lifetime of training. And I did a month-long jungle survival
course with Abe Kingston.”
Jasper’s eyes widened. “For real?”
She pulled out her phone and
called Abe’s number. “Ask him.” She handed the phone over, and waited as Abe
confirmed her story to Jasper.
When he handed the phone back to
her, there was respect in Jasper’s eyes. “I never would have believed it. You’re
a real bad ass.” He pulled in a deep breath. “Okay, set it up. If he can
survive, I’ll give him a screen test.” He flicked open his diary. “We’re checking
out possible locations in Indonesia in two weeks.”
Perfect. “The island I’ve
been scouting is Indonesian too. It’ll take a couple of days to get everything
together, but we could fly out and run the experiment for…” she ticked days off
on her fingers… “nine days, and meet you at your hotel straight off the island.”
Jasper held out his hand. “It’s a
deal. But be warned, it’s more than surviving, he’ll need to dig deep, reveal
more of himself than the usual shallow surface he gives to the world.” He slid
open a desk drawer and retrieved a heavy sheaf of paper. “Here’s the script. I’ll
expect him to have a passage prepared.”
Friday was girl’s night. Cam had organized a babysitter, and
she was due over for dinner and altogether too much red wine. They’d made
Friday nights a tradition, if neither of them was busy doing something or
someone else, and for the past couple of months neither had missed it.
Forcing down the clawing need for
sex had been difficult, but with the help of her suitcase of sex toys, Max had
managed. She’d never really considered herself marriage material, so she played
with other, like-minded, fun-loving singles, but after the sex party at Hazzard
Hall where her fuck buddy Joel had almost killed someone, she’d retreated from
even casual sexual encounters.
Being with Sholto, hearing the hot
words he murmured, had jump-started her libido, and so, rather than slave over
dinner, she’d climbed into bed with her vibrator—just to take the edge off.
They could order out.
She lay naked on the cool sheets.
Closed her eyes, and allowed herself to think of him. The memory of the boy he’d
been, the one she joked with in class, mixed with the man she’d met in his
hotel room formed a disturbing combination of the past and present.
Whereas he hadn’t even recognized
Her mind focused on one memory,
that of him leaning close enough to kiss and staring at her mouth. Her palms
brushed over her breasts, teasing the nipples into tight buds. He was unshaven;
his stubble would prickle against her softness. She stroked down her torso,
remembering his scent—the potent mix of sandalwood and man that lit her senses
alight. When her fingers dipped between her legs, she was wet, soaked with
The tip of her index finger
circled her clit. Would he touch her there with his fingers or with his mouth?
Her back arched as she pressed hard on the little nub, imagining his head
between her thighs, his mouth covering her heat, his tongue dipping inside.
Angling her knees, she reached for
the vibrator. There was no need for lubrication, so she set the device buzzing,
and fitted it, the throbbing bullet against her clit as the body pulsed inside
her. His hands would be strong, clutching her hips. His hard chest would abrade
her sensitive breasts. He’d murmur in her ear, more of those husky, Scottish
accented words, describing in exquisite detail every last thing he wanted to do
to her, the way he wanted to fuck her, how much he wanted her.
She imagined his eyes boring into
hers. The vibrator was a poor imitation; he’d be bigger, wider, but still her
inner muscles contracted as she squeezed her thighs together, and pressed the
vibrating bullet to her clit. Gripped by a fantasy, the waves built until they
could be contained no more, and thoughts of Sholto drove her over the edge.
Thomas F. Monteleone, David Bischoff