Taste of Lacey

In this sensual interracial romance, when friends become lovers, desires are discovered and then explored...over and over again.

 

Can Lacey trust her heart to Rye, a known womanizer? Or should she listen to the naysayers who warn that he can never be a one woman man?

 

Now also available in paperback, click below:

 

 

Loose-Id.com

Jax has no Doubts...

“Are you sure you don’t need a drink? Not everybody can handle my family without having something to dull the senses.”

Jax laughed and shook his head. “They can’t be any worse than my dad. And no alcohol for me; Hank Hawthorne drinks enough for all of us.”

Mila took a weary breath and placed her hand on her mother’s front doorknob. “Last chance. You ready?”

Standing behind her, Jax wrapped his arms around her waist and dropped a kiss on the sensitive curve of her neck. The small brush of his lips made her tingle. “You gonna let me at least get to third base tonight to soothe my ego if it gets trampled?”

She turned to face him, giving a quick nod.

“Then let the bashing begin.”

Mila sent up a prayer for the safety of her boyfriend, boyfriend, and opened the door. They’d decided on the term last week at dinner. Now her family’s potential reaction sent her stress level to the ceiling. She led him straight to the kitchen. The second she laid eyes on her mother’s petite form, Mila’s anxiety decreased to a manageable level.

“Hi Mom.” Mila couldn’t help the big grin consuming her face. She bent and hugged her mother.

“Hi, honey,” her mother’s husky voice was full of warmth. As always, it soothed Mila’s rattled nerves.

“Mom, this is Jaxon Hawthorne. My boyfriend.” She stepped beside him and wrapped her arm around his lean waist. “Jax, my mother, Asha Vincent.”

“It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Vincent.”

Her mother wiped her hands on a dishtowel as she studied Jax from head to toe. Not a hint of smile adorned her smooth honey-brown face. Mila’s breath hung in her throat as her heart thumped an out of rhythm staccato. Her mother knew Mila was seeing Jax, but not that he was white. Mila hoped the omission wouldn’t bite her in the ass.

Finally, her mother dropped the towel on the countertop before crossing her arms over her generous bosom, a feature she hadn’t passed along to either of her daughters.

“Jax, have you ever been married?” her mom asked, her beautiful face devoid of expression.

“No ma’am.”

“Do you have any children?”

“None that I’m aware of, ma’am.”

“Do you have a job?”

Jax gave a little husky laugh. “Yes ma’am.”

Her mother was quiet for another moment. “If all that’s true, I’d say somebody raised you right.” She turned toward the granite island and picked up a hulking bowl of baked beans. “Take this to the serving table. After my brother says grace, Mila will fix you a plate and you two will sit next to me.”

Mila’s heart started beating at regular speed again as Jax took the container. He made it through the first round. Her relief was almost tangible as she watched him walk toward the door in his long, lust-invoking stride.

“And Jax?” He paused and turned to face her mother. “I don’t care what color your skin is. Around here it just has to be thick.”

He nodded and gave a look that screamed confidence and a bit of arrogance.

“Mrs. Vincent, I have no doubt I can handle anything that comes my way.”

Mila couldn’t control the little whimper that escaped her throat, or the fact that her panties were now damp. His response was the sexiest thing she’d ever heard. If he kept this up, he wouldn’t have to worry about third base; he might be in homerun territory.

Conversation between Lena Bishop and Kyle Bishop...

“We’re almost ready,” his mother said in a singsong voice. “Everybody’s here who is supposed to be, and we’re right on time. Kyle, can you seat Mother at the dining room table please?” She called as she passed by after taking the tray out of the huge stainless steel refrigerator.

Propped in the pantry doorway, Kyle didn’t immediately respond, even after his mom paused and looked at him with narrowed eyes.

“I know you heard me, now I need you to put the words into action,” she said.

“Yes ma’am,” Kyle muttered but he still didn’t move. He was hung over and still in a state of shock about Rye and Lacey, which made it unsettling to move. He’d had the whole night and a tortuous two hours during church service to consider the concept, he was still mad as hell. Rye was his best friend, but he was also the same man who’d had so much pussy his dick should have its own area code.

He questioned how Lacey could look past Rye’s history with so many women. Hell, he’d seen Rye in action too many times to count and she had too. In fact he and Rye often went out together and did what they needed to do with plenty of willing females. It was amazing to watch unfold. An attractive woman would catch Rye’s eye, he’d flash that lopsided smile and bam, the lady opened her legs, mouth or any damn other orifice that Rye wanted for as long as he wanted. Then he walked away before doing it all over again with someone else. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Now Lacey, his sister, the last person he expected to fall under Rye’s spell had been added to the long list of conquered women. The mothafucker.

