
Much.
"Nymphomaniac: a woman as obsessed with sex as an average man." ~Mignon McLaughlin
**You must be at least 18 to play here. If you're not, please go away. If you are--come in, visit awhile. Join me in my sometimes effervescent musings as I try to make sense of this wonderful and crazy world of writing.**
Back at Friends, Incorporated co-owner Brandt de Winton has come face to face with Dakota Jennings, the woman he'd loved and lost through his own short-sightedness. Now she's back, asking for his help. Can he convince her to give him another chance, to forget and forgive old hurts? Maybe, but there's a price to pay, and it involves the use of his handcuffs...
“Why do you have to have a goddamned summer wedding, anyway?” Brandt stared down at his cousin, trying to steel himself against the pitiful look in her slate-blue eyes. He tossed the last orange peel from his late lunch into the black mesh wastebasket beside his desk. “It’s hot as hell out, humidity’s up. It feels like a fucking sauna outside.”
Syd crossed her arms, her look going from pleading to glaring in a split second. “You have been like a bear with a bee up his butt since you got back from Akron three months ago. You haven’t stopped cussing, either. What’s your problem?”
He ground his teeth together, refusing to answer. What could he say, anyway? That he’d totally fucked things up for himself when he was in Akron? That he’d condemned himself to live half a life because he’d been too damned stubborn to accept the gift he’d been given?
That he’d thought Dakota had been too good to be true, and had set out to prove it only to be slapped in the face by the truth? The truth that she was good and honest and so goddamned sexy he got hard just thinking about her?
No, he couldn’t tell anyone what a total ass he’d been. He was too ashamed of his callous behavior. Too hurt by the memory of her tear-stained cheeks.
Raking a hand through his hair, he swore under his breath. “Fine,” he muttered, turning from her to sit behind his desk. He rotated his shoulders, trying to ease the knots that had been there since April. “Fine. I’ll stand with Turner and be co-best man for your fiancĂ©.”
“Thank you.” Syd walked forward and perched on the edge of his desk. Her voice soft, she asked, “And the other? Do you want to talk about it?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” When she would have said more, he held up his hand to stop her. “Really, Sydney. I appreciate your concern, but there’s nothing to discuss.”
She got off his desk and walked out of the office. “Okay, okay.” Pausing at the door, she looked back at him. “But if you ever need to talk, you know where to find me.”
He leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose, where a headache was forming. Damn it. Four months, and he was walking around like a lion with a thorn in his paw. He couldn’t get Dakota out of his mind, wondering how she was doing, what she was doing, who she was doing.
And that was what made him the craziest. The thought of all that silken skin bared for another man, her lush breasts hard and ripe for another man’s mouth, her beautiful, swollen pussy spread for another’s possession.
He should do something about it. He could. But he had no right.
Not after the way he’d treated her.
Closing his eyes, he saw her again as she’d looked sprawled beneath him, her face flushed, eyes dark with desire. Voice throaty and pleading as he sensually tortured her.
“Hello, Brandt.” Her husky voice intruded, crawling through his nerve endings, setting them on fire.
He hunched his shoulders. His tortured thoughts had conjured an audio hallucination. God, it was confirmed: he had lost his fucking mind.
“Brandt?”
Looking up, he saw her standing in the doorway, a tremulous smile on her face. She was really here. He shot to his feet, knocking his chair back against the wall. Striding to her, he grabbed her upper arms and pulled her into the room, slamming the door behind her. He released her and leaned against the door, blocking her exit.
His first thought was to keep her from leaving.
His second thought: Damn. She looks good.
Copyright ©2006 Sherrill Quinn. All Rights Reserved.
“Really, I don’t want…” Adara Tremeirchion slapped away her companion’s roving hands yet again. What had Francesca been thinking, to set her up on this date?
A hand slid up her thigh and she picked it up by the thumb and thrust it away. “No! I mean it.”
“Aw, come on, Adara. You know you want me.” Her companion pushed his chair closer, blocking the view of the other patrons in the busy pub. He tilted his head so the light caught and danced across the golden blond strands of his hair. When she saw him glancing at his reflection in the mirror over the bar, she rolled her eyes. She’d admit that he was a handsome rogue. But he knew it and that was a turn-off for her.
She was twenty-six years old and still a virgin. She wanted to find a man who would love her with a passionate, endless love. A man who was strong and brave and had a body to die for, but wasn’t vain. A man who would please his woman because he wanted to, not because he wanted something from her.
This guy wasn’t it.
