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Leslie Kelly
When I was asked to write a story for a December Blaze collection, I was picturing snowflakes, jingling bells and Santa. What fun, therefore, to get to write a super-sizzling story set in a steamy island paradise! Who doesn’t dream about escaping the winter blues with a decadent fun-in-the-sun vacation? Throw in a private yacht and a destination cruise, and it sounds like the dream getaway.
Unless, of course, you’re the maid of honor and the bride is your recently widowed mom. Oh, and if the best man is your ex-lover who obviously didn’t care much about you because he dropped off the face of the earth a year ago.
Nathan and Heather’s story was such fun to write. I loved the fantasy aspect of a typical girl getting involved with a star athlete, not to mention the wedding cruise in the Caribbean. Aren’t you picturing lying on a warm, sunny beach somewhere?
I hope you enjoy Addicted to You—and that your winter might bring a few warm, unexpected surprises.
Best wishes,
Leslie Kelly
To my editor, Adrienne Macintosh. Thank you for your enthusiastic support!
BEFORE THIS WEEK, Heather Hughes had considered multiple orgasms to be a fantasy that very few people believed in, much less experienced. Like the tooth fairy, or love at first sight, or fat-free salad dressing that actually tasted good.
She’d been wrong. Oh, so wrong.
“I think I’m going to need a defibrillator,” she managed to mutter between harsh breaths. She collapsed onto a silky pile of sheets and pillows, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. Every bone in her body seemed to have melted away, along with all her strength. The wild sex-against-the-wall had been both incredibly pleasurable and aerobically challenging. The only things she could move now were her lips, which curled up into a well-satisfied smile. “Will you resuscitate me?”
“How about I do mouth-to-mouth?” Nathan asked, falling beside her, his hand finding hers in the rumpled sheets.
“I’m pretty sure you already have. A lot.”
“Are you complaining?” he asked with a confident, masculine chuckle, already knowing the answer.
“Most definitely not.”
God, no. Nate Watson was hands-down the best kisser she’d ever met. Best lover, too. Best looking. Smartest. Sexiest. Funniest. He was, without a doubt, the perfect man.
Hard to believe she’d only known him for seventy-two hours.
When she’d set out for a long girls’ weekend getaway in Vegas, she’d never dreamed she’d meet someone so amazing. She’d certainly never expected him to ask her to extend her trip so they could spend more time together.
She’d refused at first, having responsibilities at home. She ran a shop right on the plaza in Santa Fe and seldom took vacation. But her two best friends had cheered her on, urging her to go for it, saying every woman should grab at least one wild adventure with a guy most only dreamed of meeting. She knew they were right. So once they’d promised not to tell anyone she was staying longer so she could get her freak on with a stranger she’d met at the craps tables, she’d said yes.
Heather had never done anything so wild and reckless in her life. Being the nice, reliable, bleeding-heart owner of an art gallery, she was far more the type you’d expect to run off to join the Peace Corps than to shack up with some guy. Yet here she was. And, frankly, she’d never been happier.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me today?” he asked. “Free food.”
“No, I don’t think so,” she said, slowly shaking her head, capable of no more movement than that. “I need to float in the pool and recuperate.”
“From?”
“From you.”
“From us, you mean,” he said, nuzzling her throat. The sensation of his slightly stubbled jaw against her skin made her quiver with helpless appreciation. God, she loved the feel of this man, the taste of him, the power of him.
But she hadn’t been joking. They’d made love so often, in so many exciting, wild ways, that she figured she should remain motionless for hours, just to regain her strength.
“You go do your being famous stuff, and I’ll just nap.”
He laughed softly. “You still don’t believe I’m famous?”
She hadn’t, at first, being someone who paid absolutely no attention to any kind of sports. So of course she had not recognized the championship-winning quarterback, or ever even heard of his name, not until he’d told her last night.
“I believe you,” she admitted. “The way women fall over you was a tipoff.” Though, of course, his incredible looks—thick, dark hair; dreamy brown eyes; powerful, rock-hard body—could also have explained that. “And the gushing casino owners were, too.” Though, of course, his obvious wealth could have had something to do with that. “But there’s really no other way to explain that group of college guys who tried to carry you across the lobby last night, unless you’re the world’s oldest frat pledge or your tastes are a whole lot more varied than you’ve let on.”
He
