I liked Ray. I liked him a lot. He was sort of a cuddly teddy bear with his unruly blond hair. In fact he reminded me of a soft toy I’d lugged around everywhere when I was three-four-five years old. I’d dragged it through grass and mud and dirt, but my mom had always washed Teddy so I could cuddle with him at night.

Those times of innocence were long gone.


The summer nights in my childhood home when I’d left the windows open to the salt marsh South Carolina breeze, the easy days of being free, a little bit wild, the only girl—and tomboy—of the Steele family—those days were nothing more than memories now.


I was the reason it had all ended.


“Hey, girl.” Ray scratched at his nose above the thick whiskers of his mustache. “Got a couple more orders for customers to go. You with me?”


“Absolutely.” I leaned over the auto parts book beside him, willing myself to focus.


It was a daily struggle, staying on the straight and narrow path. I managed my life through sheer willpower alone. There was no room for bad decisions or deviations. That was my fault, too.


The Stone’s Garage account was new to my and my brothers’ Chrome and Steele business venture, but I knew how to handle Josh Stone and his mechanics. I’d been around men my whole life—the rough, the rowdy, the louder the better. I always thought the more macho the man, the bigger the heart he was hiding inside.

I hadn’t been proved wrong yet.
Like Stone’s mechanics, my big bad brothers—huge MC dudes—were nothing but pussycats underneath. That went for all the Presidents of Retribution members, from the latest probie to the oldest patch.
The MC was my family now.
They just didn’t understand I was a grown ass woman and fully capable of taking caring of myself nine times out of ten.
As I tapped on my tablet and completed Ray’s order, the roar of an engine dragged my attention to the parking lot outside the window. The Jeep making the ruckus was old school, on raised tires, and covered in mud from bumper to bumper.
Josh Stone ambled over. His arm was wrapped around the waist of a curvy, red-haired woman.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“Leelee Songchild. Boss’s lady love. Reunited, and it feels so good.”
A smile peeked around my lips. “Why’s that?”
“He’s been one ornery sumbitch since he and Nicky returned from their stint in Atlanta in May. He didn’t take too kindly to losin’ his woman,” Ray drawled.
“So, is Leelee staying?”
“Why? You interested in Josh?”
I snorted. The Hell No. “Yeah. No.”
Sure Josh was athletic model sexy with a rough side and a warm heart, but it was clear he was one hundred percent taken. I’d never had designs on him anyway.
“He’s not my type,” I added.
“Oh, and I can’t wait to tell him that.” Ray chuckled.
“Make sure you get him to sign the check first.” I winked.
Then the guy from the Jeep jumped out.
Oh, hell yes.
I stared at the man until my eyeballs felt dry. Then I lifted up my ever-present sunglass and stared some more. Talk about my type to a T. A tight fitting black t-shirt, to be exact, on a long muscled torso.
I didn’t need to ask the name of the hunk. I immediately realized the Nicky Ray had mentioned wasn’t a woman. Not at all. That there was Nicky Love. From a distance, he looked rugged. His hair was loose, and the dark brown waves that fell to his shoulders flicked a little in the wind. His broad shoulders narrowed to a trim waist and—when he turned around—a nice-looking ass. He had the most desirable V-shape going on, and any woman with a heartbeat would want a piece of that.
Myself included.
I knew what he looked like close-up, too. On his book jackets he was mouth-watering yummy. Yes, yummy. There was no other way to describe such sexy looks—the unusual pale purple eyes, his sensual lips, the shadow of stubble on the strong jaw, and a very naughty grin that probably compelled women all across the world to buy his books.
Jesus, he nearly compelled my feet to walk right out the door so I could get a closer look in person. He stood with one arm propped against the trailer behind his Jeep, talking animatedly to Josh and Leelee. When he motioned toward the garage, I fought the urge to duck down. If I ducked I’d lose sight of him.
“Ohmyfuckingchrist,” Ray growled in one long syllable. “Not you, too.”
I tore my gaze from the man who’d somehow turned my cool-as-they-come nerves into a pile of mush within a matter of minutes. “Huh?”
“My old woman Bev makes those same gooey eyes at him.” He made a gagging noise. “It’s just Nicky Love. The same boy who worked right here alongside Josh since their high school days.”
I knew full well who Nicky Love was. (1) He was one of my favorite paranormal romance authors. (2) He was a confirmed skirt-chaser. (3) Worse, he was sexy as hell.
Clearly danger.
It was a wonder we’d never run into each other before. Mt. Pleasant wasn’t that big no matter how many out-of-staters moved in. The old families still lived on the same land they’d grown up on: The Stones, the Steeles, Gerald and his Gullah kin . . .
