All about Men [NOOK Book]

Overview

The first collection of the super-sexy, beautifully written stories that put Shannon McKenna in the forefront of hot romance!

Shannon McKenna writes blazing hot heroes and her readers know it. Men who are hard and handsome. Potent and protective. And so, so sexy. Ready for real lovers who want to get wild? They're ready for you. Presenting three of the best.

A powerful man ...

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All about Men

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Overview

The first collection of the super-sexy, beautifully written stories that put Shannon McKenna in the forefront of hot romance!

Shannon McKenna writes blazing hot heroes and her readers know it. Men who are hard and handsome. Potent and protective. And so, so sexy. Ready for real lovers who want to get wild? They're ready for you. Presenting three of the best.

A powerful man on a motorcycle makes a tantalizing promise.and a willing woman learns the ultimate lesson in pleasure. A masterful hotel CEO introduces his lovely date to a suite seduction she'll never forget. And a sexy billionaire invites a massage therapist to his mountain hideaway for a sensational session just for two.

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780758226754
  • Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corporation
  • Publication date: 7/1/2007
  • Sold by: Barnes & Noble
  • Format: eBook
  • Pages: 416
  • Sales rank: 161,656
  • File size: 499 KB

Table of Contents

Contents

SOMETHING WILD....................7
MELTDOWN....................115
TOUCH ME....................267
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First Chapter

ALL ABOUT MEN


By SHANNON MCKENNA

KENSINGTON BOOKS

Copyright © 2007 Kensington Publishing Corp.
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-7582-1985-5


Chapter One

There he was again. The Motorcycle Man sped past her for the third time in the last half-hour, shooting her a huge, dazzling grin. Annie Simon's heart gave a startled little leap in her chest, and she forced herself not to smile back at him. It took real effort.

He roared down the highway ahead of her like a bullet, drawing her gaze helplessly after him. His dazzling red motorcycle glittered with chrome, his helmet gleamed, his black leather jacket flapped wildly behind him. He was larger than life, bursting with brilliant energy against the leafless winter backdrop of dull browns and grays.

This was the third day in a row that he had followed her. She noticed him for the first time around Charlottesville, Virginia. At first she had figured that he must be going her way by sheer coincidence and was just flirting with her to amuse himself on the road, but she'd been stopping every day for hours to hike in almost every state and national park that she passed, and he never seemed to outdistance her. She didn't really mind. In fact, the few times she thought she'd shaken him off for good, she'd been surprised at how disappointed she felt-almost angry at him for not trying harder. Then poof, up he popped, flashing her a wild grin so full of rollicking good humor that she couldn't help laughing back.

She knew she should be alarmed athis persistence, young woman traveling alone, yada yada, but the game was actually giving her a tingle of pleased excitement, and it had been so long since she had felt anything remotely like a pleasant tingle. Lately, her feelings had run more along the lines of dread, exhausted anger, or a crushing sense of impending doom. The little buzz that the Motorcycle Man gave her was a refreshing distraction-as long as he stayed strictly in his place.

Annie had whiled away what would have been many long, depressing hours on the road speculating about him, studying the fascinating details of his bike and his wardrobe-not to mention his powerful, gorgeous body. Three years as a fashion buyer had trained her eye to read the silent language of his wardrobe. She had a feeling that the jacket on his back retailed for over $2,000, depending on the season, and how well things were moving on the floor. And her foster brothers had taught her enough about motorcycles to spot the sleek, sensual lines of an exquisitely preserved vintage Indian. The guy was speeding down the highway on a jewel of a collector's item that had to be worth at least fifty grand, if not more. Whoever he was, and whatever he did, her Motorcycle Man didn't spare any expense in outfitting himself. He looked great.

Not that it made any difference what he wore, or what he rode, of course, she reminded herself. From that wild, wicked grin and those broad shoulders right down to the tight, excellent ass and long, muscular legs, the man had trouble written all over him. More trouble Annie did not need. She'd had a lifetime of it. That was why she was running in the first place. But she shouldn't dwell on the past. She stuck her hand into her beautiful black Prada bag, beloved relic of her days in the world of the gainfully employed, and rummaged until she found the velvet sack of silver dollars. She clutched them hard, trying to ward off the sad, sinking feeling in her belly. "Think lucky thoughts," she whispered to herself. That bag represented the future. Another chance.

