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By RACHELLE CHASE
KENSINGTON BOOKSCopyright © 2007 Rachelle Chase
All right reserved.
Chapter One"Today is the day to sin ..." Dr. Tommy "Love" Jones's voice seemed to whisper the words directly into Jessie Anderson's ear.
Jessie turned from the window and frowned at the stereo speaker from which Dr. Love spoke. "I'm trying to sin," she muttered.
"Take charge-" continued Dr. Love.
"Do something you've never done before-"
"-something that you've always wanted to do, but never thought you could do. Because you were too scared to go after it. Or scared you might actually get it-"
"I'm not scared I'll get it."
"-Or scared you might not get it."
"Yeah, well, I am a bit scared of that one."
"So be bold. Take charge. Do it. Go sin. It's all about you ... Tonya M., you're on the air."
Jessie turned her attention back to the window. She parted the gauzy curtain, careful to keep her nakedness hidden. As she peeked outside, she idly listened to the radio show. As Tonya M. described her deep-seated desire to give up psychiatry and become a mortician-and how her career unhappiness was affecting her relationship-Jessie shook her head. Why did the grass always look greener? Here Tonya wanted to flee the living and work with the dead, while all Jessie wanted to do was inject some life, some excitement, some sex into a member of the walking dead: Martin.
And today-tonight-was her last chance to save their relationship.
Jessie reached over and switched the radio off. She turned on the CD player. Sade's "Ordinary Love" soothed her frazzled nerves as she gazed out the window, ignoring the beauty of the ocean below. Instead, her gaze sought the backyard of the vacant single-story house next door. She stared intently into the blackness, able to make out the dark shadow that was the gazebo, nothing more.
No flicker of red light.
Jessie dropped the curtain and began to pace, her quick strides causing the flames of twenty candles to flutter erratically as she passed.
Where was Martin? He should have arrived more than thirty minutes ago. She was sure her written instructions had been clear: Be at the gazebo of the vacant house next door. Flash the light on your key chain at 9:00 P.M. sharp. Though Martin was a genius with numbers, erotic rendezvous were not his forte. But surely even Martin couldn't screw that up?
Maybe his penlight had gone out.
Heart racing with anticipation, body thrumming with excitement, Jessie rushed back to the window. Was that the signal? She craned her neck. Yes, a definite red flicker. She took a deep breath.
Summoning the sexy vixen sleeping within, Jessie smiled in the direction of the signal, and flung open the curtains.
Nick Ralston gazed out over the ocean, admiring the moonlight as it bounced off the waves. He loved the sound of the ocean, so peaceful, so different from his life. But that was about to change. Making a fresh start wasn't going to be easy, but he'd taken the first step by buying this house. His house. Well, technically it wasn't his yet, but it would be by next Friday. For added insurance, maybe the "For Sale" sign out front would mysteriously disappear when he left. He smiled at the image of the large sign hanging out of the passenger side of his Porsche Boxster.
Leaning against the gazebo, Nick lit a Marlboro Light. He exhaled the smoke before it could enter his lungs and withdrew the cigarette from his lips, staring at the glowing tip. With a wry smile, he flicked his wrist and sent the cigarette spiraling to the damp grass. He ground the toe of his shoe against it, extinguishing it forever. He sighed. No women, and now, no cigarettes. Which one would prove harder to swear off?
With one last glance at the ocean, he turned to walk down the path separating his house from his neighbor's, heading to his car. He'd only taken two steps when a movement in the second story window of the neighboring house caught his eye. He glanced up and stopped mid-stride.
A woman in a red, see-through number stood in the window, silhouetted against a backdrop of flickering candles. Nick watched her lean forward and open the window. Muted strains of drums, guitar, and piano drifted over to him, accompanied by a sultry feminine voice. It took him a moment to realize that the throaty lyrics were not recorded with the music, but rather, were coming from the woman herself.
As she straightened, the hot curves of her body were once again visible. The bouncing light shone through the thin material, perfectly outlining the small waist and flaring hips that merged into lush thighs. Thighs that parted and hips that began to gyrate suggestively as he watched.
"What the hell ...?"
As if in answer to his question, the woman took a step backward into the room. Candlelight illuminated her face enough for Nick to see her lips curl into a seductive smile. He watched her long, slender arms rise above her head, her wrists and shoulders rotating in sync with her hips. Her fingertips slowly traveled down her body, brushing lightly over her breasts, over her stomach, down her thighs, then back up, this time caressing her inner thighs and taking the hem of her gown with them. His breath stuttered in his throat as her hands stopped at her pussy, her fingertips making vertical circles while her hips moved back and forth to meet them. A brief glimpse of dark hair was visible with each upward movement.
Nick's hand went to his crotch.