I turned my attention back to Nicky, and Ray muffled another curse that made me smile. I knew quite a bit about Nicky, but I’d never taken him for a motorcycle man. Yet, if I wasn’t mistaken, the hulk of motorcycle parts on the trailer he hauled was none other than a vintage Indian Chief. The bike was a classic. It was one more thing that made Nicky Love incredibly attractive. Not that I was a bike whore. I didn’t need to be. I had my own Harley.
“Yep. I can see we’re done here,” Ray said. He prodded me forward, and opened the door for me.
We stepped outside, going from the cool air-conditioned interior to the blazing parking lot. As soon as the door jingled, Nicky Love’s head swung in our direction. His gaze locked on me and stayed there.
I focused on Ray, not the man who checked me out from head to toe and back again.
We took a last look at the parts order, and I checked off a couple extra details. I was just putting the books and tablet in my bag when Ray muttered, “Trouble. Headed this way.”
Oh dear Lord.
I tried to calm my speeding pulse. This was ridiculous. I slid my sunglasses back on and yanked down on the cuffs of my long-sleeved cotton shirt. My hair was pulled back tight, my pants and blouse pristine, and I made sure I showed no emotion as Nicky loped toward us.
I couldn’t let my shell crack, not for anyone. Especially not a man who wrote a lot of smoking hot sex scenes and looked like smoking hot sex on legs.
Damn.
Nicky stopped right in front of me. “Ray.” He nodded at the man beside me, but his beautiful violet-colored gaze never left me.
It was unnerving to be the sole object of his attention.
“Hey, man. What the crap is that eyesore you’re haulin’ around behind your Jeep?” Ray pumped Nicky’s hand and slapped him on the back.
“You know, you sound more and more like Josh every day. I think those were his words verbatim. And I’ll tell you what I told him, you’re a philistine.”
I interrupted their squabbling, “If I’m not mistaken that’s an Indian Chief.” I sent a small smile to Nicky. “Or it will be, one day.”
His deep laugh did something warm and wonderful to me. I wanted to join in with him.
“I don’t believe we’ve met. Nick Loveland.” He held out his hand.
So that was how he was going to play it. Not the bestselling novelist but the downhome good old boy.
Great. And I could pretend I was completely unaffected by him. He stood so close fine hairs raised on the back of my neck. His heat was fiercer than the June sun. If he wasn’t wearing cologne, he should just bottle his natural scent—spice, leather, and man—and make another million bucks.
“Catarina Steele.” I slid my hand into his. The warm curling sensation from his laugh magnified with his touch.
“Pleasure to meet you.”
Pulling my hand free, I said, “Likewise.”
With a barely perceptible nod, he dismissed Ray. My teddy bear safety net strode away.
“You know bikes?” Nicky asked.
“Only like the back of my hand.” Which he was going to feel across his face if he didn’t step off so I could regain my composure.
I took comfort in my slacks and my buttoned up shirt and my superior glare as I made sure not a single crack showed. My sunglasses hid any otherwise visible emotions.
“Hmm,” he hummed, stepping even closer. “And you’re co-owner of Chrome and Steele?”
Because of his proximity, I had to tilt my head to see his face. I was fairly tall. He was a hell of a lot taller. The breadth of his chest and shoulders, the sexy at-ease stance threatened to disarm me.
“Yes.” I willed my voice to remain steady as I stood my ground.
“Maybe you could hook me up?” His lips curved just the right amount to invite a kiss.
“I assume you mean professionally.” Because it sure sounded like some variation of hook up with me.
Nicky leaned so close his hair brushed my cheek. “Wouldn’t mind bein’ a little unprofessional with you.”
A loose tendril of my hair blew across my face.
He reached to tuck it away, murmuring, “Whaddya say, Wildcat?”
That was when I reeled back and smacked him across the face so hard my hand imprint colored his cheek immediately. If I hadn’t lashed out, I would’ve latched onto him and dragged him to my lips.
“I’m nobody’s Wildcat,” I hissed.
Before he could tempt me anymore—or I landed a slap on his other cheek—I pivoted away. I tossed my bag into my car, climbed in, and slammed the door. The dark black tinted windows all but hid me from view, but they didn’t hide Nicky Love.
He kept watching with a wide grin on his face.
I jammed on the gas to get away from him.
Danger? Nicky Love was way more than danger. He was sexy, arrogant, sexy, probably sinfully delicious, and he posed a huge threat to my very contained, very controlled life.
I couldn’t let him anywhere near me. I’d fought too hard to get where I was.
Before I pulled out onto 17 North, I checked my rearview mirror. He was still rubbing his jaw and staring after me, with that grin on his lips.
Trouble.
Exactly.
Don’t forget, Ride comes out January 8th for just 99 cents! Link below. And I’m wishing you a very excellent start to the new year.


