and admire, all sides of her.
    As she did with him, she thought when the rumble of an engine sounded outside. Peering out the front window, she grinned. It figured that Jamal’s “wheels” were on a motorcycle. A big black BMW built for speed, endurance, and style. Just like the man who climbed off it, dressed in a gray tee, jeans, and black boots.
    Aware of her skimpy outfit and the proximity of neighbors on this warm summer night, she didn’t rush down the steps but opened the door and stood back.
    He took a small duffel from a pannier and sauntered toward her. A white grin widened on his dark face as he came up the steps. “Look at you,” he said in that rich molasses voice.
    â€œIt was a toss-up between this and my gun belt and handcuffs,” she joked.
    As he bent to put down his bag and take off his boots, he said, “It’s only civilians who like to play with handcuffs.” He reached out and big hands framed her face, holding her steady.
    Well, not so steady, because her breath caught and her pulse jerked. “That’s true.”
    â€œCops have to find other forms of kink.”
    Such as? The thought evaporated as his lips met hers. The kiss was the sensual equivalent of his saunter, lazy and confident as his lips caressed hers and his tongue slid into her mouth. She sighed with pleasure. Waiting to see him had been tough, but now he was here, hers for the next couple of days. They had time. Time for lots of sex, lots of talk, lots of getting to know each other better.
    When she could talk again, she said, “I’m glad you’re here.”
    â€œMe too.”
    â€œDid you stop for dinner? Are you hungry?”
    â€œGrabbed a snack on the way. It’s you I’m hungry for. Is it rude to show up and want to go straight to bed?”
    â€œNot when I feel the same way.” She took his hand and they headed for the bedroom.
    She’d never been into fancy décor or girly touches. Yet this week she’d bought candles and now she lit them. Jamal had stirred up new instincts. He’d also revived her long-held dream of creating a home like the one she’d grown up in.
    And right now he made her long for spectacular, intimate lovemaking.
    He glanced around the room, then said, “I need a quick shower.”
    â€œWhat? I thought you had sex on your mind.”
    â€œOh yeah. But look at this. The candles, you in that sexy outfit. I’ve been working, riding, haven’t seen a shower since dawn.”
    Before she could say she’d gladly take him now, sweat