âSo, what do you want? A straight orgasm, or the works?â
Will pressed the telephone receiver more tightly to his ear, blood pooling in his loins. This woman was going to be the death of him. âWhaâwhatever you think is best.â
âOkay,â Rowan replied. âIâm really glad you called. Iâve been lonely, lying here in this big old bed.â
Her voice was husky, rife with the promise of a wet dream. Suddenly Will didnât want Rowan playing this phone-sex-operator roleâhe wanted her to participate, to sigh and moan for real. To be as turned on as he wasâ¦
Will pitched his voice lower to match hers. Payback was going to be sweet. âLonely, huh? Maybe I can do something about that. What if I were to kiss the sweet curve of your neck, trace my fingers over your breastsâ¦?â
A sharp gasp on the other end told Will heâd made his point. âThen Iâd kiss my way down your belly, hook your legs over my shoulders and taste you,â he continued. âAnd once youâd melted, Iâd slide into your heat, over and over, until you came again.â His breathing grew ragged, snapping under the strain of their sexy wordplay.
âCan you feel me there, Rowan?â he whispered. âCan you feel me?â
Dear Reader,
Like many of my ideas, the creative nudge behind this book came from a trip to my hairdresserâs. (Honestly, so many ideas have come out of that shop, Iâve begun to wonder if my muse isnât addicted to hair chemicals, color foils and bleach.) Anyway, I picked up a magazine and read an article about an unemployed woman who turned to phone sex to make ends meet, and while the color lifted from my ever-darkening hair, the creative juices started flowing.
When budget cuts put high school teacher Rowan Crosswhite out of her job, she comes up with an ingenious way to make ends meetâshe installs her own 1-900 phone sex line. Itâs safe, itâs harmless and most important, itâs profitable. And when Will Foster comes onto the scene, it becomes deliciously wicked fun.
I hope you enjoy the heat, humor and heart in Rowan and Willâs story. For more information about past and upcoming books, be sure to check out my Web site, www.booksbyRhondaNelson.com.
Happy reading,
Rhonda Nelson
This oneâs for you, Granny. For panty-hose wigs and Martian hats, paper dolls and peanut butter sandwiches.
For countless hours of undivided attention, tight hugs, fishing trips and sewing lessons. For invaluable advice, unwavering support and unconditional love. Youâre the best, and I love you dearly.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
âWHAT AM I WEARING?â Rowan Crosswhite echoed into the phone, her voice artfully pitched to a breathy sultry purr. Grimacing, she used the hem of her T-shirt and her frayed denim cutoffs to clean the majority of the potting soil from her hands, then took up her watering can. âIâm wearing a black leather bustier, fishnet hose and stiletto heels.â
The fabricated description lacked originality, yes, but thus far in her experience in the phone sex business, sheâd learned that any imaginative effort she put into her descriptions wasnât appreciated. So why bother?
When Rowan had first considered selling phone sex, sheâd worried about being appropriately creative, about fabricating a believable performance for the men who dialed her number. Sheâd even called a couple of 1-900 numbers for research purposes because being prepared was the keystone to any successful venture, and her near-manic obsession with doing everything to the absolute best of her abilityâeven something as seedy as being a phone sex operatorâhad prevented her from doing otherwise.
The research had been a wasted effort and sheâd worried needlessly about conjuring a suitable performance.
In fact, ironically, sheâd learned the less said the better. Rowan rolled her eyes. Hell, all she really had to do was gasp, wince and moanâeasy to do, particularly when one was, say, cleaning the toilet or weeding a flower bedâand the guys, thank God, took care of the rest. One of the many advantages of phone sex.
And, surprisingly, there were many.
First of allâmost importantlyâit was safe. There was no risk of abuse or disease, and if a guy freaked her out, all she had to do was sever the connection and block the number. She mentally shrugged. Simple enough. Furthermore, and equally important given her recent unfortunate circumstances, it was lucrative. At $3.99 a minute, where the average call hovered around the twelve-minute mark, that was roughly $240 an hour. Her lips twitched. Considerably more than her previous job as a high-school science teacher.
Just a year shy of tenure, Rowan had been one of the unlucky souls left unemployed by deep state budget cuts. Her boss at Middleton High had promised that as soon as the funds were available, sheâd be under contract again.
Regrettably, until then, more panting, moaning and wincing would be in orderâand the more dramatic the betterâotherwise sheâd ultimately starve and, much to the detriment of her heavily padded thighs, she liked food entirely too much to go hungry.