LOVE ON AMAZON STONE ON AMAZONRIDE ON AMAZON

That’s right! You fell in love with bad boy/sweet DILF Josh Stone in Carolina Bad Boys #1 . . . now it’s time to get down and dirty with Mr. Nicky Love!

To celebrate the release of Love, In The Fast Lane, Stone is on sale for 99 cents through December 16th! Aaaand—even better—if you hop on Love today, you also get it for 99 cents! As a bonus, the full, New Adult novella RIDE (Jase and Avery’s story) is also 99 cents, and due out January 8th! BOOM!
LOVE ON AMAZON
 STONE ON AMAZON
RIDE ON AMAZON

New York Times bestselling paranormal author, Nicky--Nick—Love is anything but successful in love. For years he’s lost himself in his writing career, but now he’s ready to get back to his rebel-boy roots. While restoring a motorcycle at Stone’s Auto Service, he meets the Wildcat of his dreams. She’s a shock to the system for the romance writer who doesn’t remember a damn thing about wooing a woman.

Cool-as-ice, Catarina “Wildcat” Steele is utterly untouchable until Nicky ignites a spark she can’t control. Their electric attraction explodes as Nicky pursues her, but he comes bearing the baggage of a family tragedy he’s hidden from everyone. He knows love has no guarantees.

Their passionate romance falls apart when Nicky discovers Cat’s secret rivals his own. The truth about her past reopens Nicky’s raw wounds and awakens a ghost he never laid to rest. He doesn’t know how to have Cat, and now he can’t trust her. Will they be torn apart . . . or tamed by love?
​
LOVE ON AMAZON
 STONE ON AMAZON
RIDE ON AMAZON
Happy holidays, and may the Carolina Bad Boys keep you warm! 

OH! What do we have here? Part Three in the outtakes/bonus material from Stone, At Your Service! This time, we’re getting Leelee’s POV of that very hot, very USTY gym scene with Josh. Let’s see sexy Mr. Stone through Leelee’s eyes…

A special Leelee POV of the gym scene from Chapter Four, Stone, At Your Service

 Just my luck, the first man to spark my sexual interest in months, and he was gay. Like Patrick.

I dragged my unruly hair into a tight ponytail as if trying to drag thoughts of Stone, and my ex, out of my head. In the past few months, I’d barely thought about Patrick. Maybe him ending our engagement had been a good thing. He hadn’t been the biggest supporter of my writing, always complaining it took time away from him. Of course it was just fine and dandy for him to stay up half the night playing whatever it was on his PlayStation, but when it came to my writing—the career I’ve been building for two years—well, to hear him tell, it was no more than a hobby. A waste of time that would never pay the bills.

Every time something major happened to me via my book, Patrick was suddenly overwhelmed by his consulting work. His business crises mysteriously coincided with my promotion deadlines, which meant he was unexpectedly at home, taking over more than his fair share of the home office when I needed peace and quiet to concentrate.

If it wasn’t a work crisis, it was me “doing God knows what on the computer” instead of connecting with him. I swear, he had PMS more often than I did. He even once said we needed to dialogue about our feelings.

Dialogue our feelings? Who said that stuff?

In fact, we hadn’t had all that much in common to begin with. Maybe I’d been complacent because, in retrospect, our relationship was boring. Patrick wasn’t even my type: physically—weedy—mentally—needy. I couldn’t remember getting all that turned on by him sexually, and most of my orgasms during the course of our relationship . . . well, let’s just say I was a do-it-yourself type of gal. I wanted a man who knew he was a man, who didn’t need to dialogue about his feelings, one who knew how to take action.

One who could get me off.

That certainly hadn’t been Patrick.

Stone, on the other hand . . .

The greenish-gray bedroom eyes. The body, his broad shoulders, his smile—just this side of naughty. The fedora hat—to quote Janice, swoon—thetat on his chest. I’d almost fallen over when he’d opened his door.

He’d stood there dripping wet in just a towel, one that certainly wasn’t big enough to cover all the essentials. And boy, oh boy, did he seem to have a lot of essentials. I’d never seen such a perfectly sculpted torso in real life. The sight of Stone almost naked made me breathless.

I couldn’t make him out. First he was gentlemanly, helping me sort out my overturned boxes and suitcases in the lobby. Then he was an asshole when I’d thanked him for seeing me to my room. Sometimes he was protective of me, so I felt safe with him. Other times I could swear there was something sexual in his unguarded stare.

