tion>
“If my dreams are like this, who needs a restful sleep?” Ruthie murmured
Now convinced Ruthie was awake, Robert didn’t pull away when she reached for him again. Then he nearly lost it when she said hoarsely, “I want your hands all over me.”
“Here?” Robert whispered against her neck, moving his palm until it scraped her pebbled nipple under the lace.
“Yes. Please, yes.”
She didn’t have to ask him twice. He pushed her camisole up, and he was unable to withhold a smile of male satisfaction as her breasts fell free. She moaned when he slid his hands over them, catching her nipples with his fingers. Then, unable to wait, he lowered his mouth, replacing his fingers with his lips.
She nearly came apart. “I need you,” she whispered, reaching down to the waistband of his trousers. Realizing Ruthie wasn’t in the mood for slow and easy, Robert followed her lead, undoing his slacks and letting her push them from his hips.
As he stepped back to get the condom from his pocket, Ruthie finally opened her eyes. “Oh, my.” She stared at his blatant arousal and a smile curved her lips. “I’ve never dreamed of quite so…much before.”
Dear Reader,
Hot sex with a gorgeous stranger. Not exactly P.C. these days, but it’s still such a naughty, delicious fantasy that I just had to explore the concept for Temptation.
Ruthie Sinclair is the girl next door, the girl who is everybody’s best friend, who bemoans her hair, her weight and her miserable love life. So when she finds herself in bed with the most amazing man she’s ever—make that never—known, she’s completely out of her element. And Robert Kendall, a man used to corporate piranhas, finds himself way over his head when confronted with a zany, redheaded temptress who makes him hotter than any woman he’s ever met.
Their love affair is torrid. Outrageous. Flamboyant. Wow, I had loads of fun writing this one!
I so enjoyed hearing from readers after my first release, Temptation #747, Night Whispers. Please drop me a line and let me know what you think of my follow-up book. You can e-mail me through my Web site: www.lesliekelly.com, or write to P.O. Box 410787, Melbourne, FL 32941–0787.
All the best,
Leslie Kelly
Suite Seduction
Leslie Kelly
To my editor, Brenda Chin. Thanks for letting me have another turn on this crazy, wonderful merry-go-round.
And to Betty. You knew I could, and I really did.
How I wish you were here to see it.
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
Epilogue
1
IF Ruthie Sinclair could have wrapped her hands around the throat of the genius who’d composed “The Wedding March,” the guy would be six feet under. Every note resounding from the bowels of the organ in the eaves of the church pierced into her skull like the prick of a needle, grating on her nerves until her eyelids twitched. Not an easy feat considering the bride’s makeup consultant had coated about a pound of thick, black mascara onto her lashes.
“I’m really starting to hate this song,” she muttered through gritted teeth, earning a glance from her cousin Denise, the other bridesmaid. The blonde shook her head, a disapproving frown on her brow, and gestured toward the bride, who stood a few feet away in the vestibule. Luckily, she hadn’t heard.
Ruthie knew she should be happy. Her cousin and best friend, Celeste, was marrying the man of her dreams. For a woman who considered herself a cockeyed optimist, the fairy-tale happy ending should have had Ruthie cheering and doing cartwheels. And she would…when she stopped feeling so darned depressed.
“Smile! Maybe you’ll catch the bouquet,” Denise whispered. The words might have been meant to cheer her up, but the tone was pure Denise—pure sugarcoated spite. “Like when you caught mine two months ago.”
Ruthie’s teeth hurt as she tried to pull her face into a smile. “I sure was excited about that, you can bet.” Especially when she got to dance with the twelve-year-old junior usher who caught the garter—his nosy little eyeballs had come right to the center of her cleavage!
A wicked light shone in Denise’s eyes, and, not for the first time, Ruthie wondered if they were truly related. Maybe Denise was adopted. Or maybe Ruthie was. That would explain the more eccentric Sinclairs who sometimes led her to believe she’d fallen into an episode of a TV sitcom.
When she considered some of her other family members, one catty, obnoxious blonde wasn’t too surprising. The only surprising part was that Denise was Celeste’s older sister. Ruthie’s younger cousin, the bride, was real sugar to Denise’s saccharine, real class to her sister’s pretension.
Ruthie had nailed Denise’s real character years ago, when her cousin had accidentally dropped a big wad of bubble gum in Ruthie’s hair. In the middle of the night. When she was supposed to be sleeping in another cabin at their summer camp. Ruthie had spent that year looking like the freckle-faced kid on the Cracker Jack box, short red hair and all. Then there was the time Denise had locked Ruthie in a freight elevator. And the time Denise had put toothpaste in Ruthie’s bottle of peppermint foot lotion.
And today. Ruthie glanced down and grimaced as she once again beheld how hideous she looked. Yes, she would be willing to bet Denise had a hand in today’s debacle: a bridal-shop error that had landed her in what had to be the butt-ugliest bridesmaid dress in the annals of wedding history.
“Maybe if you catch it twice in a row, Bobby will get the hint,” Denise said, a note of amused malice in her voice.
Celeste walked up and overheard her sister’s comment. “As if Bobby needs any hints about how wonderful Ruthie is! Denise, you’d better check your makeup, your green is showing through.”
Denise smirked, then walked away. Ruthie’s frown deepened. “I’ve come to the conclusion that Bobby doesn’t take hints very well. I’ve all but popped out of a cake in a G-string and pasties and he still hasn’t….” Ruthie caught a glimpse of the minister in the front of the church