“I don’t want you,” she said, batting at his hands.
One big hand grabbed both her wrists and held them. His other hand fondled her breasts. “Francesca said you’d play hard to get. Said I’d have to cajole you.”
“You call this cajoling?” Adara shook her head. Men. Why couldn’t she find just one who knew the difference between seduction and mauling?
“Yes, well, I’d say this is far more than playing hard to get. Darling, you’re the most frigid woman I’ve ever met. A real ice queen.”
That was just downright mean. She knew the Ice Queen, and she wasn’t a pleasant person. Enough was enough. She’d tried to be nice, but he wasn’t listening. Fine. She’d show him exactly why she was the youngest fairy godmother in the realm.
With the blink of one eye, she summoned her magic and threw him across the room. Everyone quieted and looked at the big man lying unconscious against the back wall, then looked back at her. She smiled and stood, standing as tall as her five foot four inch frame would allow, and gathered her handbag. “No means no,” she said loudly enough for everyone to hear.
The men in the pub raised their eyebrows and then, almost as one person, they turned back to their dinners, shoulders hunched. The women smiled at her, giving her an unvoiced approval. Adara felt like she’d scored one for womankind everywhere.
Now, she had a job to finish. She just needed to dust off her “old lady” outfit and finish her matchmaking with Cinderella and her handsome prince.
Copyright ©2006 Sherrill Quinn. All Rights Reserved.
"Men reach their sexual peak at eighteen. Women reach theirs at thirty-five. Do you get the feeling that God is playing a practical joke?" ~Rita Rudner
"Sherrill Quinn's writing is utterly addictive! Once again, she's penned a highly erotic... adventure-packed story that left me begging for more. The love scenes are so intense I had to check more than once for scorch marks. In addition, Ms. Quinn's sense of humor is delightful -- how she turned "purple spiny one" into a sexy endearment is just one obvious example of her brilliant writing ability."
Read the full review here.
"The Praetorians: Discovery was my introduction to the writing of Sherrill Quinn and... her writing enthralled me. This book is full of fast-paced action, very hot love scenes, and an abundance of humor that had me laughing out loud... If you're a fan of Lora Leigh's Breed series, you'll absolutely love this book. I've added Ms. Quinn to my "auto-buy" list and look forward to enjoying more of her work..."
Read the full review here.
Connor watched her weave a special kind of magic over the crowed, drawing strangers close together so they shared their own stories of faery magic, then she invited people to stroll along the grounds, taking in the ruins of an old chapel and stone fortification along another hilltop two kilometers away. "We'll serve a late lunch," she said, "at about two o'clock, so please come back to the main house for that."
She gave a few more instructions that Connor didn't really hear. His thoughts were filled with images of them together in a variety of carnal activities, all of which involved them getting naked. He wanted to strip those ugly denim pants off her and taste her, needed to bury his rod deep inside her.
Waiting until the tourists had wandered off, he approached her. "This is nice, that the owners open up their property like this."
She turned to face him, the smile on her face faltering before her lips curved once more. This time, though, her expression was clearly forced, which made him wonder out loud, "Do we know each other?"
"No." The deep breath she took plumped her breasts, drawing his gaze to the cleavage visible in the v-neck of her knit top. When she gruffly cleared her throat, he looked back up. A muscle flexed in her jaw. "Feel free to look around with the others, Mr. …?"
"Connor. Connor mac Finnbheara." Watching closely, he saw no spark of recognition in her gaze, although she may have got over the initial shock and was doing better at masking her emotions. He held out his hand and she slowly placed hers within his grasp. When her skin touched his, her brown eyes widened and a pulse in her throat started thrumming, making him want to put his mouth there to feel her heart against his tongue.
He saw her tight nipples pressed against her soft top and decided he'd prefer to have his mouth there. Cocking his head to one side, he tried to picture her naked breasts, wondering if her nipples were the pink of the first hint of sunrise, the soft blush of a fresh peach, or something darker, like rich, ripe berries.
Connor was determined to find out. And seeing the proof of her arousal sent more blood surging to his lengthening cock.
She tugged at her hand, but he held onto it. He'd not had a reaction to a woman like this in a long time--maybe never--and he wasn't about to let loose of her just yet. "And you are …?"
Still trying to get him to release his hold, she muttered, "MacKenzie McCallum."
"Ah, the owner. I'd no idea you'd be so young," he said. "Although I can't shake the feeling that we've met before." Connor searched her face for something--anything--that would shake out a memory.
