Best Erotic Romance 2014 Read online

  “Ah, damn. Jamie…” His body heat surrounded her as he came up behind her. “I was checking on the mare that just foaled, but I planned to come back, maybe wake you up with a kiss. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” Hunching a shoulder, she didn’t turn around. Instead, she reached for the coffee pot and poured hot liquid into their cups. “Last night was…”

  “Amazing,” he said firmly.

  “A mistake.” Tightening her mouth, she shifted until she faced him, then pushed one mug into his hand. “I enjoyed it, don’t get me wrong. But…I’m not the kind of woman who does short-term flings, Cord. And you’re not the kind of man who sticks around. The season’s almost over and then you’ll be gone.”

  Nine days until he drove his pickup out of her life. Not that she’d been counting the seconds long before he’d come to her bed.

  “Yeah, about that.” He squinted down at his coffee, laugh lines digging grooves around his eyes. Lifting the cup to his mouth, he took a sip. “What if I decided not to go?”

  Her heart slammed hard against her rib cage, then seized in utter shock. “I don’t understand.”

  “You’re still going to need a trainer.” His gaze went to the window and the paddocks beyond. “Have you ever thought about expanding?”

  She knew she should be keeping up, but the conversation seemed to have tilted into surreal directions. She set aside her coffee, afraid her hands might start trembling so much she’d spill it. “No, Travis was more interested in running cattle than training horses. The horses were Pop’s babies. He had the touch, like you.”

  “You loved him a lot, didn’t you?”

  She wasn’t sure which him Cord was talking about, but it didn’t really matter. “I loved them both. They were so good to me—it was tough to lose them in the same accident.” Truer words had never been spoken, but time had a way of healing, and thinking about them didn’t sting as much as it once had. “I’ll always miss them.”

  “I’m sorry you lost them, but I’m glad you had people like that.” There was a bleakness to his tone that suggested he hadn’t had people in his life who cared. It made her want to reach over and hug him.

  Maybe she was an idiot, but she did just that. Her arms slipped around his waist, and she pressed her cheek to his chest. After a moment, he wrapped her up in his embrace and held her close.

  “I didn’t have anyone before I came here. Total orphan, bona fide California city slicker, never had a real home or more than two pennies to rub together.” She gave a little laugh. “Pop could have made my life a living hell when his only child showed up with me, two days after we eloped in Vegas. Instead, he welcomed me like a daughter, hugged me tight, said there were some people who spend their lives leaving and some who spend it staying, and I was staying right here at Ruby Creek. And that was that.”

  Cord caught her chin in his hand, forced her to meet his eyes. “I’ve spent my whole life leaving, going from one ranch to the next, riding bulls or broncos in the rodeo. After my mom died and my dad bailed…drifting is all I’ve ever really known.” He paused, and she held her breath, hoping he’d continue. He always had plenty to say about horses and ranching, but he’d never been one to talk about himself. She hadn’t realized how hungry she’d been to know more about what made him the man he was until now. “I’ve been thinking…I should be feeling restless, ready to move on. But I’m not. I kept telling myself it’s because I like Ruby Creek so well, but that’s not the truth. It’s because you’re here.”

  “Cord, I—”

  His grip tightened on her jaw, silencing her. “Once I admitted how much I needed you, I couldn’t stay away. But I knew you were wary, and I understood why.” Mischief glinted in his gaze. “So, I…forced the issue.”

  Yeah, that about summed up what he’d done the night before. She snorted.

  His expression sobered. “Ask me to stay, Jamie. Tell me you want me here with you.”

  Pressing her shaking lips together, she swallowed. God, yes, she wanted that. Somehow in the last few months her foolish heart had gone and fallen in love with him. But still, she hesitated. Could she truly handle letting another man into her life, knowing she might lose him too? Was she ready to take that big a risk again?