“Kyle Bishop. What is wrong with you? Move it!” His mother shrilled. Kyle, ignoring her rave, decided to enlist the troops for the cause. There was no way he was going to let his sister be used. They were the only ones in the spacious kitchen, but he pulled his mother into the pantry, pan of bruschetta and all, and closed the door.

 

****

“Son, have you lost your mind?” Lena stared at her oldest child like he had grown three heads. Didn’t he know they were only ten minutes from show time? Her Sunday brunches were famous for being beautiful and filling while harmonious. Not once had they started behind schedule. People were waiting and she was not going to break her streak. If her child had flipped, she’d have to get him some psychiatric help, but much later, after lunch.

“Whatever is going on in your head had better be explained quickly.”

“Did you know about Lacey and Rye?”

Lena paused, but kept her expression neutral. Yes she knew, and was livid about it, but she couldn’t deal with that little issue right now. Once again her middle child had thrown her for a loop with her latest act of defiance. Of course it hurt that Lacey hadn’t shared the news with her own mother first hand, but that was to be expected. That child knew how to keep he mouth closed until the last possible moment about news that could shake someone to the core. ‘I'm not going to Spelman. I'm not getting married. I'm not going into real estate. I'm going to be a cook, chef,’ whatever, Lena was always the last to know. When was Lacey going to learn that different wasn’t always better?

And her dear husband had been just as devious in the way he’d made the announcement. Just as dawn was breaking, he’d made fierce love to her, had really given it to her good and just as her trembling subsided he broke the news about Lacey and Rye. Of course she’d hit the ceiling—in fact had lost her religion for a few minutes as she ranted and raved about her child carrying on with a white boy. Never mind that Rye was loved by them all and practically a member of the family.  Because she wasn’t given the chance to intervene, her baby was going to be subjected to a life of ridicule and misery, and she simply would not stand for it.

She immediately reached for her cell phone where Lacey’s number was programmed. When she realized the phone was nowhere to be found, she marched stark naked to her home office, pulled out her old-fashioned rolodex and reached for the house phone to call Lacey and to give her a piece of her mind. Then she realized the handset was gone. She raced to every room in the house where an outlet extension was supposed to be to find not a single one. That rotten snake of a husband, knowing her so well, had removed all of the phones from the house.  Not to be outdone, she took a quick shower and dressed with the intent of driving to Lacey’s house. When she went to grab her keys from the crystal bowl in the hallway, they were gone. As were all the keys to every vehicle that she and her husband owned. Even the spare sets in the safe had been confiscated.

All the while her husband sat at the breakfast table reading the paper without saying a word as she ran around the house like a crazy person. When she realized she couldn’t call anybody, couldn’t go anywhere, she got ready for church and sat on the living room sofa. There she waited for John to take her to the early service they always attended on second Sundays so that she could come back and prepare dinner. Not a word was spoken until she reached her regular pew with a pasted on a smile for the other parishioners. For John she had a snarl. On the way back home, the only words spoken came from him when he said “leave it alone, Lena.”

After church, she’d donned an apron and started laying out her feast, forced to put her child’s betrayal on the backburner while she entertained a more than a dozen people. She could do no less, because it was expected of her, and she would deliver. Even if at this moment Kyle had her trapped in the pantry.

“I heard about the happy couple this morning,” Lena confirmed. “How long have you known about it?”

“Just found out last night. Even when he told me I didn’t believe that bastard until I saw it with my own eyes. I wanted to tear his arm out of the socket for touching her. Do you know how many women his hands have been on?”

Remembering John’s warning, Lena decided to play it safe for the time being. She had people to feed. “Actually I don’t want to know, and I don’t have time for this right now. Open the door.”

Kyle frowned at her calm words. “You’re okay with them being together?”

Lena pursed her lips in frustration at her otherwise smart child. “Kyle Bishop, I do not have time for this. Now kindly open the door, see to your grandmother like I told you. Keep it together until all of our guests have left. Do you understand me?”

Instead of answering, Kyle scowled and pulled open the door. Lena closed her eyes and said the prayer she’d been too angry to voice during service this morning and made her way to the dining room with a dazzling smile.

She’d already decided she would punish her husband and well for keeping her in the dark about Lacey and Rye. It would be at least a month until John even got a peak at her woman bits. If she could hold out until then.

Getting back to my passion...

Hello all,

I've missed each of you!

No, I didn't hitch a ride on that satellite to Mars...I was right here on Earth determined to slay dragons and defeat a beast.

