My ex won’t accept that it’s over. He showed up at my divorce-cation in New Orleans at a masquerade ball. Lucky for me, a tall, debonair man in a mask rescued me and swept me away. It. Was. Phenomenal. And yeah, I had a one-night stand. And I’d do it again.
Back in the real world, the ex persists. And while I’m a woman who believes in saving herself, I was relieved when his sexy colleague Griffin jumped in and implied that we were dating to get the jerk to bug off. Of course, now we have to pretend to be dating.
Griffin is the least likely match for me. He’s grumpy and serious. But very. VERY. Hot. And he reminds me of a certain man I met in New Orleans…
Now I’m not sure if we’re faking it, or if the feelings are real, but I see that Griffin is nothing like I thought. And even though he doesn’t want to chat about pleasure augmentation devices with me, he knows how to use them.
But where there’s silicone, there’s scandal. What I didn’t anticipate was that Griffin’s got some scandals of his own.
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Excerpt
The guest room Sierra takes me to after dinner faces the master bedroom. The only thing separating us is the hall. And the doors, of course.
It makes sense. If her ex-husband decides to break into the place, I’ll be right here. I don’t think he’s quite that deranged, but then, I didn’t think he had it in him to show up at Sierra’s place drunk, so anything’s possible.
“This is the biggest room, other than mine,” she says, gesturing me in. “You have your own bathroom. It has a tub and a separate shower stall. Fully stocked with body wash and shampoo. I can give you conditioner if you need it. Towels are in there, too. If you need anything else, let me know. You can explore the rest of the house later. There isn’t much except for three rooms on this floor, downstairs, which you already saw, and the basement which you can look at tomorrow. Mi casa es su casa and all that.”
“Okay.” I stop at the sight of the bed. It’s king-size, which is fine, but… “Pink sheets?”
She looks at them. “Fuchsia.”
“Pink.”
“No. They’re fuchsia. Very different. And brand new. Nobody’s ever slept on the bed or the sheets,” she adds, like somehow that makes it better.
It doesn’t. And for some reason, this room, too, smells like apple. Like her.
“Did you spray the place with air freshener?” I ask, breathing shallowly. I’m going to become positively Pavlovian over this damn scent.
She frowns. “I don’t use air freshener. Why? Are you allergic to something in the room? Are you having a reaction?”
She sounds almost too eager as she asks. Does she want me to keel over?
It is possible, I decide. A woman this chirpy and happy must have a dark side nobody knows about to counterbalance all that brightness.
“I have some antihistamine,” she offers, looking up at me helpfully. Like a puppy waiting to be praised. And loved.
My heart feels weird. F*ck. Me. I better not be having a heart attack in a house that smells like apple and a woman who’s driving me crazy with her smile.
“I’m not allergic,” I say, before she decides to order an EpiPen over the Internet. “I just thought the place smells…” Like you. Hot. Sexy. Fresh. Makes me horny. “Funky,” I say, blurting out the first antonym that snaps into my head for what I’ve been thinking.
She looks horrified. “Funky?” She walks around, sniffing. Finally, she stops at the foot of the bed. “I don’t smell anything except fabric softener.”
“You’ve been here for too long. Your nose becomes numb to the scent.” I’d rather drink bleach than tell her I’m feeling horny over the infernal apple scent.
“You’ve been here for a while too. So how come you can smell it?”
“An exceptional nose,” I tell her. “If I were a dog, I would’ve been a bloodhound.”
“Hmm.” She looks skeptical. “Well, if the smell bothers you that much, you can open the windows. Actually, let’s just do that right now. Air the room out a little.” She pushes the curtains—which are in a shade in between purple and pink—aside and opens the windows. “There. That should do it. Now, do you need anything else? Other than an air freshener?”
“No.”
“At least it’s just funky, not skunky,” she jokes.
Is that supposed to make me feel better?
“Good night. And thanks for staying here.” She flashes a sweet smile, then leaves.
The second she closes the door behind her, the room feels empty. I exhale, trying to gain a logical perspective on the situation. My own bedroom is twice as large as this one. There’s no reason to feel so…alone.
I brush my teeth, change into a pair of boxers and slide under the sheets, clicking the bedside lamp off. I put my nose in the sheets and inhale. She must use apple-scented fabric softener, because I can still smell that damned fruit. Just like her shampoo.
At least nothing here smells like silicone d*cks.
My mind doesn’t do pep talks very well.
Right now, I’d rather smell rubbery silicone. The smell of the apple is driving me crazy. I keep thinking about how Sierra looked yesterday in that dress that showed off the sensual lines of her arms and legs.
And was she wearing a bra when we were having dinner downstairs?
Cut that out, I order my unruly mind. There was nothing to see.
Only because the shirt was big. She probably wasn’t wearing a bra. If it were tighter, her nipples would’ve shown through the fabric.
Argh. I turn over and force myself to count sheep.
By the time I reach two hundred and thirty-seven, I give up. It’s no use. Every time I shift and my bare skin touches the sheets, my nerve endings prickle, and my blood heats. My d*ck is painfully hard.
No number of sheep is going to help that.
There’s supposedly this powdered aphrodisiac that’s absorbed through the skin. When you want to seduce somebody, you just find some way to get it on the other person’s body.
Noah told me that after spending some time in a Southeast Asian jungle. He likes to talk about all sorts of asinine things he’s seen and heard after trips he takes to photograph wildlife. There’s no way there’s powdered aphrodisiac sprinkled on the sheets.
Then why are you hard for no reason?
I sigh and run a hand over the sheets. Nothing.
Could be super-fine powder…
I bury my face in the sheets and inhale. If there’s powder, I’ll cough.
But nope. Nothing. I can breathe fine.
However, powdered aphrodisiac or no, the fact that I have a throbbing erection doesn’t change. I know I’m not getting any sleep until I do something about it.
The solution is simple. Jerk off real fast, then roll over and go to sleep. I’ve done it many times before. Just not in a girl’s room that smells like apple p*rn.
I push a hand under the sheets, fist my shaft and move up and down mechanically, the way I always do when I need a quick release.
The expected pleasure builds, but it’s flat. There’s no buildup, no swelling that’s going to push me over the edge. Now it’s worse because my d*ck’s harder, pulsing rapidly, but it isn’t going to let me come.
I raise my head off the pillow and glare at my d*ck in the dark. Just how picky are you?
My p*nis stays silent, but it twitches once. It feels like, F*ck you.
Bastard.
I drop my head back on the pillow and close my eyes, hand still around my c*ck. It shows no sign of settling down. The scent of apple is stronger, and my crotch is throbbing so badly, it’s painful.
Although I’ve been resisting the idea, I know exactly what I need.
About Nadia New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Nadia Lee writes sexy, emotional contemporary romance. Born with a love for excellent food, travel and adventure, she has lived in four different countries, kissed stingrays, been bitten by a shark, fed an elephant and petted tigers.
Currently, she shares a condo overlooking a small river and sakura trees in Japan with her husband and son. When she's not writing, she can be found reading books by her favorite authors or planning another trip.
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