Nobody Does It Better. Julie Kenner
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She wanted more
“Please…” Paris could manage only one word, but that was all it took. He pulled her to him and his mouth claimed hers, his tongue challenging hers in the timeless battle of male against female, lust against desire. She writhed against him, wanting a satisfaction his kisses alone wouldn’t bring.
He released his claim on her mouth. “You’re killing me. I can’t keep kissing you, touching you, and not be deep inside you.” His voice was raw with desire. “Paris, what do you want?”
Her eyes locked with his, knowing that if he could see into her heart, he would see the passion. For years, she’d only known adventure through her books. For one night, she wanted to live that adventure. With him. With Alexander.
“You,” she whispered. “Tonight, I want you.” Maybe it was crazy, but tonight, with a desperation she’d never felt before, she wanted him inside her. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t really be Alexander. Hadn’t he told her that, just for tonight, he was? And he had to be…
He had to be her dream man. After all, who besides Alexander could make her feel this way?
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Nobody Does it Better
J. Kenner
J. KENNER has always loved stories—reading them, watching them on television and on the silver screen, and making them up herself. She studied film before attending law school, but knew that her real vocation lay in writing the kind of books she loves to read. She lives in Texas with her husband, two daughters and several cats.
This book is dedicated to all the people who provided that little bit of magic it takes to coax a story to make the leap from imagination to paper. Especially my husband, Don, for being there, and my mum, Anna, for everything. Extra thanks to Kathleen, for her support and input every step of the way, and for indulging my caffeine addiction in the process. Latte, anyone? To Dee, for joining us and rounding out one heck of a group. And to my wonderful editor, Brenda Chin, whose support and encouragement have meant so much. Thanks for never letting me doubt it would happen, and for bringing me into the Mills & Boon® family.
Contents
1
“YOU NEED A MAN.”
“Rachel!” Paris Sommers choked on her wine and scrunched lower into the booth. She would have preferred a quiet slide into oblivion, but since that wasn’t possible, poor posture would have to suffice.
“I’m serious,” Rachel continued. “All we need to do is find you an able-bodied male. You use him for one night. Bingo. Problem solved. Just pick one, already.”
Paris scanned the dimly lit Irish pub nestled in the heart of Manhattan. Thankfully, most of the patrons seemed uninterested, studying their pints instead. Some looked up, but then laconically turned away. Only a nearby waiter seemed even the slightest bit intrigued, and Paris caught his eye before he turned back to gathering dirty glasses from an adjacent table.
Pulling herself up, Paris leaned over the polished tabletop until she was nose to nose with Rachel. “Let’s lay off the men talk, okay?” She cast a meaningful glance toward the waiter. “People might misunderstand.”
“Afraid he’ll think you’re looking to get laid?”
“Stop it,” hissed Paris, knowing he must have overheard. Sure enough, his head tilted just a little so he could watch them. Despite the shadows, Paris swore she saw the hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as he moved away to wipe down another table.
The muted lighting prevented her from getting a good look at him, but what she could see, she liked. Strong features, a nice smile and just a hint of charisma. Well, that figured. A gorgeous guy looks her way and she’s having a ridiculous conversation about getting laid.
She frowned. Rachel Dean might have been her best friend since kindergarten, and her literary agent for the past six years, but she could still be a royal pain.
“Come on, Paris. Half your characters parade around in tiny bikinis on the arms of virile government agents. You’d think I could say ‘laid’ without you blushing.”
“That’s why they call it fiction.”
“Yet another reason you really do need a man.”
“Unlike some people, I have standards.”
Rachel pointed to herself and raised her eyebrows. “Moi? I have standards. Male. That’s a standard.”
Paris rolled her eyes. Rachel might not be a saint, but she was still a far cry from the sophisticated, experienced vixen she tried so hard to appear to be. “Maybe so, but the mere existence of a Y-chromosome doesn’t do it for me.” She wanted more. A lot more.
“No. You want Alexander. What would you do if he walked through that door? You’d jump him and have your wicked way with him right in front of us law-abiding bar patrons.”
Paris felt the telltale warmth of a blush creep up the back of her neck. Rachel knew her far too well.
“Au contraire, my friend,” she said, trying to cover. “I’m much too refined.” She pushed her hair out of her eyes and smiled sweetly. “The floor’s way too hard.”
Rachel downed the last of her beer. “Got news for you, kiddo. It ain’t gonna happen. And meantime, your diaphragm’s collecting cobwebs.”
“Of course it’s not happening, because I am not waiting for Alexander,” Paris insisted, adding a little extra emphasis, more for herself than for Rachel. Hadn’t she told herself over and over to let go of the fantasy that someone as delicious as Alexander would suddenly sweep her off her feet?
Trouble was, Alexander was a rare breed, a hard man to give up. Sophisticated, yet witty. Cold as steel