making him want it
renee luke
APHRODISIA
KENSINGTON BOOKS
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 1
Jamal James sank back into his leather office chair, smoothed both palms over his clean–shaven head, then laced his fingers behind his neck. Staring at the strategic placement of the photos spread across his desk, he tried to decide if he wanted to accept the model as a client.
While his primary focus was as a literary agent, a few years back he’d started taking on models to go along with the sexy stories his headliner wrote.
The models and other authors offered him chump change compared to what his super–star brought in. Kat Mason and her skilled way with words had him living in luxury. But it wasn’t only the hefty contracts with five of the largest men’s magazines in the world that made him value Kat as a client.
Her humble, almost innocent demeanor over their extensive email relationship had left him baffled. Part sexy talker. Part girl–next–door. While never having met in person, thanks to her plentitude of ready excuses, their author–agent bond had progressed to a point where he felt comfortable telling her about the hard–ons he’d get reading her work.
By the twentieth of each month, he found himself checking his email hourly, so rocked–up to read what she’d sent him. Forgetting the pictures of the man posing nude on his desk, he turned toward his computer, right clicking twice on his internet connection.
Damn!
His email was filled with nothing but unsolicited submissions. Nothing from Kat. Sliding a hand from behind his head, he moved to the aroused flesh held in check beneath his expensive trousers. He adjusted himself, making room for the expanded length, and released a low and hungry groan. He’d long since imagined a body and face to go with Kat’s submissions and emails, a fantasy that left him breathing hard and downright horny.
“You about ready, JJ?” Kent asked, strolling into Jamal’s office. He glanced at his watch, his eyes widening when he caught sight of the sprawled male model photos gracing the surface of the mahogany desk.
Knowing where this was going, Jamal willed away his erection but the blood didn’t vacate as quickly as it took residence. Following Kent’s eyes, he saw when his colleague dipped his gaze from the desk to his lap, where Jamal’s flagpole was standing.
Kent roared with laughter.
Great! Just what I need. Some loudmouth over–sexed player thinking a man’s photos turns me on.
“You swinging that way now, JJ? No wonder you take on men when no one else in the office does, besides Rebecca.” Kent laughed harder, his mouth opening wide enough that one of his gold fillings reflected the overhead light. “Do you eat Fruit Loops and keep lube in the shower?”
“Screw you, Kent.”
“You wish.”
Jamal tightened his fists. Sometimes the only way to shut up punks like Kent was to smash them in the mouth, giving him a reason for gold caps on his teeth. Kent was a pompous ass who wore three–thousand dollar designer suits daily and went to the barber three times a week to keep his fade lined up. Certainly not worth losing his temper over, despite being irritated.
Sliding his chair forward, concealing his lap beneath the shadow of the desk, Jamal swept the pictures into a stack and set them aside, ignoring Kent’s continued laughter and barbs.
“Come on, JJ, you get hard looking at a guy? You sure you’re a man?”
“More man than you,” Jamal replied, keeping his tone light despite the growing anger.
Kent lifted his arms to the side and bucked his hips suggestively. “Yeah, I got women beggin’ for this. A different woman every night if I want. Sometimes two.”
Every man’s fantasy.
Every man but him. He longed for a woman he’d never seen. Forbidden flesh—his client—Kat Mason. But her passionate words on the computer screen were about as tangible as smoke. You can feel its effects on your body, but you can’t hold it, sink into it, or relieve your aching flesh when you’re gasping for breath.
“When was the last time you fucked?”
Kent’s question tugged Jamal from his thoughts. It’d been a while, but there was no way in hell he was admitting it. Not to this fool.
“I get it when I want it.” Jamal shrugged his shoulders. Sure, pulling in hot women had never been a problem for him, thanks to the gene pool that had made him an image duplicate of his father, “Player of the Century,” as far as Jamal was concerned. His father’s apartment had been like a revolving door, more women going through than turnstiles at Grand Central Station.
He’d dipped into his fair share of chicks when he was younger, but sex for sex had grown boring and despite what others might think, predictable. He just wasn’t into wham–bam don’t–call–again nights. He’d matured out of it.
“Come on. This club has the finest female flesh you’ll ever see.” Kent blew air between his teeth. “I mean hot.”
Not
