âIf my dreams are like this, who needs a restful sleep?â Ruthie murmured
Now convinced Ruthie was awake, Robert didnât pull away when she reached for him again. Then he nearly lost it when she said hoarsely, âI want your hands all over me.â
âHere?â Robert whispered against her neck, moving his palm until it scraped her pebbled nipple under the lace.
âYes. Please, yes.â
She didnât have to ask him twice. He pushed her camisole up, and he was unable to withhold a smile of male satisfaction as her breasts fell free. She moaned when he slid his hands over them, catching her nipples with his fingers. Then, unable to wait, he lowered his mouth, replacing his fingers with his lips.
She nearly came apart. âI need you,â she whispered, reaching down to the waistband of his trousers. Realizing Ruthie wasnât in the mood for slow and easy, Robert followed her lead, undoing his slacks and letting her push them from his hips.
As he stepped back to get the condom from his pocket, Ruthie finally opened her eyes. âOh, my.â She stared at his blatant arousal and a smile curved her lips. âIâve never dreamed of quite soâ¦much before.â
Dear Reader,
Hot sex with a gorgeous stranger. Not exactly P.C. these days, but itâs still such a naughty, delicious fantasy that I just had to explore the concept for Temptation.
Ruthie Sinclair is the girl next door, the girl who is everybodyâs best friend, who bemoans her hair, her weight and her miserable love life. So when she finds herself in bed with the most amazing man sheâs everâmake that neverâknown, sheâs completely out of her element. And Robert Kendall, a man used to corporate piranhas, finds himself way over his head when confronted with a zany, redheaded temptress who makes him hotter than any woman heâs ever met.
Their love affair is torrid. Outrageous. Flamboyant. Wow, I had loads of fun writing this one!
I so enjoyed hearing from readers after my first release, Temptation #747, Night Whispers. Please drop me a line and let me know what you think of my follow-up book. You can e-mail me through my Web site: www.lesliekelly.com, or write to P.O. Box 410787, Melbourne, FL 32941â0787.
All the best,
Leslie Kelly
To my editor, Brenda Chin. Thanks for letting me have another turn on this crazy, wonderful merry-go-round.
And to Betty. You knew I could, and I really did.
How I wish you were here to see it.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
IF Ruthie Sinclair could have wrapped her hands around the throat of the genius whoâd composed âThe Wedding March,â the guy would be six feet under. Every note resounding from the bowels of the organ in the eaves of the church pierced into her skull like the prick of a needle, grating on her nerves until her eyelids twitched. Not an easy feat considering the brideâs makeup consultant had coated about a pound of thick, black mascara onto her lashes.
âIâm really starting to hate this song,â she muttered through gritted teeth, earning a glance from her cousin Denise, the other bridesmaid. The blonde shook her head, a disapproving frown on her brow, and gestured toward the bride, who stood a few feet away in the vestibule. Luckily, she hadnât heard.
Ruthie knew she should be happy. Her cousin and best friend, Celeste, was marrying the man of her dreams. For a woman who considered herself a cockeyed optimist, the fairy-tale happy ending should have had Ruthie cheering and doing cartwheels. And she wouldâ¦when she stopped feeling so darned depressed.
âSmile! Maybe youâll catch the bouquet,â Denise whispered. The words might have been meant to cheer her up, but the tone was pure Deniseâpure sugarcoated spite. âLike when you caught mine two months ago.â
Ruthieâs teeth hurt as she tried to pull her face into a smile. âI sure was excited about that, you can bet.â Especially when she got to dance with the twelve-year-old junior usher who caught the garterâhis nosy little eyeballs had come right to the center of her cleavage!
A wicked light shone in Deniseâs eyes, and, not for the first time, Ruthie wondered if they were truly related. Maybe Denise was adopted. Or maybe Ruthie was. That would explain the more eccentric Sinclairs who sometimes led her to believe sheâd fallen into an episode of a TV sitcom.
When she considered some of her other family members, one catty, obnoxious blonde wasnât too surprising. The only surprising part was that Denise was Celesteâs older sister. Ruthieâs younger cousin, the bride, was real sugar to Deniseâs saccharine, real class to her sisterâs pretension.
Ruthie had nailed Deniseâs real character years ago, when her cousin had accidentally dropped a big wad of bubble gum in Ruthieâs hair. In the middle of the night. When she was supposed to be sleeping in another cabin at their summer camp. Ruthie had spent that year looking like the freckle-faced kid on the Cracker Jack box, short red hair and all. Then there was the time Denise had locked Ruthie in a freight elevator. And the time Denise had put toothpaste in Ruthieâs bottle of peppermint foot lotion.