As many of you know, I am a breast cancer survivor. Well, I just had another go 'round against that son of a @!#$. I started having problems this past fall, but didn't recognize the symptoms right off. In my teeny little mind, after twelve years I was well beyond worrying about such a pesky opponent.

I was wrong.

After a routine mammogram, I was diagnosed with an invasive, aggressive carcinoma. Since then, I've been in an all-out war. Doctor appointments. Tests. Hospitals. Treatments. A radical mastectomy. I'm still recovering but out of the woods.

It's been a rough road, but I'm approaching a sweet spot because you helped me through. Each email, message, thought and prayer gave me strength. Your interest kept characters alive in my head, and I cannot wait to share their voices with you.

Thank you for caring.

Thank you for being patient.

Thank you for inspiring me.

Do me a favor, though. Please perform your monthly self-breast check. Please schedule and keep appointments for your mammograms. This simple routine saved my life...again.

Looking forward,

Linden

Jax, Jax, Jax...

Unedited Excerpt...For Mature Audiences Only

“I knew you’d be fierce,” he rasped as he swept his hand up and down her back, stopping just short of the curve of her behind. Mercy, it felt so good.

Jax slanted his mouth over hers and claimed her tongue like a hungry shark at feeding time. Damn, he was potent. At some point she latched her hands onto his shoulders before weaving her fingers through his thick, dark hair. It was so short it didn’t even cover her digits, but touching the silky stands was a sensual act in itself. Every atom of her femininity demanded she get next to this man, this stranger who seemed to have some magnetic pull over her. She didn’t have a choice. Of their own accord, her stiletto-encased feet carried her toward him.

“More. I need more,” he said in a husky command.

A breathy moan left her lips when he licked the artery pulsing wildly just below her ear, following it down her neck to her shoulder blade. At the same time, his large palms cupped both her butt cheeks and pulled her flush against his hard length. Oh, the heat. The fire he generated over her entire body was so intense the emerald green gown she wore mimicked the texture of rope fiber instead of fine silk. He pushed the bodice aside to expose her hard-tipped breast to the cool night air. The relief was immediate. The flames returned ten-fold though when he latched his lips onto her puckered nipple and sucked.

“Oh, God,” she choked out. She grabbed the back of his head and pushed her chest forward until his mouth widened over her entire sensitive mound. Not a single thought was given to the possibility that someone could happen upon them in such an intimate embrace. With every deep pull of his mouth, a corresponding blast of pleasure worked through her core, making her throb. When he ground his hard length against her center, moisture saturated her miniscule panties.

“I knew you’d feel amazing,” he moaned between licks and soft bites against her rigid crest. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Mila’s eyes popped open and she pushed against Jax’s shoulders with both hands.

“Get out of here? And go where?” Her breath came in spurts and her head was packed with cotton but she wasn’t so far gone she didn’t have any common sense.

Jax frowned as he looked down at her. His mouth was so plump and sexy after their kiss she longed to feel it again, but now wasn’t the time.

“My place, yours, a hotel, I don’t care. Anywhere we can finish this.”

Mila stepped out of his arms and propped her hands on her hips. “Let me get this straight. You actually think I’m giving you some pussy tonight and I just met you all of three seconds ago?”

Focus

According to Merriam-Webster, the definition of 'FOCUS'-

fo·cus

ˈfōkəs/

noun

noun: focus; plural noun: foci; plural noun: focuses

1. 1.

   the center of interest or activity.

   "this generation has made the environment a focus of attention"

   synonyms:

   center, focal point, central point, center of attention, hub, pivot, nucleus, heart, core, cornerstone, linchpin, cynosure More "schools are a focus of community life"

I have quieted many of the ever-present voices in my head constantly clamoring for attention. I've even chastised the more aggressive ones (they capitulated, by the way). I have defined my goal, narrowed my creative energies, and called on my muse. I've embraced ideas from supporters, and having absorbed lessons from critics, prepared my tools for battle.

I am now FOCUSED on Jax and Mila-"I Do...Unless I Don't", in tune with them to the exclusion of all others. This wonderful couple now solely commands my attention. When I'm done, hopefully you too will want to focus on them...

In the meantime, please let me hear from you: lindenhughes@gmail.com.

Linden

From the Cutting Room Floor 5

More conversation between Rye's Parents (At their house after Rye found out about Lacey's date)

“Does your son know it’s the middle of summer,” Emily Ann asked absently as she tried once again to curl a stubborn sliver of chocolate into a flower petal. When it broke into several tiny pieces, she threw up her hands, her frustration obvious.

“Why don’t you take a break and try again later? You’ve been working on that one section for an hour,” Jackson advised gruffly, looking over the top of his newspaper.