The urge to unzip his jeans and stroke himself in time to the woman's swaying hips surged through him. Instead, he moved his cock to a more comfortable position. He knew he should leave. But, he couldn't. Her hips mesmerized him, keeping him rooted to the spot. Unlike the erotic acts he'd been forced to endure at bachelor parties, this woman's routine seemed ... personal. Her movements unpracticed, spontaneous, and aimed directly at him, at his satisfaction. He didn't know why or how she even knew he was here.
But, hell, did he really care?
Her fingers stopped their lazy circling, the clingy material dropping back into place around her thighs.
"No ..." Nick's whisper of dismay escaped him of its own volition.
Ignoring his need, the woman buried her hands in her upswept hair. A quick shake and ebony curls cascaded over her shoulders. She threw her head back, drawing Nick's eyes to her throat, infusing him with the desire to trail his lips along her neck, down to her shoulders, to nibble at her collarbone before licking-
His visual fantasy ended abruptly as her head snapped forward and she crooned to the waning music. Her lips-coated in a shiny red that shimmered with each word she sang-plucked a chord tied directly to his cock. A smile spread slowly over her face, as if she knew exactly what was happening to Nick. Then she spun around and sashayed to a chair he hadn't even noticed was in the room. Her back to him, she shimmied in front of the chair, her hands grabbing her ass, squeezing and massaging, her fiery nails glistening with each grasp.
Nick licked his lips and reached in his back pocket for the emergency cigarette before remembering it lay mutilated in the grass.
He let his hand fall back to his side.
The music changed to something slower and the piano was replaced by electronic keyboards. As the moody notes of a saxophone cascaded over his eardrums, the woman's hands caressed their way up her back and slid the straps of her gown over her shoulders.
Nick held his breath, waiting, hoping, praying ...
As if in slow motion, he watched the slinky material slide over her skin, hugging her hips for the briefest moment, before gliding to the floor.
His erection surged against his jeans as he stared at the most perfect ass he'd ever seen. No anorexic model here. This one would give Marilyn Monroe a run for her money. Before he could look his fill at her backside, she turned around and Nick's mouth dropped open.
She was holding a stuffed bear. Only this was no innocent bear from Saturday morning cartoons.
She trailed the bear's face over her body, giving the impression it was bestowing kisses, licking and laving its way across her breasts. She held its head against one breast and rubbed it slightly back and forth.
Nick groaned. An unbidden desire surfaced to feel her hands threaded through his hair, pressing his face against her plump tits, to let his tongue flick across her dusky nipples, to feel them harden in his mouth ...
He watched her change the bear's position, dragging it across her abdomen, lower, lower ...
His breath became ragged. "Oh, yeah ... that's it," he breathed, as she brought the bear's face to the dark hair that hid what Nick desperately wanted to see, to explore.
Suddenly, she turned around, her back once again to him. The bear's lower body dangled obscenely between the "v" of her thighs as she threw her head back and rotated her hips.
Nick closed his eyes, blocking out the sight of her full derriere swaying back and forth. He inhaled deeply and concentrated on getting his pulse and hormones back under control. He had to get out of here.
He'd ignore her. He'd walk back to his car, not once looking up at that window. Yeah, that's what he'd do.
He opened his eyes and took his first step with determination. By the second step, he felt his eyes drawn back to the window. Okay, he'd take one last look while he was walking. Before he'd completed his third step, he stopped and gaped at the window.
The bear had disappeared and the woman stood gloriously naked. Her finger curled and uncurled, beckoning. She turned, smiling at him over her shoulder, then moved from sight.
Nick remained where he was, stunned. This woman-this stranger-had just invited him inside.
His first thought was to take her up on her offer, to run, not walk, right up to that second story bedroom. But the voice of reason intervened, reminding him of his promise:
Sandy, hooking him with her flirtatious ways, keeping him with her passion and adoration, and sinking him with her lies, had been the perfect catalyst for his vow. While he'd been walking around proud to be her man, she'd been making other men proud-teasing them, leading them on, and sleeping with them.
No. He had no time for women, no time to try and figure out who was telling the truth and who was lying. He was here to focus on work.
Silently repeating the promise like a mantra, Nick continued along the path and stalked to the front of the house, determined to ignore the images of his naked neighbor and what she might be doing in bed-without him. When he reached the driveway, he opened the car door and paused. He turned around and glanced back at the now-empty window.
His cock still throbbed. His pulse still raced. Curiosity and anger battled in his mind.
Why the fuck had this sexy stranger beckoned him?
Chapter TwoJessie picked up the silk scarf from the bed, looped it around her head, and tied it in the back. She adjusted the silky material so that the world was black, the dancing flames gone as if she'd blown them out. She lay on her back on the bed, resting her head against the pillow, and raised one leg, bending it at the knee.