Five years ago, at the callow age of twenty-two, she'd taken a road trip with her friends to the Black Cat Casino in St. Honore, Louisiana, where she hit the jackpot at a dollar machine and won almost two thousand bucks. She'd seized her chance and bolted from her dreary cashier's job in Payton, Mississippi, straight to New York, the city of adventure. It was scary, in hindsight, to think of how naive she'd been. She should be grateful it hadn't gone any worse.

Maybe it was superstitious and silly, but the Black Cat was as good a place as any she could think of to petition the gods of chance for one more shot. She wasn't beaten yet, in spite of the mess with Philip. That little sack was the last drop of her lucky money. She'd kept it safe and secret, a good luck talisman. It might not have brought her much luck lately, but then again, she'd actually managed to get away from Philip in one piece, although without most of her stuff. And Mildred, her rusty, trusty Toyota pickup, by some miracle of duct tape, spit and baling wire, was still roadworthy, bless her faithful mechanical soul.

New York wasn't the only place in the world to make a life for herself. She would miss the bright lights and the fresh bagels, but on the plus side, she would never have to apologize to anyone for loving country music ever again. She cranked up the volume on her radio and sang lustily along with Pam Tillis, her eyes still helplessly fixed on the sparkling, wind-whipped figure on the road ahead of her.

The Motorcycle Man hung back, letting her pull up alongside him. He gave her a thumbs-up, and made extravagant gestures toward the Food-Gas-Lodging sign ahead of them, just as he'd been doing all day. He was getting bolder. She supposed she should be worried, but her worry supply was all used up. She stared at his bold, laughing grin, savoring the tingling pull of curiosity he gave her; a pull that had nothing to do with his designer clothes or his costly bike. His smile caught her off guard, like a blaze of sunshine piercing unexpectedly through thick clouds. He radiated light and color in all directions. It was incredibly sexy. Almost tempting enough to make her stop and flirt with him in person, just to see if the gooey, melting feeling that his smile had provoked had any basis in reality.

But going gooey was the last thing she should do, after everything that had happened with Philip. She had to toughen up, fast. She shook her head with a regretful smile, blew him a kiss and mouthed "in your dreams, buddy," as she accelerated smoothly past him.

The wind whipped Jacob's shout of frustration into nothing as he pulled onto the exit ramp. He'd decided that today was the day to make direct contact; enough road tag, but the touseled honey-blonde was not complying with his timetable. It was driving him nuts. He was ravenous. Didn't she ever eat?

He parked his bike and stalked into the restaurant, grumbling as he yanked off the helmet. He was restless and jazzed, and that taunting kiss she'd blown him from the pickup had given him a raging hard-on. Something about the way that luscious pink mouth puckered up just got to him. She seemed to like yanking his chain.

He ordered steak, salad and a baked potato, and pulled the crumpled Kentucky road map out of his pocket to gauge how far out of his way he'd gone in his wild pursuit. Not that he'd really had any destination to begin with. He'd kept his vacation plans deliberately vague, figuring that it would do him good to practice spontaneity. Well, he was practicing it now, with a vengeance.

It had started at a restaurant off I-95, right after Philadelphia. The sight of her walking out of the ladies' room had hit him like a fist. He found himself staring helplessly at the fit of her jeans, deliciously snug over her round, lush rear. And those cute little nipples, poking out of the tight T-shirt, bouncing and quivering as she moved.

She hadn't seen him. In fact, she'd noticed barely anything. She'd walked like a woman in a dream. Something about the way she swept those heavy waves of honey-blonde hair out of her pale face was eloquent in its unspoken weariness. She looked tired, rumpled, her big gray eyes haunted and vulnerable. Like she needed someone to cheer her up, make her laugh. Chase those shadows away from her eyes.

He'd left his uneaten food on the table and followed her like a man under a spell. She hadn't even noticed him until Charlottesville, Virginia. That had been his first victory. Goofing and clowning at sixty miles an hour alongside her truck until a smile budded on that lush, kissable mouth-and then widened to a big, delighted grin. She laughed at him, and he was ecstatic. That was how bad it was.