Oh dear Lord, Leelee. Get a grip. One trip around the I’m gay block was plenty. I didn’t need a repeat performance with the enigmatic, very manly Stone. No, he is definitely not my type. Just like Patrick.

I finished changing my clothes. I tried to locate my iPhone. I swore I’d just tossed it . . . somewhere. Looking in dismay at the stacks of books and business cards and postcard flats, I gave up. I called my cell from the hotel room phone. When it rang, I searched through the mountains of clothes piled on the spare bed.

Now how the hell had it gotten there?

With the phone, my armband, and earbuds in hand, I headed to the hotel gym to avoid the dreaded lobby crowds and clear my head. Once I swung through the door, the sight that confronted me almost made me drop my bottle of water.

Stone. In the flesh. In the nearly bare, very sweaty, rippling, flexing flesh. Those hazel eyes took in my decidedly un-convention-like outfit. From the way he stared, I got the distinct impression he didn’t mind me in spandex instead of a dress and heels. And I certainly wasn’t complaining about his clothing, or lack thereof. All he wore was a pair of low-hanging nylon shorts.

“So, what brings you here?” He gave me one of his delicious smirks.

“The gym’s a great place to hide. I only started workin’ out when I began coming to these things. You know, me and crowds.” I rolled out my yoga mat and began stretching. I tried to avoid his gaze. He had me flustered already. I should’ve walked straight back out the door again. The man was walking, talking temptation. Or he would’ve been, if he were straight.

“Yeah, I’m hiding from those vicious writers too.” When he grinned he looked positively rakish, almost dangerous with his teeth flashing in the well-maintained, dark blond stubble.

Definitely a man. A man’s man all the way.

I appreciated him trying to put me at ease, but all he did was unsettle me, excite me, make me want something I could never have with him.

After nodding at me, he continued with his workout. I started to do my yoga warm-up. He moved around the room, doing one-arm pull-ups, sit ups, bench presses. My favorite was the squats.

The muscles in his thighs bulged. Stone’s shorts bulged in the middle. His shoulders bunched and his biceps swelled. His abs clenched and contracted. He looked up, and met my eyes. Instead of glancing away, his gaze openly meandered down my body, over the stretchy material of my sports top. His eyes lingered on my breasts and my breathing sped, not because of my strenuous yoga pose.

Stone replaced the barbell and turned to face me.

Oh my! I thought his shorts were going to fall off. They kept dipping lower on his pelvis as he mopped his face and chest with its soft-looking smattering of hair that thinned into a line and trailed all . . . the . . . way . . . down.

Down, where I figured out exactly what was keeping his shorts in place. That would be a very prominent . . . member. An erection. Good God, Leelee, you’ve got no problem writing cock and pussy and all manner of sexual terms. Call it what it is. His cock. Stone’s cock prevented his shorts from simply slipping off the twin grooves of muscle at his hips.

I gasped. My eyes flew up to be snagged by Stone’s. My cheeks felt like they were on fire and I had the uncontrollable desire to giggle. I pressed my lips together and his sandy eyebrows arched.

My, my, my. Stone certainly was well endowed. Suddenly I felt perverse, openly ogling Nicky’s lover. But then he swiveled to the rear of the room, doing some adjustments to his front, and dear God, his butt. Yes, that was an ass that wouldn’t quit.

As he turned back to me, I saw what he’d been doing when he faced away. He’d arranged his tank top from his waistband so it hung over his . . . cock. He returned to those damnable squats and I completed a few more positions.

During this whole time we’d only exchanged our greetings. Apparently Stone did not need to dialogue shit out, which I appreciated, but I needed him to stop the squats before my eyes fell out of my head to join my tongue on the floor.

Or before he burst out of his shorts.

Approaching him, I asked, “Spot me?’

He brought the barbell down then stood to his full height in front of me. Well over six feet worth of stacked muscle and the heady scent of man teased me.

“What?” he asked.

“Could you spot me?” I motioned toward the bench press.

His slow perusal marked my body almost as thoroughly as his large hands could. “Sure.” His deep gruff voice sent shivers through me.
I calibrated the weights on the metal bar. He stood behind me, close enough his heat felt like a caress along my back and buttocks. When I lay down on the bench, I watched his throat bob. He licked his lips.

This might be my worst idea yet because Stone loomed above me, and I had a bird’s eye view up the length of his legs and abs and chest. His chin lowered to his chest as he carefully watched me. One corner of his firm-looking lips lifted. I trained my eyes on the ceiling, willing myself not to peek up the gaping leg of his shorts to find out if he really was hard as stone everywhere.

