Give Me More. P.J. Mellor

      APHRODISIA

      KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

      http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

      To my grandmother, Hettie Glover, the original wild woman.

      I miss you, Gram!

      ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      As always, thanks to my agent, the super Sha-Shana Crichton, and my editor, the guy who actually gets my humor, John Scognamiglio.

      Special thanks to my PAL, Lark Howard, for her intimate knowledge of French men.

      CONTENTS

      Wild Thing

      Hold Me, Thrill Me

      Light My Fire

      1

      Eric gave a roar of completion and collapsed on her. Within seconds, her oxygen-deprived lungs began to protest. His chest hair tickled her nose.

      Allowing him to come home with her again was a mistake on so many levels. She wedged both hands against his clammy, Aramis-scented skin and shoved.

      He grunted and drooled on her neck.

      “Eric,” Maggie Hamilton said against his clavicle, resisting the temptation to close her teeth around the offending bone. “Get off!”

      His chuckle rumbled his chest and set her teeth on edge. “Just did, babe.”

      Pig. “Eric, I can’t breathe. Move!” What possessed her to let him come home with her? She shoved again, and he rolled off to lie, spread-eagle, next to her. She glanced at the poster of the cruise ship, docked at an exotic island port, tacked to her wall for inspiration, and then over at Eric’s Mr. Happy, which looked decidedly droopy. “It’s time for you to leave.”

      “Aw, babe, don’t say that.” He turned on his side, one heavy arm crushing her ribs in an effort to draw her closer.

      Plop! Mr. Happy slapped against her thigh like a dead snake. She eased away from the offending member.

      “Really, you should leave.” She pointed the toes of one foot toward the floor, gripping the edge of the mattress for leverage.

      Eric grumbled something and rolled off to stand on the other side of the bed. He scratched his butt and shuffled toward the bathroom.

      “And shut the door this time, please.” That was definitely something she did not want to view.

      She swung to her feet and pulled on her floral silk robe, then frowned at her refection in the wardrobe mirror. Too sexy mussed.

      With a quick look at the still-closed door, she rummaged in the dresser. She’d just pulled on her oversize University of Michigan sweatshirt, tugging it to her knees, when Eric walked out.

      He wasn’t all that bad looking, if you liked the dumb-jock persona. As he was tall and heavily muscled, his dark hair spiked and clothing rumpled, there were many woman who might find him attractive.

      She looked at his heavy-lidded eyes and suppressed a shudder. Attractive only if you went for the Neanderthal look.

      She didn’t. Not anymore. Yet, after swearing she’d never again allow Eric into her home, let alone her bed, here he was. She had to start being more assertive.

      “So, what time should I be here tomorrow to take you to the dock?” He scratched his belly through the gaping fly of his jeans. At least she hoped it was his belly. “Babe,” he said, walking toward her, “I’m telling you, I think a singles cruise is a really bogus idea.”

      She took a step back and then sidestepped toward the open bedroom door. “Well, I don’t. And you don’t have to take me. I made other arrangements.”

      “But, babe, who’s gonna kiss you good-bye?” He spread his arms, palms up in supplication.

      Not you. Anyone but you. Of course, she couldn’t say that. Her mother had taught her never to be rude. “Karyl said she’d take me.” She ushered him toward the door.

      In a flash, he turned and closed his arms around her. He smelled of aftershave, beer and sex. On him, not a winning combination.

      Barreling her arms to break his embrace, she stepped back and reached to open the door. “I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

      “Babe! How long is this damn cruise?”

      Not nearly long enough. But she couldn’t say that either. “I’m not really sure,” she lied. “I’ll call you when I get back.” Yeah, why don’t you hold your breath on that one.

      His beard-stubbled face leaned close to her, intent clear in his bloodshot, mud-brown eyes.

      A quick sidestep took her out of target range. She pushed him out the door and closed it.

      He pounded on the solid imitation wood. “Babe!” Bang, bang. “Open the door!” Bang, bang, bang. Aren’t you even gonna kiss me good-bye?”

      “No!” she yelled, sliding the chain home.

      “But, babe!” His voice carried through the door.

      She strode to the bathroom and stripped and then stood under the tepid spray, waiting for the hot water.

      “Babe,” she growled in a mocking voice, grabbing the shampoo and squirting a liberal amount into her palm.

      She lathered her short hair with a vengeance, determined to wash away every trace of Eric. Shampoo foam ran everywhere. It oozed down her face, slithered over her shoulders, slid over her hips and sluiced down both legs to tickle her toes. Way too much shampoo.

      “I’m never going to get this rinsed out.” She rinsed until her arms ached. Her hair still felt slick to her questing fingers.

      “Babe,” she growled again, twisting off the controls and jerking a towel from the duct-taped towel bar.

      Then reality hit her…Eric

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