âDo you know how many different kisses there are?â Sean asked.
âTwo. French and everything else.â Cleo hadnât been big on kissing because it never failedâsheâd be in the middle of some lotharioâs embrace, and her mind would be racing ahead to the next dayâs to-do list. Nope. At least with sex, there was serious action. Now that, she could handle.
âThere are forty-three different kinds of kisses,â he told her. âNow, I know youâre thinking that Iâm coming onto you here, and I am, but I have a more altruistic motive. You really need to learn how to kiss.â
Cleo pushed the hair back from her eyes and polished off her martini. Time to lay her cards on the table and correct his misguided notions. âLook, I know you want to have sex with me, and I want to have sex with you, so you donât need to waste a lot of oxygen on getting me ready.â
He looked at her, his gaze dark and intense, full of all those things she wanted to taste, but then it faded. Gone in an instant. âYou are such a virgin,â he quipped.
âTry me.â Her voice was a whisper. Husky and rough. She didnât want his jokes. She wanted his hands on her. He wanted his hands on her. It was there in his face, his eyes, the hard line twisting his mouth, the hard line tenting his slacks.
Breathless, she waited, and he leaned inâ¦
CLEO HOLLINGS, DEPUTY MAYOR of New York City, glanced at her watch and groaned. Six oâclock. She needed sleep, needed sleep desperately. The cityâs transit strike was wearing her down, her mind manically bouncing from stalled wage negotiations to her stalled love life, and she didnât need to be thinking about her stalled love life. She needed sleep. Four days without it would cause anyone to get a little loopy. Only a few minutes, what would it hurt?
Gently Cleo nudged aside the massive piles of paperwork, lowering her head, her cheek nuzzling against the desk. Slowly she was lost in the sleep she so desperately desired, lost in her dreams where the impossible became possible, and the men were the stuff of legendsâ¦.
THE DESERT SUN BURNED high in the sky, but here inside the great marbled walls of City Hall, she was comfortably cool. Her loyal guards waved their palm fronds and took turns offering her sips of water from diamond-encrusted goblets and feeding her the sweetest grapes on the eastern coast. Alas, her respite was soon over, and it was time for the duties that were demanded of the Empress of the East River. Majestically the trumpetsâ fanfare echoed as Cleo walked to the throne. As always, the needs of the city beckoned, and it was time to attend her subjects.
Her guards were ten thousand strong. Their blue transit worker uniforms a testament to their loyalty to their ruler and their city. Reverently they parted, letting her pass, and her eyes noted a newcomerâs arrival with interest.
This one was worthy.
She knew it by the challenge in his mocking eyes. The man believed he could tame herâshe, who ruled all of New York.
There were few men in the world that could satisfy her; however, she greeted each day with fresh optimism. When your name was Cleopatra, expectations were understandably high.
Slowly he advanced toward her throne, stalking her as effortlessly as a lion seeks prey, his bare feet making no sound in the great room. His eyes were deep-brown pools that dared her to run, but surely he knew better. Cleo never ran. Gracefully, he knelt before her with athletic ease, but he didnât lower his head in homage as men always did. Rather, his gaze never left her face, and promised her the world.
Many men had already come and tried to woo her. Their pretty words were nothing but broken promises. Their token greeting cards were trite and flowery. They plied her with the nectar from fermented grapes, but she knew those games. Thisâ¦this arrogance, this power was new.
Cleo was intrigued.
She stood slowly, rising over him, letting him know his place in her world.
His coiled strength was unmistakable while he remained on bended knee. The hard muscles of his shoulders were tantalizingly displayed beneath the thin cloth of his toga. Strong, potent thighs supported his weight as he knelt, the tendons tight, drawing her eyes. Her fingers stirred, eager to touch. Yet Cleo stayed immobile. This was her palace, her city, her country, and she ruled them with an iron hand that never showed weakness or mercy.