I didn’t like being this affected by him. I disliked being on uneven footing with him even more. I silently started my presses. The last time I’d seen him, I’d given him a copy of my novel. I decided to tease him about it.

“Did you get a chance to check out Ride?”

“Yeah, a little. Not bad.” He lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck.

Oh really? We’d see about that. After another few reps, I motioned for him to take the weight from me. When he had it safely anchored above me, I sat up.

“Not bad?” I took a little swing at his ribs. His damp skin and unyielding flesh made my knuckles burn, but I didn’t wince.
He looked anywhere but at me. “The guy-girl thing doesn’t cut it for me, ya know?”

I really didn’t know. I wasn’t sure. Around Stone I was confused, amused, intrigued. He pissed me off. He turned me on.
Jesus, Leelee. He’s gay.

I knew it. I was going to die an old spinster cat lady surrounded by steamy romance books with no romance in my life whatsoever.
I was not going to fall for Nicky Love’s lover, dammit.
______________________________________________
STONE: Amazon
​LOVE:Preorder now! Coming December 11, 2014
.AmazonGoodreads

Woo hoo! For our second Stone outtake, we’re going back to the LitLuv convention. Missy, Jackée, and Janice (BDSM, M-M, Steampunk)—aka the Hens—talk a little trash about Stone. A brand new scene!

A new scene featuring The Hens from Stone, At Your Service
 
The overcrowded hotel lobby-cum-bar at the 7th Annual Literary Love convention literally roared with the noise of a thousand-plus attendees. The Hens laid claim over a banquette table, glaring at any interloper who dared approach.

“There are ears everywhere.” Janice plucked at the loose neckline of her embroidered peasant blouse.

Jacqueline shuddered. “And agents.”

“Now, now. Not all agents are the stuff nightmares are made of,” Missy Peachtree of the BDSM persuasion tutted. Then she gave a feral grin. “I am.”

The Hens hooted with laughter so loud a bevy of heads turned in their direction.

“Eavesdroppers,” Jackée hissed. She dug in her purse for a bottle of salon-grade nail polish and her monogrammed fingernail file.

The Hens didn’t think of themselves as such. They preferred the term Queens, if it must be known. It was the opening night of the LitLuv convention in Atlanta. They’d enjoyed a thoroughly enlightening/eye-opening dinner with fellow romance writers Leelee Songchild and Nicky Love with the addition of Love’s longtime lover, Stone. Now they were ready to dish dirt, in the privacy of the packed lobby/bar.
Janice pushed her Lennon glasses to the top of her head. “That lucky Mr.Lurve . . .”

“Lucky little freak in the bed with all that Stone hard man meat next to him, on top of him, inside of him.” Jackée sawed the file across her nails. “I don’t know about you ladies, but I could lick Stone from head to toe and start right back at the bottom again.”

“I’d like to see Stone bottom.” Missy closed her eyes with a sigh. “Scratch that. I’d like to harness them in dual swings facing each other, strapped to a double-ended dildo. All trussed up. I’d really get my flogger on for that.”

“Tweeting that.” Janice scrunched her plump face, tapping with fast precision on her phone. “Hashtag stonelove.”

“Girl, that would certainly give me some inspiration for another novel.” Having touched up her nails in vivid purple, Jacqueline proceeded to moisturize her hands until her cocoa-colored skin gleamed.

“Maybe we should do a collaboration, Jacks.” Missy slapped a Vera Bradley notebook on the table and found her I’m a Damn Good Domme pen, the one with the tiny silver handcuffs swinging from it. “You can handle the penetration and I’ll take care of the punishment.”

“Oh yeah? What would we call it?”

“Hard Love!” Janice shouted, drawing another round of attention from the nearby drinkers.

The three of them started plotting a male-male bondage book, which not a single one of them had time in their writing schedule to work on. It was part of their yearly ritual at the convention, the only occasion the three girlfriends and their token gay guy got a chance to catch up face-to-face. By the time an hour had passed, they’d moved onto their second bottle of wine and the sequel to Hard Love: Bound to Love.

“So, what do we think about our NKOTB?” Janice asked.

“Shh. Keep it down,” Missy advised. “That creeper-stalker-starfucker agent has been seen sniffing around our girl.”

“Already? She just got here.” Janice had momma bear instincts for any new writer, but Leelee Songchild was different.