  The pad of his thumb stroked over her chin, and she met his eyes. Understanding shone in the depths of his gaze. That, more than anything, settled her. This man knew her. He made her feel alive after so many years, and that was too precious to let go of easily. If he was willing to stay, she was willing to keep him. It was as simple as that.

  “I want you here,” she whispered, barely able to squeeze the words past her tight throat. “With me. For as long as you want to stay.”

  A huge breath whooshed out of him. The smile on his face was brighter and more delighted than any she’d ever seen from him. “Well, then. I think the rest of my life might just be long enough, don’t you?”

  “Are you sure?” Her fingers bunched in the back of his shirt, hope and disbelief warring within her.

  He put his coffee down next to hers, then swung her into his arms and walked toward the bedroom. “Let me show you exactly how sure I am.”

  “Are you going to actually take your pants off this time?” She tucked her hands behind his neck, stroking through the curls there.

  “Absolutely.” He nudged the door to her room open. “I have at least a couple of hours before anyone comes looking for me. What about you?”

  She tilted her head. “They’ll wonder where I am, but no one’s going to come knocking until around ten.”

  “Good, because I intend to take my time.”

  That was enough to send a wicked shiver coursing through her. Every step he took rubbed her against him and made her body loosen, readying itself for sex. Her nipples thrust against her nightshirt, and she knew he’d notice the moment he put her down.

  He laid her on the mattress, his gaze reverent as it moved over her. And, yes, he paused for a split second longer than he needed to on her breasts. “You are so beautiful.”

  “Thank you. You’re pretty good-looking yourself.” She flicked her fingers at his clothes. “And I’d like to look at all of you. Now. You got to see me already.”

  “Yes, I did.” He winked, bending over to yank off his boots. Then he straightened to jerk his shirt over his head. She pressed her legs together to savor the ache between them as every tanned inch of him came into view. Heavy pecs sprinkled with hair that trailed down his washboard abs and disappeared below his waistband. He unbuckled his belt and his zipper rasped as he slid it down.

  A moan bubbled out of her as he pushed his jeans down and off. His legs were long and muscular, leading up to the impressive arc of his cock. A bead of precum slipped down the thick shaft, and she wanted to catch it with her tongue, suck him hard until he begged her to let him come.

  “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m not going to last more than five minutes, sugar.” He pulled a condom out of his wallet and tossed it on the bedside table before he set one knee on the mattress.

  “Hmm.” She reached out a finger, following the path of moisture along his cock. “How fast is your recovery time?”

  “Not as fast as it was when I was a teenager.” He lay beside her, propping his head on a hand. “But I could make an exception for you.”

  “You seem to be making a lot of exceptions for me.” Like being willing to settle in one place.

  “Well, you’re an exceptional woman, Jamie Walker.” He kissed her, slow and sweet, his tongue dipping into her mouth. She turned in to him, eager for more. He curved his free hand around her breast, his thumb making a slow sweep across her beaded nipple. The soft cotton of her gown was almost abrasive on the sensitive flesh, and she shuddered. Grabbing the hem of her nightshirt, she tugged it off and tossed it aside. She needed to feel him against her.

  He tried to roll her onto her back, but she resisted. “No. I want to touch you this time.”

  “By all means.” He took
her hand and laid it over his heart, the erratic beat telling her how much this affected him. “You won’t mind if I do the same, will you?”

  They explored each other. He kissed his way along her collarbone, across her shoulder. She slid a fingertip down the curve of his spine, cupped her palm over his ass. Touched him everywhere she could reach. She hadn’t had the chance last night, and she wanted to make up for lost time. His groans told her what he liked the most—her mouth on the flat discs of his nipples, her fingers wrapped around his dick.

  He eased his fingers into the thatch of curls between her thighs, teasing her clit while she stroked his cock. It felt amazing, but it wasn’t enough. “I want you inside me.”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” He groaned, jackknifing upward to make a grab for the condom. His fingers shook while he rolled it on, but then he drew her toward him, pulling one of her knees over his hip. They lay facing each other, the head of his dick pressed to her entrance. He paused, his gaze focusing on her face. “I meant to tell you…”

  “What?” Her eyes widened. He was stopping now? Her body quivered with desire, her nails biting into his backside as she tried to urge him forward.