"You're mistaken," she said, her voice still soft but shot through with a thread of steel. "I'd like my hand back, please."
"And I'd like to hold it awhile yet," he returned, grinning at her deepening scowl. "Did anyone ever tell you you're beautiful when you're angry?"
Her lips tightened, but she didn't respond.
"Oh, come now, lass, it's not that big a thing I'm asking of you, is it? Letting a man hold a beautiful woman's hand, standing under the bright sun on the greenest grass this side of Cnoc Meadha." Because he was watching her so closely, he saw the slight dilation of her pupils. His cursed wolf sense caught the acrid odor of rising panic as she began tugging on her hand again.
What was it about him that would cause such a reaction in her?
Thinking he'd get more answers out of her if he wasn't antagonizing her by holding onto her hand, he let go just as she gave a hard yank. With a startled squawk, she flew back and landed on the grass, flat on her rump in the middle of the faery ring.
"For the love of …." Connor stepped between her splayed legs. So much for not antagonizing her. "MacKenzie, are you all right?" This close to her, he could smell the sweet scent of honeysuckle and roses of her perfume, and the vinegary odor of her irritation wafted to the nose of his wolf. There was an underlying aroma that made him lean in closer.
"Are you sniffing me?" She scooted away from him.
She'd put distance between them too late. He recognized the sweetly spicy scent for what it was. She was aroused. By him.
A growl rumbled from his chest and he trapped it in his throat. She was skittish enough as it was. If he started growling at her, she'd slip through his fingers like melted butter. He held out one hand. "Here, let me help you up, lass."
Her brown eyes narrowed. "I've had about all the help from you that I'd like, thanks all the same." Ignoring his offer, she started to get to her feet.
Shaking his head at her obstinance, he bent and cupped her elbow. With a low snarl, she pulled her arm away, losing her balance in the process. Trying to keep her from falling again, he made a grab for her and missed.
This time, when she sprawled on the grass, she was flat on her back and had him on top of her.
Copyright ©2006 Sherrill Quinn. All Rights Reserved.
Rhys bit back a grin as her eyes flared with anger. She was sassy, his Kass. Always had been, even when everyone else around him was fawning over him with simpering and snivelings of ‘prince this’ and ‘prince that.’
An exiled royal-turned-smugger was no prince. Regardless of his birthright.
“Get. These. Off. Me.” She struggled in his grip, even going so far as to kick him on his boot-covered shin.
By the gods, she was entrancing. Strong, determined, sometimes even foolhardy. Her pulse beat rapidly at the base of her throat, enticing him with her heat, her very essence. While he had reversed the situation and now held her as his captive, he was like a fly in her web. If he wasn’t careful, she’d have him for dinner.
But what a way to go.
He remembered how she felt in his arms, underneath his body, wrapped around his cock. “Do you still make those little mewling noises when you come, ahya?” he asked, lust making his voice deep and raspy.
When she went to kick him again, he lifted her off the floor by her manacled wrists, dangling her so her face was level with his. When her knee lunged toward his groin, he blocked it with his thigh and then trapped her leg between his. “Uh-uh-uh,” he admonished, giving her a little shake.
He couldn’t hold back the grin as she sputtered and twisted in his grasp.
She was like a frightened kitten, all arched body and spitting fury. It made him want to stroke her into calmness. He sent a gentling thought her way and felt her stiffen against him.
“Don’t even try your damned Nosfer mojo on me,” she hissed, brown eyes glittering with anger. “I didn’t like it five years ago; I don’t like it now.”
“It frightened you five years ago, ahya,” he said, the hurt of her rejection flaring as hotly as if the rebuff had happened mere moments ago. “Why are you so afraid to share your mind with me?”
Renewing her struggles, she fought against him until she was panting heavily and sweat trickled the side of her face. “My mind is my own,” she gritted. With a small grunt, she tried to thwack him with the manacles.
He tightened his grip, knowing he had merely to wait her out. She would tire and have no choice but to give up this fight. She gave it her all, twisting in his arms, kicking out with her free leg.
The sight of her passionate anger ramped up his own arousal. His cock grew hot and heavy, throbbing with insistent intent behind the placket of his pants. He wanted to kiss the frustration and distrust off her face, smooth his thumbs over her stubborn chin and full, sensual lips.
With the mood she was in, though, she’d most likely bite him.
If there was going to be any biting being done, he’d be the one doing it. And it wouldn’t be in anger.
Copyright ©2006 Sherrill Quinn. All Rights Reserved.