He and Emily Ann were in the kitchen, him at the breakfast table, her at the granite-topped island, both periodically peering out the picture window at Rye in the backyard. His son, donned only in an old pair of old basketball shorts, was chopping his second cord of firewood of the day. It didn’t seem to matter that it was early June. Sunday after returning from their visit with Jensen in New York, they’d discovered Rye holed-up in the woodworking shop. Today was Tuesday, and Rye hadn’t once ventured over to spend any time with them. Emily Ann was about to drive him insane with her worrying.

This morning for his daily walk he just happened to end up next door, spotting John gathering vegetables from the garden. As Jackson had suspected, John relayed there had been some friction with Rye and Lacey on Sunday. Enough said. His son had woman problems.

“Are you going to talk to him?” Emily Ann asked for the hundredth time as she agonized over the instruction sheet for the curling set. “I don’t understand why I have to keep prodding you to check on your own child. I would talk to him myself but obviously it’s not something he needs his mother for.”

Jackson sighed and turned the page of his paper. “He’s a man, Emily Ann. Sometimes you have to let a man work things out in his own time,” Jackson muttered even as he cast another concerned glance at his son.

“Yes, and I know a man who’ll have to work some things out all by himself, too, unless he checks on my baby,” Emily Ann said, sending a pointed look at his crotch. Then she returned to studying the instructions laid out in front of her, as if she hadn’t just brought out the biggest gun she owned and aimed it at him.

Suddenly, as if he was on fire, Jackson walked out the patio door to the backyard. As he walked, he shook his head and berated the weakness of his flesh, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

Writing Process Blog Tour

I got tagged by the phenomonal Nia Forrester, author of prolific works ‘Afterwards’ and ‘Afterburn’, to take part in a blog tour of authors, discussing their “writing process”. Here goes:

What am I working on?

Currently, my main focus is my second release, ‘I Do…Unless I Don’t’. The full-length novel follows Mila Vincent, a former supermodel set to marry her unexpected love, Jaxon “Jax” Hawthorne—that is, if he can keep his rogue father in check.

 

I’m also working on another stand-alone novel, ‘Unraveled’, which follows the emotional journey of Jace and Jasmine. The bond between the pair seems solid…unshakeable, until it’s dismantled—one layer of deceit at a time.

As soon as those two novels are finished I will begin a stand-alone offering based on a supporting character from my debut novel, Taste of Lacey. A reader contest will determine who will get her book first, Lisa or Monica.

How does my work differ from others of its genre?

I’m so new to writing that I haven’t quite defined my ‘style’ yet. I love a mix of romance combined with a hint of intrigue, a heaping of sexiness, and bit of multi-cultural spice. I’m probably a little different from others because I throw all those ingredients in at the same time. I also try to incorporate ethnic differences in a manner that is not stereotypical, but in a way that adds complexity to the characters.

Why do I write what I do?

I write what feels good, and right now, that is unequivocally romance—specifically interracial romance. The looks, the sighs, the touches, and all the subtleties of falling in love fascinate me.  I love happy endings, though I throw in a few bumps and bruises getting there. The majority of the conflict my characters face is internal in nature, so there’s a lot of pressure to make it believable. Very rarely will I incorporate suspense or mystery into my books. My goal is to open windows or doors that gives readers a view of the intimate side of adult relationships.

 

How does my writing process work?

There is no rhyme to my reason. I am constantly writing, though not every idea lands on paper. I am the most creative when I’m driving and listening to my favorite playlists. I’ve been known to complete a scene on the back of an envelope after I’ve left the post office! I can pen as much as 10K words a day or zero, depending on whether my muse graces me with her presence. I get frustrated because I cannot write a short story to save my life; I cut almost 30K words from my first novel, Taste of lacey. Also, I cannot write out of sequence, which makes my process tedious and slow at times. I’m most productive when I work on several projects at once—probably not the best method, but it works for me.

Now that you know the method to my madness, please check out my picks for the blog tour:

Leila Lacey, author of the dynamic ‘Dr. Black’s Patient’ and new releases, ‘Southern Charm’ and 'Love on the Islands'.

Blake Haugen, author of the bestselling ‘Full Circle Trilogy’.

I’ve read and enjoyed both these authors’ works, and I’m sure you will, too! Happy Reading!

Linden

From the Cutting Room Floor 4

Proceed With Caution, For Mature Readers Only!

“God, I must look a hot mess,” Lacey croaked, reaching up to smooth her wild mane of  hair. If they kept this up, Rye would have to get better acquainted with her wrapping scarf that she could not do without.

“You look beautiful,” Rye mumbled, nipping softly at the curve of her shoulder as he worked his hand between her thighs.