  “I made some money rodeoing. More than some, actually.” His expression was almost sheepish. “Never got around to spending it, so we can use that to expand the horse operation. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to use—”

  “We can talk about plans for the ranch later, Cord!” She slapped his ass. Hard. “Hurry up.”

  A laugh spilled out of him. “Yes, ma’am.”

  He slid home in one swift thrust, and a low cry burst from her throat. Perfect. So perfect. She rocked her hips into his, and he matched her stroke for stroke. His gaze locked with hers, and she could see every emotion playing across his face. No tough cowboy here, just a man with needs. They moved faster and faster, their bodies bucking, grinding together. Her breathing was ragged gasps, sweat making their skin slippery. He rotated his pelvis against her clit, and orgasm crashed over her in a wave. Her inner muscles milked his cock, dragging him into climax with her. He shuddered, his fingers bruising as he gripped her thigh. They continued to move, dragging the sweet completion out as long as possible.

  Contentment wound through her, and she finally relaxed against him, utterly spent.

  “I love you.” The words were quiet, solemn, but there was a tremor in his voice, as if he wasn’t quite sure how his feelings might be received.

  She cupped his face between her palms. “I love you too, Cord Preston. I have for a while now, but I didn’t want to admit it because I knew you were leaving.”

  For a second, she thought she saw a sheen of tears in his dark eyes. He cleared his throat twice before he spoke. “Honey, you will never get rid of me. Nothing and no one has ever made me want to stay before. Until you…” He shook his head, offering a crooked smile. “I love you, Jamie. I’ve never said that to any woman until you.”

  She pulled him down and put every ounce of feeling she had into her kiss—happiness, desire, need, endless love. Life had given her many sorrows, but it had also handed her joy. Two strong, wonderful men had loved her. Not many women were so lucky. She was just glad she’d been smart enough to love them back. Tightening her arms around Cord’s neck, she held him close, never intending to let him go.

  She whispered against his lips. “Stay with me.”

  “Forever,” he promised.

  A SINGER WHO DOESN’T SING

  Jeanette Grey

  “So, what are you?” he asks. He’s standing in the light of the open French doors, the city bustling down beneath him, pale golden sun making the contours of his chest seem to glow. The burning ember of his cigarette is black and gray and flaking, and the curls of smoke twist around his head when he blows.

  “Excuse me?”

  Flicking ash, he looks over his bare shoulder at her. She’s standing there in the middle of her living room, dressed only in a robe and unsure what, precisely, he thinks he’s still doing here.

  He smirks and gestures around the room. “I know the kind of people who live in this part of town. So which one are you? A writer who doesn’t write? A painter who doesn’t paint?”

  She follows the movements of his hand and restrains herself from commenting on the fall of ash on her hardwood floor. He’s trying to say something about her space, so she takes it in, trying to see the place the way that someone else would. The color of the walls and the dust on all her books. The antique typewriter on the mantle and the canvases that are just as naked as his skin is—the ones she’s been staring at for years now and has never gotten around to putting away.

  His implication hits something tender in her chest, and she bristles, crossing her arms over her breasts. “Neither.” She gave up on both of those a long, long time ago.

  “Ah.” He bends to put the cigarette out on the iron grating of her balcony, then turns to edge back inside. “A realist, then. Rare but not unappealing.”

  The space falls away like nothing at all, and suddenly he’s in front of her, breathing her air, all heat and skin and a trail of fingertips heading toward the sash of her robe. She stutters and twists her head to the side as he runs his nose along the column of her throat. She just brought him home for a night; she just picked him up because he looked pretty in the blue and red lights of the bar. And he had been pretty. So pretty, all muscle and warmth and the source of a soreness between her legs that says she had a very, very nice time indeed.