He knew where she hiked, where she camped, where she stopped to pee, where she got gas. He hadn't approached her yet, sensing that the moment wasn't right, but no one else had gotten close to her without him knowing about it, and he was cheerfully prepared to tear any guy who bothered her to pieces. He'd reflected at great length upon the irony of the situation while keeping her pickup in full view. He was acting like the guy her mother had probably warned her about; the guy who couldn't stop dreaming about how her nipples would taste when he finally peeled off that little shirt and got her settled on his lap. How he would ravenously suckle her lush, perfect breasts while she wrapped her arms around his neck and squirmed with pleasure. How that gorgeous honey hair would cascade all around them, tickling his face. How her smoke-colored eyes would glow with excitement when he tumbled her into the bed of the first motel he could find.

All things considered, he couldn't really blame her for not stopping. But it still drove him nuts.

This compulsion to follow her was unnerving. He stared idly at the list of dessert specials, telling himself to stop worrying, to just go with the flow. Worry was a waste of energy. He was just following his instincts, like he always had. Following his instincts was what had made him a successful man. They'd just never been this strong, that was all. In the past, his instincts had served him dutifully whenever he'd called upon them. He wasn't used to thrashing helplessly in their grip.

He supposed the situation was funny, in a way. Jacob Kerr, successful architect and entrepreneur, accustomed to calling all the shots, driven out of his mind by one beautiful, mysterious girl who wouldn't stop and talk to him. It was wild, irrational, but he wasn't giving up the chase. He just couldn't.

Thunder rolled, and rain started pouring as the waitress set his steak before him. He scowled out the window, hating the thought of his honey-blonde out there in that rattletrap piece of junk. He'd checked out her vehicle at the campground last night while she was taking her shower. All of her tires were bald.

Worry robbed him of his appetite. He got up and paid for the uneaten food, and stared out at the slashing rain, cursing under his breath. His rain gear was stowed inside the hard-case saddlebags on the back of his bike. And it was insanely stupid to go out into that weather in any vehicle, let alone a motorcycle, the cool, rational part of his brain observed. He hadn't gotten this far in life by being insanely stupid.

Oh, to hell with being rational. Being insanely stupid looked like a lot more fun. He pulled on his helmet and headed out the door.

This, too, shall pass, Annie told herself over and over, clutching the steering wheel in a death grip. The rain had been innocuous at first, pattering down gently, but now it was a deafening roar. Violent gusts of wind buffeted the pickup, shoving her around the road, often into the lane of oncoming traffic. Mildred's bald tires slipped and slid, making the truck fishtail madly, and lightning stabbed down in wild, unnerving bursts. Maybe she was racing toward some freak tornado that would pick her and the truck up and deposit them miles away, in twisted, unrecognizable chunks. Chill out, she reminded herself, swallowing down her fear. Panic is not an option.

But each time she assured herself that this had to be the grand finale, that it couldn't possibly get any worse ... it did. Maybe there was no end to how bad things could really get. If only she'd pulled off at the last exit. She could've been flirting with the Motorcycle Man right now over pie and coffee. As dangerous forces of nature went, he was definitely the lesser of the two evils, and a hell of a lot more attractive.

The rain was so blinding that she almost didn't see the exit. She had to lunge for it at the last minute, and the rapid swerve sent her into a long, heart-stopping slide. Once she finally got a grip on the road, she drove very, very slowly, hands trembling, toward the nearest diner. She was pathetically grateful for the coffee, chili and saltines the waitress brought her. She hunched over the steaming bowl, listening to sappy Christmas music, but she couldn't seem to stop shivering.

She was just starting to settle down when the string of bells over the door tinkled delicately. She heard the tread of heavy boots, and a fresh surge of adrenaline jolted through her body. She swiveled her head, and her stomach flip-flopped.

It was the Motorcycle Man, his shiny black helmet tucked under his arm, beaming at her.

He was huge. Much bigger than he'd seemed on the bike, now that those long, muscular legs were unfolded. The restaurant seemed small and shabby, dwarfed by his presence.

He was gorgeous. Breathtaking. And drenched. He squelched as he walked toward her. A puddle formed around his boots when he stopped by her table. The waitress was giving him a dirty look, which he ignored.