Since she’d joined their exclusive Facebook group, the stunning twenty-something ingénue had created quite a stir. She kept her private business private, and the Hens had decided—minus Nicky’s input—that just wouldn’t do. They liked to know a person’s background, past flings, new conquests, and future hopes. They were impressed by Leelee’s whirlwind authorial debut with her New Adult book and her professional dedication, but they needed to know more. Especially if they had any hopes of protecting her from the money-grubbing, ass-grabbing claws of one creeper-stalker-starfucker agent, Andrew LaForge.

“I don’t know what’s worse.” Janice ran a lacquered nail around the rim of her wineglass. “LaForge’s shady contracts or his skuzzy come-ons. Fucker gives creeper-stalkers a bad name.”

They’d finished plotting their Love trilogy based on the imagined escapades of Stone and Nicky . . . in a BDSM setting, then they put their creative heads together to plot LaForge’s downfall.

After they were satisfied his black moment would be nothing short of epic, Missy continued scheming. “Did anyone else notice Stone tripping over his tongue around Leelee?”

“Maybe he’s shy.” Janice countered.

“Honey chile, a man who’s built like a brick shithouse has absolutely no right being bashful.”

“Word!” Missy crowed at Jacqueline, causing another ripple in the massive ocean of people. “I don’t even think he’s gay.”

Janice’s eyes popped behind the pastel lenses of her glasses. “You think it’s a ruse?”

“Oooh, girl. The plot thickens.” Jackée crossed her arms over her chest. “But I’m calling bullshit this time, Missy. I know my gays, and he might be butch—”

“Sooo butch,” Janice breathed out.

“But that man is h-o-m-o-sex-yew-l.”

“Care to wager on it?” Reopening her paisley notebook, with her dominatrix pen poised, Missy waited for the bets about Stone’s sexuality she knew were forthcoming. Janice and Jacqueline liked to gamble as much as she did.

They were writers, after all.
______________________________________________


STONE: Amazon
LOVE:Preorder now! Coming December 11, 2014
AmazonGoodreads

I’m going to be posting ALL the cut scenes/character interviews/outtakes from Stone this week. I’ll be culminating the bonus material on Friday with a special Halloween sneak peek at Love, In the Fast Lane!

You can get your copies here:
​
STONE: Amazon
LOVE: Preorder now! Coming December 11, 2014.
​AmazonGoodreads

What else happened when Josh returned from Atlanta? He did a little dress shopping for Leelee. Because…well…remember when he ripped her pretty dress straight off her body? Mm hmm. Yeah. 

Carolina Bad Boys #1
From Chapter 16 Not Romancing the Stone

Forgiveness and a future with Leelee, that’s what I was aiming for. I didn’t send her flowers. That’d be lame. Instead, I came up with something much more meaningful.

During a Saturday in the middle of July—six lonely and happy and fucked-up and horny weeks since I’d touched or talked to Leelee—I walked into a highfalutin boutique in the Towne Centre.

I loomed over the dress racks and heard a feminine squeak, “Oh, my!”

I sent a smirk in return.

Back in Atlanta, I’d destroyed Leelee’s dress, ripping it in half to get her naked for me. I was going to redress that, in a manner of speaking. This place was as good as any to start. I didn’t have a clue what the hell I was looking for, but I knew Leelee’s body, I knew her style, and I knew what she looked good in.

A highly polished young woman joined me. “May I help you, sir?”

“Yeah.” I scraped a palm across the stubble on my jaw. “I need to buy a dress for a really sexy woman. But it can’t be cheap or tacky.” I pointed at something with peacock blue sequins. “My woman’s pure class.”

The salesclerk cleared her throat, her pulse butterflying under the skin. “Any idea what color she might prefer?”

“She’s a redhead. Fucking handfuls of the gorgeous, strawberry blond stuff. Creamy skin, like icing on a cake that’s never been touched.”
Lifting a finger to her mouth, she said, “Perfect. Let’s look for gem tones and a few pastels. Evening or day?”

“Day.” Definitely. I wanted Leelee to be able to wear it a lot—and think of me every time she did.

“Size?” She showed me some kind of dress chart that made no sense whatsoever to me.

I knew her size all right, though. I formed nice, big curves with my hands. “Her breasts are like this, they fit my palms just right. And her bottom, it’s heart-shaped, more than a handful. She’s got full hips and her waist . . .” I made a slim cylinder between my palms. “Hourglass, right? And her legs, oh man. Leelee’s got legs up to there, ya know?”

“How tall does she measure against you in heels?”

“She’s got some wicked stilettos, about four inches, I’d say. When she wears those, she comes up to my chin.” I smiled. “Her head tucks right against my throat.”

“Curvaceous, probably a size 8/10, depending on the designer.” The salesgirl whipped out a measuring tape and draped it around her neck. Flicking her eyes from my Adam’s apple to the top of my head, she visually translated the measurements.

