I’m thrilled to ante up the steam level in a whole new series called The Body
Park. Book one is complete and in the hands of my fabulous beta readers.
Here’s a sneak peak excerpt:
A shout startled me. Blind and disoriented, I shot to my feet. The forgotten
water bottle flew from my hands, thudded to the rug, rolled, and shattered against
something solid.
"Grace!" Stellan called urgently. "Grace?" A flashlight roved the room and
settled on me.
I held up my hands against the intrusion of light. "Yes," I said, blinking and
rubbing my eyes.
"Are you okay?" He strode towards me and ran his hands up and down
my arms. "Holy fucking crap! You were sleeping." He sounded both relieved and
amused. "Had me worried when I returned and didn't find you in the storm
shelter. Haven't you been listening to the sirens?"
"I'm behind several inches of concrete and steel," I said defensively and
stepped into the welcome circle of his arms. "I figured I was safe enough in
here."
"Hell, these structures aren't hurricane proof, sugar. I'm hopeful the worst
of it will blow over, but I don't leave those things up to chance. Let's get you
downstairs, shall we?"
"Nag. Nag," I grumbled, grabbing the handle of my suitcase as he steered
me past the wardrobe.
"I've got it." His hand closed over mine. His shoes crunched on something.
"Oh, sorry," I murmured. "Watch for glass. I sort of threw my water bottle
across the room a few minutes ago."
"That bored, eh?"
"Nope. I was asleep till some guy started yelling and scared the shit out of
me."
"What a dick."
Emergency lights illuminated the stairs as we descended. Stellan threw
the bolt, securing the door behind us.
The sounds of the storm disappeared altogether within the steel walls of
the shelter. A half dozen hurricane lanterns flickered with candlelight from a pair
of end tables, lending a cozy glow to the small living room. Black shelves with
supplies lined the walls while a dark leather sectional anchored the room on a
black and white geometric rug. The far end of the room was split into two zones,
a kitchenette and the bathroom. A bistro table with two plush bar stools graced a
tiled section of floor next to the kitchen cabinet.
"Not a bad place to wait out a storm," I said approvingly.
"Yeah. It’s a room with a pretty nice view at the moment." Stellan returned
from the bedroom where he'd deposited my suitcase. His eyes swept over my
bare feet and legs.
I felt a blush stain my cheeks and hoped it was lost on him in the
candlelight.
"When was the last time you ate?" he asked.
"Um...what time is it?" I asked, avoiding the question.
"Nearly 2:00 in the afternoon."
My stomach rumbled at the thought of how long it had been since the
sandwich I'd eaten on the go this morning.
Stellan shook his head with a snort of disgust. He strode to the bar,
opened a tiny fridge humming with power from its generator, and returned with a
cylindrical package. "You a fan of chicken salad?"
"Sounds delicious. Complete foodie here," I admitted as he unveiled a
spinach wrap and held it out for me to take a bite. "Watch your fingers, pal. I just
realized how hungry I am. Mmmh," I moaned with delight as I chewed. "It's so-o-
o good. My compliments to the chef. More. More."
He smiled and lazily rubbed a thumb against my lower lip. My breathing
stopped as he raised the thumb to his mouth and sucked it. "We're living on
rations now. Don't want to waste a drop." Lifting me onto a bar stool, he
positioned himself partially between my legs, reaching down to brush his thumb
against the underside of my calf.
My breath hitched at the rush of pleasure. Why did he have to be such
ridiculous fun to be with, so irresistible? He made me want to play, to flirt
back...even though I knew being alone with him was a bad idea. I was going to
be gone in a week and didn't need any entanglements. Behave yourself, I
commanded inwardly. No rebounds, remember?
When my bare foot brushed against his dark silk trousers, I resisted the
urge to run my toes beneath the cuff. He resumed feeding me, taking an
occasional bite himself, and gave me the last bite. When I finished it, he lifted my
hand and licked the remaining dressing from my fingers, bending his head to
gaze into my eyes.
"Thirsty?" he asked. Before I could respond, he left me to uncork a bottle
of wine chilling in a bucket of ice on the cabinet. He returned with two glasses of
bubbling sweetness. The stems of the glasses glistened like diamonds in the
candlelight.
I held mine up to better catch the light. Crystal, I decided by the weight
and feel of it. The stem consisted of a narrow funnel with more tiny crystals
stacked inside for an extravagant and glamorous effect.
"You like?" Stellan asked curiously.
"Of course. I'm a girl. We like shiny things," I said lightly. This flavor of
wine I was familiar with. Moscato. I sniffed appreciatively and held out my glass.
"To weathering storms." I hoped my babbling would put a little emotional distance
between us.
He tipped my glass against mine, his expression inscrutable. "Together,"
he agreed softly.
The light in his eyes made me shiver. We drank. Naturally, in good Stellan
style, it was the best Moscato I'd ever tasted. Liz would have swooned over such
fine quality wine. The thought made me grin.
Stellan's hand trailed down my calf again and closed around my foot. He
lifted it to rest against his thigh and began to massage it. So much for emotional
distance. "I like that smile. Penny for your thoughts."
"Just thinking of my best friend...Liz...she'd probably offer you a blow job
for a bottle of this stuff," I said lightly, but my breath stuck in my throat at the thrill
of his touch. He was incredibly good with his hands. "She's a complete wino like
me."
"Ah." His voice was noncommittal as he continued his gentle assault on
my foot. "I'd have to say this Liz of yours has good taste in both wine and friends.
Very. Good. Taste." Without warning, he slid my foot from his knee and wrapped
my leg around his waist.
"Stellan," I whispered as he laid his glass on the bistro and lowered his
head to mine.
* * * *
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