UPDATE: The winner is Emily K!
See comments for instructions!
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Rogues! Even the word conjures a special sort of hero—a playful bad boy with a heart of gold—at least when it comes to his lady love.
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From Megan Mitcham’s “Swindled”…
Determined to search the kitchen and back rooms before heading home, Harper flushed. The door opened and a giggle accompanied two sets of shoes. Reaching for her matching lace thong, she continued righting herself.
“But someone’s in here,” a woman whispered.
Harper hurried to smooth her dress and split before the chick pulled out a bag of smack. There was only one person worth arresting tonight, and his voice was deeper than that.
“I know,” rumbled the voice she’d swear her mind conjured.
She’d listened to that gooey caramel tone for hours on end. Following along with the translations hadn’t diminished its panty-dropping effect. But that couldn’t be Declan. Not after the stunt he’d pulled.
A throaty moan split the air. Harper flushed rooftop-in-July-hot and clamped a hand over her own mouth. She didn’t want to get caught in the middle of a fuck-fest, unless she was center stage. If it was in fact Magnus Declan, she had to know. Yet, she couldn’t risk chasing him away by barging out of the stall unprepared.
“Ooohhh, yes,” the woman groaned, “right there.”
Curse her body to hell and back. Harper’s lady boner swelled to life as though it garnered the attention being awarded another. Releasing her mouth, she inhaled a deep quiet breath and steadied one hand on the metal wall. With the other, she grabbed her clutch from the top of the paper rack. One more fortifying breath and she leaned toward the two-inch gap between the door and stall.
Her heart ping-ponged between her belly and throat.
Baron Magnus Declan’s hips nestled in the V of a woman’s legs. Her blue dress fanned on the counter around her bare bottom while her panties dangled from the tip of a jeweled, white Manolo. Only the angle allowed the full view because his breadth could easily hide a slight woman or two. The broad’s head arched toward the ceiling, missing the best part of the whole damn experience.
The man’s face was the only thing in all of Manhattan worthy of being called art. His wide jaw looked like it could take a solid punch, while his lips could kiss any hurt away. And those azure blue eyes…
Oh god, he’s looking right at me.
Thinking she may have been mistaken, Harper didn’t move. She didn’t want to draw his attention. But the longer she watched, the more clear it became. His fingers worked the woman splayed on the counter, but he stared into her eyes. The woman’s hips rocked. His gaze did not.
An orange, spray-tanned hand coasted over his shoulder, and his gaze snapped away. “Grip the counter,” he demanded.
Harper covered her heart with her hand, trying to stop the frantic rhythm. She only succeeded in stimulating her nipples. In a flash, his blue eyes returned to her. The attention seared hot in her core. He flicked the woman’s clit and finger fucked her to the most intense orgasm Harper had ever experienced—and he hadn’t even touched her. She hadn’t even touched herself. Well, not much. Yet, her fingers bit into the clutch, her breath stalled, her body quaked. The lace of her bodice crushed under her grip. All the while, he watched her through the tiny slit. And she didn’t dare blink.
Weak-kneed and close to tears when the woman straightened her dress, Harper stumbled backward and gripped the metal bar she’d never before dared to touch in any bathroom stall. Her heart stormed inside her chest, which was minimal in comparison to what her brain did. Guilt and confusion assaulted her for a long minute, but stubborn pride lifted her chin. Manolos clacked across the short room. Air shifted, and the door met the frame with a thud. Though she couldn’t see him, she knew he remained.
The bastard.
Determination straightened her shoulders. She had done nothing wrong, though the wetness between her legs called her a liar.
Lusting wasn’t illegal.
The water turned on at the sink. Harper exhaled and stepped out of the stall. Declan’s knowing gaze held her own as she walked to the nearest sink. She turned the faucet on and lathered soap, nearly mimicking his movements.
“What kind of name is Magnus, anyway?” Harper asked.
The corner of his mouth quirked before thinning. He dried thick hands, tossed the cloth into a wicker hamper, and then snagged hers and did the same. His gaze considered her like she were an intricate puzzle. “The only thing my mother gave me before divorcing my father for a younger hotter version with less baggage, taking her money with her, and leaving me and my siblings destitute.”
She hadn’t expected that, but tried not to show it. Probably wasn’t true anyway. Just something to sway her feminine emotions. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? Is that your excuse for using women like disposable rags?” She nodded toward the hamper.
“If you’d paid attention, and I think you did,” his pink lips spread wide at that, “you’d recall mutual using going on. Women and men have been using each other for piles of centuries. It won’t stop anytime soon.”
“What does your wife think about that?”
“Ex-wife,” he corrected, smoothing his dark blond brow.
Of all things, her pulse skittered at the stroke of his finger across the coarse hair. He rubbed a thumb over his lower lip, taunting her. “I wanted a title. She wanted security.”
“Security?” Harper swallowed.
“In the bank account and bedroom.” He stepped forward, brushing the lace of her dress with his high-end suit’s buttons. His breath tickled her cheek as he leaned down. “Her extravagant lifestyle and first marriage left her in need. Do you know anything about need, Harper?”
“Detective Lang,” she snapped. Or at least, she tried. His manly scent and proximity screwed with her senses. She breathed deeply, fighting to ignore the brush of her nipples against his chest. “Why did you give me the diamond?”
“Have it tested. It’s not the piece from her family’s collection, which she sold five years ago, but one I purchased to replace them on our three-year anniversary. It’s a quarter carat larger.”
Harper collected every speck of self-control she possessed, planted two hands on his chest, and shoved. The big man only moved an inch, but it was enough that she squeezed between him and the wall and hurried toward the door.
“Aren’t you going to cuff me?”
She didn’t have anything to hold him, but still she stopped with one hand on the door.
“No, you’re not,” he said, drawing nearer. “You don’t want anyone to know I made you come without a single touch.” Looming over her shoulder, the heat of his large body shot a wave of gooseflesh across hers. “I’ve never seen such an honest reaction in my life, and that’s a treasure too exquisite to share.”
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Fighters take the ultimate prize for victory…
Jennifer Kacey is a writer, mother, and business owner living with her miniman in Texas. She sings in the shower, plays piano in her dreams, and has to have a different color of nail polish every week. The best advice she’s ever been given? Find the real you and never settle for anything less.