"Were you out in the rain?" she asked, instantly wanting to kick herself. What a stupid question. The answer was so obvious.

A triumphant grin blazed across his lean face. "Hah! I finally got you to talk to me."

"Don't let it go to your head," Annie snapped. She tried to drag her eyes away from him, but she was riveted by his intense black eyes, sparkling with intelligence. His eyebrows made a bold, slashing line across his broad forehead. His midnight-black hair was long and glossy, pulled into a ponytail. He was clean-shaven, a hint of shadow across his strong jaw. The fascination on his face made a bubble of flattered pleasure pop up to the surface of her consciousness. She actually felt ... pretty, under his intense scrutiny. Prettier than she'd felt in a long, lonely time. The sensation was like a subtle caress. She began to blush.

"Why didn't you wait for the rain to stop?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I've been out looking for you," he said simply. "I had to make sure you were OK."

She narrowed her eyes in swift suspicion. "Let me get this straight," she said slowly. "You were warm and dry, and eating your lurch, and the storm hit, and you went out in it? To look for me?"

"Yeah, I know. It was crazy," he admitted, wringing water out of his ponytail. His dark eyes danced with silent laughter. "But a guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do."

It had been so long since anyone had worried about her that it actually took away her breath for a second. Probably it was just a slick line, she reminded herself. My, what big ears you have, Grandmother. Toughen up, little girl. Still, a reluctant smile tugged her mouth. "I'm fine, as you can see," she murmured.

"Can I sit down?"

"No," she said quickly.

He shifted his helmet to the other arm, undaunted. His eyes swept over her appreciatively, and a ticklish, fluttery feeling raced madly across the surface of her skin. "What's your name?" he asked.

She hesitated, as if giving him her name would give him some obscure power over her, a hook into her private self. She decided to give him a fake name. Jill, or Monica, or Brooke. She looked into his intense dark eyes, opened her mouth and said, "Annie."

"Annie." He said her name tenderly, savoring it. "Just Annie?"

She gulped. "Just Annie."

He nodded. "OK, just Annie, I'm just Jacob. It's a pleasure to meet you at last. You've led me on a merry chase."

"You haven't caught me," she reminded him tartly. She took a sip of her coffee and stared up over the rim of the cup, her mind spinning with confused excitement. Six foot two and over two hundred pounds of lean, rock-solid masculinity standing there, water streaming off his body, taking up all the air in the room. He was almost too much for a girl to take. But then again, she was tougher than she looked.

"Can I please, please sit down?" His voice was warm and coaxing.

"No," she repeated.

The silence between them lengthened and grew heavy, charging itself with sultry, quivering heat. She licked her lips nervously, helpless to look away. She was locked in a clinch of breathless silence with him. The feeling was shockingly intimate.

His broad, sensual mouth curved knowingly, as if he knew just why she was shifting restlessly on the plastic booth. He knew that a hot, secret little ache of yearning was blossoming deep inside her body, and he was doing it to her deliberately, with his dark, laughing eyes, with his magnetic smile, with his raw male energy. God. This guy was more than just trouble. He was sexual dynamite.

Annie's breath stuttered in and out of her lungs. She forced herself to stop wiggling, and gave him a "don't-mess-with-me" stare, perfected on the tough streets of New York. "Look, Jacob. Whatever you want from me, you're not going to get, so don't waste your time."

(Continues...)



Excerpted from ALL ABOUT MEN by SHANNON MCKENNA Copyright © 2007 by Kensington Publishing Corp.. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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Customer Reviews

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 22, 2008

    Could have been better

    I like Shannon McKenna as she is a very good writer and gives great sex scenes. The only thing I didn't like about this book was the fact that all 3 stories in it were the same...with just the names of the characters and few other details changed. When I read an anthology I'd like to have completely different stories, not the same one over and over again.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 2, 2007

    This Contemporary Romance Noel is sexy and full of heart.

    This book contains three seperate stories each of the men are Alpha Males that are handsome, confident, strong, intense and deeply in touch with their sensuality. Each of the stoires portrays a female charachter that has been burned in the past and is unsatified with their prior lives. They are making a fresh start and not willing to settle. The chemistry between the characters is hot, steamy and sexy. This book was very satisfying

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