That sounded about right, the lady seemed to know her stuff. “Yeah, she’s got a banging body,” I agreed.

Sitting me down in a cushy area surrounded by shoe racks, mirrors, and purses, the young lady shut her eyes. She hummed for a few seconds then smiled with one finger pointed in the air. “You sit tight now, I’ll be right back.”

Several minutes later, she returned with an armload of dresses she carefully hung on a rack beside me. Over the next half-hour, we went through every single one of them. She named off styles and fabrics while I picked out my favorites and discarded many more, narrowing it down to five.

“What’s her personality like?”

I leaned back with a laugh. “She’s feisty as hell. Soft, sweet, and sassy, too. Leelee’s so sexy she makes my mouth dry up until I just need to taste her—sometimes she does it on purpose, other times she has no idea. And she can be shy, shy around other people, but not me.”
Pursing her lips, she walked back and forth along the garments. She stopped, plucked out the dress I’d been eyeing, and held it out. “The Gloriana.”

Yeah. A slow grin spread across my face. On Leelee, the dress would be formfitting from the low-cut bodice to the tiny sleeves that would sit just off her shoulders. The skirt was pencil-slim with a slit up the back. Fuck yeah. I fingered the soft material.

The woman smoothed her hand over the garment. “Silk jersey. Large lilac flowers on a soft yellow background will go wonderfully with her hair—”

“She’s gonna look drop-dead in it.” My voice lowered into a husky tone.

She returned shortly after leaving me with the dress and my daydreams. “Shoes, of course.”

I looked at the high heeled things she carried—shiny, taupe leather—good Lord, yes. “I’ll take it all.”

The sales assistant rang me up while I thanked her. “You nailed it.”

“No, sir, not at all. You did.” Her smile was bright, even though we’d pretty much wrecked the joint and she had a lot of cleanup to do after I left. “She’s a lucky woman, your woman.”

“I don’t know about that. I kind of fucked up with her. Sorry ’bout the language, miss.” I rubbed the back of my neck.

“Perhaps she’ll accept your apology. Should I gift wrap it for you?”

Hell yes. With ribbons, bows, and all that kind of crap.

Leaving the boutique with my packages, the dress, the shoes, the whole nine yards, I’d made a huge dent in my bank account and I didn’t regret it one bit. I’d never bought clothing for a woman before. I liked it doing it for Leelee.

I Fed-Exed that motherfucker right away with no ulterior motive other than to replace something I’d ruined, fix something I’d damaged. It was so much more than a dress between Leelee and me.
​
_____________________________
Way to go, Josh! I hope you enjoyed that little extra scene from Stone, At Your Service. Don’t forget to get your copies, and leave me some sugar on Amazon. ​

And now, for your reading pleasure, a very first sneak peek at Stone, At Your Service:


I PULLED UP SHORT when I entered Leelee’s room. Holy shit. The place looked like a tornado had touched down inside and, after that, maybe a hurricane. Suitcases exploded with clothing. Every available surface was crammed with books, paper, pamphlets, paraphernalia. It was worse than the sort of destruction the kid could easily cook up in less than ten minutes.


Leelee was a slob. Either that or she had some kind of personality disorder where she needed to see all of her belongings at once. I thought about Stone’s, which was orderly and shipshape even if my employees were a bunch of boneheads.


I hesitated on the edge of the bomb site. “Uh, you need a minute to tidy up?”


From inside the depths of Hell, Leelee glanced around the room and shrugged her shoulders. Grabbing an armload from one bed, she tossed it onto the mountain of clothes and shoes on the spare one. Something slipped from her fingers, and I sauntered over to pick it up off the floor.


It was lacey. It was silky. It was some kind of shimmery green that matched the color of her eyes. Oh Christ. Panties. Holding the scrap between both hands, I inspected them while her back was turned. Tiny, with bows at the sides, and--fuckin’ A—there were two little heart cutouts that would probably sit over each hipbone.


“All set.” Leelee whirled around.


I was not a creeper-stalker-lurker-perv so I pushed the panties into her hands and rubbed the back of my neck. “Um, those were on the floor.”


“Thanks.” When I looked up, her cheeks wore the most fetchingshade of pink. But she met my stare with a wink, placing the miniature piece of Heaven on the bed. “I’ve got several more just like those in different colors.”


I couldn’t think of a thing to say because all my brain cells had simultaneously skyrocketed through the roof of my head, and I wondered if my cock had ripped through my pants yet.