Her body tingled. Every nerve ending under her skin had been awakened by her hands as they'd traced her hips, trailed over her abdomen, and cupped her breasts. Desire, anticipation, and a hint of embarrassment coursed through her veins-a tinge of embarrassment because she'd never been so bold, never acted so brazen, never felt so sexy.
She'd implemented Dr. Love's advice. She was sinning.
But Martin had never seen this side of her before-would he like it?
Jessie frowned. What man wouldn't like it? Countless men's magazines-and women's, for that matter-were devoted to ways of spicing up your sex life. And hers and Martin's had disappeared. If this didn't infuse a bit of excitement, it would be the sign she'd been looking for, final proof that there was no relationship left to salvage.
Your relationship was over months ago. Sex isn't going to save it.
Jessie shifted her hips, crushing the thought, and letting the softness of the comforter caress her ass.
The soft whisper of the front door opening caressed her eardrums.
Footsteps, muted by the runners covering the hardwood stairs, sent anticipation humming through her body. Maybe she'd been wrong about Martin. Maybe there was something left in their relationship.
Jessie cocked her head. She couldn't see through the blindfold, but the creak of the floor told her that Martin stood in the doorway.
"Hi," she purred.
Martin remained silent.
Her body flamed, excited by the thought of Martin speechless. She arched her back and rotated her hips slowly. "Do you like what you see?"
He inhaled sharply.
She slid her hands over her breasts, plucking a nipple. Darts of delicious prickles zoomed to her pussy. She moved her hands lower and cupped her mound.
Martin exhaled noisily.
Jessie lifted her hips. "Pussy got your tongue?"
She chuckled at her pun.
He didn't laugh. The only sound was the sigh of his uneven breathing.
He didn't move. Tension emanated from his body and spiraled through the air and stroked her body, empowering her, arousing her.
Jessie returned one hand to her chest, circling her breast. "Did you like watching Teddy lick my nipples?" With her other hand, she rubbed a finger along her clit. "Did you like watching Teddy taste my pussy?"
Her hips rose, beckoning him closer.
The floor in the doorway creaked again as he obeyed. The whisper of fabric brushing together started-then abruptly stopped-at the side of the bed.
Jessie looked up at him with eyes unable to see, imagining his eyes roving her body, seeing flushed skin, her turgid nipples, and her wet pussy.
The bed dipped to the right with his weight.
"I want you to-"
Martin's fingertips silenced her as he traced her mouth and down her neck, to the swell of her breasts, following the path hers had made. The pads of his thumbs rubbed her nipples.
"Oh," she breathed, jutting her breasts forward into his palms. "I like that. It's been a long time since you've touched me, Martin."
The fingertips left her skin abruptly.
He remained unmoving.
He remained silent.
Oh shit. Don't tell me he's chickening out. If he was, this was it-officially the last straw. Jessie frowned and sat up, her hands going to her blindfold. "Martin, what-"
"Shhhhh-" Martin whispered. His hands pressed against her shoulders, gently pushing.
Jessie sank back onto the soft downy bed.
Martin leaned forward. She inhaled the faint scent of cigarette smoke and spicy cologne she'd never known him to wear before. Maybe he'd bought it for this occasion.
She smiled. "You smell good. Did you-"
His mouth replaced his fingertips, interrupting her thoughts as he nibbled her neck. His tongue traced her collarbone and moved down, dipping in between the valley of her breasts, before turning inward and circling her areola.
Jessie moaned. "Oh, I like that."
She moved her hands to his shoulders.
His hands instantly circled her wrists, pulling them away, returning them to the side of the bed by her head.
She got the message-he wanted her to lie there and let him do whatever he wanted to do. The roughness of his hands gripping her wrists-so unlike their usual softness-sent a bolt of excitement swirling through her stomach. Her heart thrilled at the effort Martin was exerting to make this special. He was taking charge and playing along with her game.
It was more than she'd hoped for. Never would she have thought that he had it in him. Sex with him had always been so routine and predictable. But maybe she'd been too quick to judge. Maybe there was hope for their relationship. Maybe she hadn't done a good job of showing him what she wanted. Well, that was going to change. Starting-
Once again, Martin took her nipple in his mouth and sucked.
Jessie sucked in a mouthful of air.
Spears of heat spread through her breasts, building in her stomach, and spilling over into her pussy.
Jessie wriggled her hips and arched her back higher, wanting to feel more of him against her than his lips. She wanted to grab his head and press him closer. She wanted to wrap her legs around his chest and pull him against her. What she didn't want was for him to stop, so she didn't touch him.
Instead, her hands grabbed fistfuls of the comforter and her hips rocked against the bed. "I want more," she begged. (Continues...)
Excerpted from Sin Club by RACHELLE CHASE Copyright © 2007 by Rachelle Chase. Excerpted by permission.
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