The Personal Touch. Lori Borrill
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She caressed him all over with her hands…
Taking in the smooth feel of Clint’s skin, Margot wanted to touch and taste and lick and suck every sweet morsel. The simple touch wasn’t enough. Nothing seemed like enough as she tried to absorb every sensation she could.
His fingers came around the left strap of her thong and in one quick yank he snapped it off as though it were nothing. He tossed it over his shoulder and worked his way down.
“You drive me wild,” he said, before digging his teeth into the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh. Then his tongue darted from between his lips and…
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Dear Reader,
After writing several books featuring deliciously dark and wounded heroes, I was aching to write a romance involving a fun and flirty playboy. Thus Clint Hilton was born. He’s rich. He’s funny. He’s gorgeous, and he’s got the world at his fingertips. Now all he needs is a nice, sensible woman to round out his good fortune. And when he hires matchmaker Margot Roth to find a date for his mother, that’s exactly what he gets.
While I enjoyed writing this fun and flirty couple, one of my favorite aspects of this book was the many secondary characters I was able to include. I have the overbearing mother, a young and irresponsible college frat boy and the lively best friend, who brings with her a culture of warm family and big hearts. Throw in a few lovelorn clients who have romance troubles of their own and you’ve got a group of people who unwittingly conspire to bring this couple together.
I hope you enjoy the book as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please drop me a note at www.LoriBorrill.com and tell me what you think of it.
Happy reading!
Lori Borrill
The Personal Touch
LORI BORRILL
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
An Oregon native, Lori Borrill moved to the Bay Area just out of high school and has been a transplanted Californian ever since. Her weekdays are spent at the insurance company where she’s been employed for more than twenty years, and she credits her writing career to the unending help and support she receives from her husband and real-life hero. When not sitting in front of a computer, she can usually be found at the Little League fields playing proud parent to their son. She’d love to hear from readers, and can be reached through her Web site at www.LoriBorrill.com.
Books by Lori Borrill
HARLEQUIN BLAZE
308—PRIVATE CONFESSIONS
344—UNDERNEATH IT ALL*
392—PUTTING IT TO THE TEST
430—UNLEASHED
To Elle Kennedy and Tracy Wolff.
Writers need friends, and you two are the best.
To Wanda, the sweetest one
in our crazy bunch.
For Al and Tommy
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
Epilogue
1
WHEN THE FASHION industry’s hottest cover model flashed her signature do-me smile and stepped out of her black silk dress, Clint Hilton decided this was one sultry beauty that had definitely been worth waiting for.
If you could call three weeks a wait.
In Clint’s book of sexual conquests, it was a millennium. A week more than he’d waited for any other woman and as long as he’d gone without sex in recent memory. But ever since the two had met in Vegas last month, he’d wanted a taste of this dish. And when she’d said she was leaving for Milan that night, she’d asked him for the one thing that trumped his need for fast and frequent flings.
She’d asked him to make a promise. Wait for her to get back from her trip.
Only three tiny little weeks. Her in Italy shooting perfume ads and him in Los Angeles, cooling his cock in the Pacific Ocean while he tried to remember how he let a woman put his sex life on hold.
He couldn’t recall what had made him agree. Maybe it was the barely-there dress she’d worn that night. More likely the look in her eye that said she was worth it. But nonetheless, he’d honored his word. He had to. It was one of the few things he cherished more than having a good time.
She stepped to the edge of the pool, nothing covering that caramel skin except for the lacy red thong that topped her long, slender legs. Behind her, the view over West Hollywood nearly stretched to the ocean on this exceptionally clear night. But though he loved to relax on his terrace, tonight wouldn’t be spent gazing at the city below. Tonight was payback time. Three long weeks of celibacy ending by the graces of one tall, stunning cover model named Rachelle.
No last name. “Just Rachelle,” she’d said.
Damn, if that wasn’t sexy.
With that smoky look holding promise in her eyes, she tossed the last of her clothes, flung her hands over her head and dove into the pool. Her slender form moved fluidly through the water, inching toward him like a shark coming in for the kill. And as she neared, she stroked her hands up his legs and trailed her tongue along his shaft, breaking through the surface in a series of slippery kisses that hardened his cock and weakened his knees.
Their mouths met hot and deep, like they had back in Vegas, and he sucked in the scent of chlorine and expensive perfume. Her lips still held the essence of the Cosmopolitan she’d left on the terrace, and while her tongue did a number on his senses, she coiled her legs around his thighs and began to grind against his erection. It nearly broke him in half. He was too ready for this night. And as if to torture him more, she broke the kiss to whisper all the things she planned to do with him.
Sexy