Welcome to Mid Week Tease. Thanks to the lovely and talented Sandra Bunino, who created this weekly fun, myself and other author friends post a little something for you, the readers, from some of our published works, up-and-coming releases, and WIP (Works in Progress).
Well, all. Book two in my Bad Boy Fever series is close to completion with all the editing processes. So since I've been in Bad Boy mode, I thought I'd share this week from the first book in the series, Spanked by the Bad Boy.
As the personal assistant to the owner of one of the top engineering firms in Denver, Tiffany Brooks has worked hard at maintaining a professional façade, intent on ridding herself of terrible habits—like her attraction to bad boys. But when the owner of DC Construction rides his chopper into her world two years after their one-time anonymous sexual encounter, everything turns upside down.
Declan Cage is the type of guy who makes a lasting impression, especially with women, yet the gorgeous assistant at Stoub Engineering never remembers his name—or does she? Intrigued by her game, her sexier than sin body, and an infuriating prissy attitude, Ms. Brooks is begging to be taken into hand, and he’s the man to do it.
Armed with the knowledge Declan doesn’t recognize her, will Tiffany give in to her desire for him yet again, or will her past come back to haunt them both and ruin their chance at something real?
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Three steps. That’s how many it took to get to her before he went to his knees, kneeling by the bathtub, and slid the damp hair from her face. She didn’t stir. The porcelain features he stared down at were beautiful, and the peaceful expression she wore reminded him of a sleeping nymph.
He studied the lines of her face, and, without her makeup, he could see her youth. She was younger than him. Probably in her mid-twenties. He traced his fingertip over the curved scar tucked beneath the arch of her eyebrow before reaching for the washcloth. When he took it from her knee, he noticed the bruise hiding beneath, compliments of the car accident.
Swiping some bubbles from her, another bruise appeared across the left portion of her collarbone. He gritted his teeth and brushed the cloth over the spot as gently as possible, temporarily hiding the mark from his view. His other hand cleared more bubbles away. She was fantastic, a perfect still-life lying beneath the magnification of the water.
Carefully, he dunked the cloth between her spread legs, forgoing the craving to slide his fingers over the manicured strip of her dark pubic hair and claim her little pussy with his hand. Instead, he pulled the washcloth from the depths, raised it above her chest, and let the droplets fall. A rainstorm fell onto the taut peeks of her nipples, and he watched them tighten even more, imagining his mouth and tongue teasing them.
Declan caved into the urge to palm the beauties, cupping the side of her right breast, lifting. She mumbled something unintelligible in a sleep-hazed slur, but didn’t wake, and that’s when he saw something which greatly disturbed him.
Eyes narrowing, he looked at the faded raised mark, centimeters from her areola. A very distinctive, round scar. He knew what he was seeing was an old wound someone had inflicted upon the perfection of her by using the business end of a cigarette. Tearing his gaze from the spot, he looked at the scar Tiffany had absentmindedly rubbed beneath her brow, the one she didn’t want to talk about, then back to the old burn.
His stomach balled into a tight knot of seething anger. Her mother was a smoker although the sick feeling told him it wasn’t Tanya Painter who had marked her. He recalled what she’d disclosed to him while in the ER waiting room.
I would never have left her with him if I had known.
He closed his eyes, let the cloth fall into the cooling water, and gained a very shaky hold on the fury he wanted to unleash on the asshole who had marked her—the asshole who, every instinct told him, was her stepdad.
“Sugar,” he said in a low voice next to her ear. “We need to get you out of this tub. The water’s turning cold.”
Her eyelids fluttered when she mumbled, “Need to stay.”
He rubbed the crease from between her brows. “Come on, sleepy head.”
The back of her head rolled along the curve of the tub, blue eyes appearing when she opened heavy lids. The tip of her tongue glided over the swell of her top lip. She blinked and glanced up at him. “Did I fall asleep?”
She was so vulnerable, and a fierce emotion to take her into the protection of his arms overtook him. “Yep.” He palmed her cheek. “Let me help you out of the bath.”
“I can get out on my own.”
That may very well have been true. However, he wanted to touch her. Pamper her a bit.
She slicked her wet shoulders up the back of the porcelain, coming to a halt when his arm when into the water and tucked beneath her knees while his other hand rested behind her neck.
“I don’t want you to hurt your wrist, trying to get out,” he said. “Lean forward.”
To his surprise, she didn’t argue and did what he asked. He slipped his palm down her back. Compared to him, she really was small, fragile. Curling his arm around her, fingers resting beneath her breast, he lifted. Water swooshed. He took her up with him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her good hand digging into his nape. He knew by her reaction she was afraid he’d drop her. He straightened. He’d never drop her. Water dripped from her body in a downpour before he tucked her against his chest, feeling his shirt absorb the moisture.
“You’re getting soaked,” she said.
“It’s fine.” Not wanting to let her go, he held her a moment more. “I’m going to set you on your feet.”
He gently placed Tiffany on the ground. Her red painted toenails caught and held his attention when she curled her toes into the bathmat. The need to suck on one or all of her little digits took hold of him. He swept the thought aside and made sure she had a handle on her balance. Once satisfied, he snagged the fluffy towel from the countertop, unfurled it from the oblong fold, and carefully rubbed the material over her hair, gripping the ends within the cotton and squeezing the water out before he softly dabbed at her face and neck.
Every bit of his maleness hardened at the pink and white flesh bared in front of him.
She glanced up from beneath her lashes, blue eyes sparkling. “Thank you. I can do the rest.”
“No,” he said in a voice much gruffer than he intended. Her eyebrows pulled together. “I’ve got everything under control here.”
She glanced down at his crotch—his hard, bulging crotch—and smiled. “I see.”
“I can’t hide what you do to me, but I can put my baser self aside and take care of you,” he said, swiping the towel over her chest, letting the corner of his pinky skim a perky nipple.
A strange expression came over her face as though the idea of a man caring for her was a foreign one, reinforcing his belief he might be the first to attempt such a feat. Her resistance made it a difficult task to accomplish.
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