  But prettiness and a skilled, wicked tongue are not the things of a morning after, and he smells like smoke as well as man. She closes her eyes as she tips her chin up and lets him nip and lick his way to her ear while holding her mouth away.

  “I hope you’re not expecting me to kiss you after that.” She waves her hand ineffectively toward the place on the balcony where what’s left of his cigarette is still smoldering.

  “No. But I expect you to let me kiss you.” With that, he sinks to his knees.

  “What—”

  “Here.” He pushes the sides of her robe up with ink-stained hands and parts her with his thumbs. The rasp of breath over bare, slickening flesh is warm and unexpected. She’s never had it quite like this, not with her standing in the middle of a room, not with the man who should have slunk out in the middle of the night asking her what she is and threatening to make her forget regardless.

  He lets her back away until her spine is to the wall, and then he’s unyielding, shoulders fitting to the V of her thighs, tongue hot and wet against her clit and fingers pushing inside. Fucking her with his hand, he licks and licks and licks, and she puts her hands in his hair. She doesn’t know what this is, doesn’t know why he’s going down on her, making her rise like the ball of the sun over her balcony, but she’s no dummy. She pulls his face in closer and rides it. When he slings her leg over his shoulder, she lets him hold her up until she floats away.

  She’s still coming back down, still pulsing when he puts her on the floor, gets his fly down and protection on and gets inside. It’s like her hips and shoulders are parts of the wood, like he’s fucking her through the floor, and she just wraps her legs around him. He doesn’t try to kiss her mouth, but his lips are on her nipple, his hands playing her ribs like piano keys, and how did he learn to make such music?

  She comes around him, uncertain if she ever even really finished with the last one, and he asks her if it’s good, if she could drown in this, and she could, she is, she is. He clasps her jaw in his hand and sinks his teeth into her neck, bucks once, then twice, then stills.

  After, she lies with her head on his chest, staring out at the sky through the doors he left open when he didn’t leave. Running the backs of her knuckles over his abdomen, she asks, “And what are you?”

  He twirls an unlit cigarette between his fingertips. “I’m a singer who doesn’t sing.”

  * * *

  On Monday, she walks into her office to find a bouquet of red pencils, sitting on her desk.
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br />   “So?”

  She hesitates, trailing a hand over the back of his couch. “It’s…not quite what I expected.”

  Nothing about him is—not his invitation or his gifts or the way he looked at her over a plate of spaghetti before asking her back to his place.

  It’s a studio apartment in the bowels of the Village, and the tiny living space is dominated by an upright piano that takes up most of the main interior wall. Turning her back on him, she walks toward it and touches the cool ivory of the keys. A single, hollow note rings out, and it feels like the first one the place has heard in a while.

  She looks at him and asks, “Do you play?”

  “I already told you.” His gait is loose and easy as he comes to stand beside her, pressing a kiss to the bare skin of her neck before pulling her down to sit with him on the bench. “Not anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  Shrugging, he fiddles with the strap of her dress. He slides it down and runs rough fingertips over her collarbone. “It didn’t feel like it was mine.”

  “Were you any good?”

  “Good enough to almost make a living at it. And that was enough to kill it.”

  She knows the story as if it were her own. She thinks of deadlines and newsprint stains and the whir of the press. There were so many words she didn’t care about and words she didn’t mean, and none of them were hers by the time they’d been wrung out of her. She’d had no words left of her own.

  “I’d love to hear you play sometime.”

  “I’d love to see what you can make.”

  She laughs as he drifts his hand lower, brushing it around the outer curve of her breast. He makes it easy, somehow, this intimacy with a not-quite-stranger. It makes her bold. She pushes his hand away, but it’s only to straddle him, one knee to either side of his hips.

  “To see what I can make beside love?” She murmurs it, sass and sex, with her lips just close enough to ghost across the corner of his mouth.

  He nods and leans back, one hand on her thigh and the other at the small of her back. “Besides love.”