Leelee probably wouldn’t have noticed anyway, not with all the other shit she had going on in here. And her all set clean up had consisted of moving one pile to another pile, clearing off the quilt and pillows of the bed she apparently slept in. The fact that the mess didn’t bother her at all might be a deal breaker.


As if.


I’d sleep in a freakin’ pig sty if I had to, as long as I was with her.


Plucking a few items from the overspill of clothing, she glanced at me. “I’m just gonna go change. Sit tight, I won’t be a second.”
She headed for the bathroom, and I watched her ass all the way. I grabbed at my hair and took a minute to reconsider what I was doing. The moment fled as soon as I smelled a tantalizing whiff of her perfume. Leelee stripping down in the next room got me hot enough, but when I paced to the far end of the bed, the full-sized mirror on the closet door reflected a sliver of the bathroom. A sliver of her hourglass waist to the swell of her hips and a generous slice of backside.


Lush Leelee. She had the kind of pin-up body men salivated over. Curves big enough to fill my hands from her tits to her ass to her hips. All topped by that sweetheart face, the red rosebud lips, the dewy eyes. Not to mention the strawberry blond hair I’d never seen all the way down. Yet. That was gonna get remedied tonight.


I turned my back unless I got carried away and simply barged into the bathroom, bent her over the counter, and fucked her there and then. Facing the clutter and chaos of her room, I was tempted to tidy up a bit more, but I didn’t want to get caught pawing through her underthings like I’d been caught pawing at my cock. Heaps of silky, frilly panties and bras and—was that a goddamn corset?—teased me. I stuffed my hands into my pockets. Or I tried to. Damned leathers were too tight.


When the door squeaked open, I turned, and Leelee appeared.


She brushed a hand down her front. “I hope you don’t mind. It’s been a long day.”


Then she blushed, and that was so adorable I was one step away from jumping her bones. I couldn’t have replied even if all my motor skills hadn’t just taken a back seat to primal male urges. Leelee in the feminine dresses hinting at her sexy body, the heels that made me want to start at her ankles and head north, all of that did it for me. But this? My fingers itched to touch her, my breath turned ragged. All because of a pair of loose white sweats she’d cut off mid-calf, her fresh clean face, and the fact she was swinging free underneath an off-the shoulder LSU Tigers sweatshirt.


“Leelee.” My voice rasped, deep and husky. “Christ, stop blushing. You’re making it hard for me to think.”


Sexual tension arced through the air, drawing her gaze to mine.


Her fingers slipped against her lips, and Jesus goddamn Christ, her tongue slid out to wet them. “Josh, that kiss earlier? Did you mean what you said about you and Nicky?”


Hypnotized by her shiny lips, I chewed briefly on my own. “Yeah. It’s over. This is our last hurrah. It’s not what you think anyway. There’s so much I wanna tell you, but I can’t—”


Before I could finish, she was in front of me, fingertips pressed to my mouth. “Just kiss me. Kiss me again.” Her arms wound around my neck. Her fingers lacing into my hair, she pulled me down.


This time I wouldn’t be stopped by phone calls or fake maids or my false conscience. Barely half an inch remained between my mouth and her upturned lips, but I held it. The feel of her breath racing with mine, the sight of her eyelashes lowered, I didn’t want to forget this moment.


Trapping her in my arms, I forced her the last bit forward . . . and “Bohemian Rhapsody” went off.


Her lips slanted against mine, moist and ready. “Queen, Josh? Really?”


I pulled back with a muffled curse. “I have to take this. It’s the kid.”


Swinging away, I put the cell to my ear.


Ma started right in. “He had a bad dream, Joshy. Woke up sweatin’ and cryin’. I just couldn’t talk him down. He needs his daddy.”


My throat closed in until it was hard to breath. I shut my eyes against the sting of tears. “Put ’im on.”


Sinking to the edge of Leelee’s bed, I motioned for her to sit beside me. I curled my hand over hers, grateful for her presence while I tried to keep it together for the kid. I’d never had anyone beside me before, not like this.


I heard the sleepy-slow pat-pat-pat of his bare feet on the old oak floors. I imagined JJ’s funny cowlick standing straight up as he sucked his index finger, wearing his favorite-for-the-month Hobbit pj’s . . . and the shiny vinyl blue Superman cape.


“Hi, Daddy.”


I swiped a hand beneath my eyes with his little tremulous voice in my ears. “Baby boy, it’s late.”


His hiccupping breaths hit the line, the kind that broke me in two. Leelee nestled against my shoulder. I tightened my hold on her as I listened.


“I had a wightware, Daddy. You didn’t come back from L’Ana . . .”
​

“I’m always coming home to you, kid. Always.” I swallowed down a salty wash of tears I didn’t let fall.