“Umm, you do this every time. You know I have to go,” she protested even as she wiggled her bottom against his growing erection. “Since you kidnapped me last night you’ve got to take me to my house so I can change clothes and get my car.”

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Rye rasped as he lightly pulled her taut nipple. “Your overnight bag is in the bathroom closet along with your magic little hair iron and a change of clothes, so we don't have to go by your house. I can take you straight to the reception hall and that means more time for…this.”

“You packed a bag for me? How? When?" she asked, shocked by his thoughtfulness. And his sneakiness.

"Yesterday when I was running errands.”

"That’s so sweet, but did you get a uniform? I’ll never hear the end of it if the boss isn’t dressed properly.”

Rye quickly shifted their positions until he lay on top of her, balancing himself between thighs. Her legs automatically bent at the knees to cradle his lean hips. With one hand, he reached for her phone and sent a quick text to Monica requesting that she bring Lacey's ‘uniform’, which consisted of her standard wheat slacks and white blouse. Within seconds Monica replied that she would.

“Problem solved,” he said, grinning. Lacey just smiled and shook her head at Rye’s tenacity. The man was crafty when he wanted his way, or when he wanted her. Already wet, she looped her arms around his neck, wrapped her legs around his waist and crossed them at the ankles, entrapping him. He gave a wolfish grin before grabbing a condom. The laughter stopped when he caught and held her gaze, and without further warning plunged his hard shaft into her moist tunnel, causing her breath to exhale rapidly from her softly parted lips.

Never taking his eyes from her Rye worked his hardness inside her pausing when he could go no further. It was so good that Lacey closed her eyes to absorb the erotic sensations working through her entire being.

“No. Open your eyes,” Rye commanded, his breath coming in fast, raspy huffs. “Look at me taking you, you taking me.”

Instead of plunging hard and fast, Rye twisted his hips in rigidly controlled thrusts, barely moving at all. Slow and deep.

“God Lacey you are melting me. You’re making me feel so good that I want to come right this second.” He continued his shallow strokes. They became quicker and deeper, but he never pulled completely out of her sheath. Over and again he moved, angling himself so that he hit her sensitive spot and sent shards of pleasure down her spine. "Yes, just like that, baby. You feel so good."

“Rye,” Lacey groaned, almost coming to pieces right then. She hadn’t known it was possible, but Rye was owning her as much with his words as with his hard length buried to the hilt inside of her. And the ever increasing look of agony on his face wasn't helping her situation. He held her eyes so she could see everything he was feeling, multiplying her own pleasure.

“That’s it baby. Look at me, feel me about to explode. Know it’s you making me feel so damn good,” Rye whispered in the same choked rhythm that he swiveled his hips inside of her.

Lacey couldn’t help it. The prickly sensation that started at her oversensitive clit branched to her every nerve ending. Her nose flared with the effort to get enough air and her lids refused to stay apart. Immediately Rye grasped her chin and directed her eyes back to him. "I know you're feeling it too. You're so wet. So hot."

Her eyes moved to close again after his sensual words.

“No. Look at me and we will come together. Right now. Come hard Lacey,” he demanded, his voice deep and gravelly.

She tried to scream but couldn’t make a sound. She could only feel. Feel the tremendous physical ecstasy of an earth-shattering climax. Feel the overwhelming sensation of him seeping into her soul, taking her over. The feeling was so intense that tears ran from her troubled brown eyes as she lost herself in the deep blue sea of his. Sinking.

Thank you!

One month ago, I put my babies on stage, and you welcomed Rye & Lacey with open arms. I cannot thank you enough! Much love ~ Linden

Meet Jax...

I Do...Unless I Don't Coming Soon...

Jax strode down the hallway to find his fiancée. He didn’t give a good damn if the three Vincent intruders were offended by his rudeness or by his near nudity. This was his house.

           
           Propped against the doorway of the bathroom, arms folded, he watched as Mila dropped several toiletry items into an overnight bag.
         
           “So you’re leaving?”

Her face was an unyielding mask as she picked up a small bag and placed it beside a larger one on the granite countertop.

“I need some time with my family to think things over. You need to do the same.”

For a long moment he examined every inch of the woman he loved. Fresh from her shower, with no makeup and her hair slicked back, she was so beautiful it made his breath burn in his lungs. He freely admitted her physical attributes had been the initial hook for him; hell, his addiction to her brown skin and lithe body started on day one. Beyond the combination of high cheekbones, angular chin and plump lips instrumental in making her an international beauty icon, he was drawn to her strength, her unshakeable convictions. Her loyalty. Her caring nature.

Just being in her presence was like receiving repeated oxygen boosts after having the wind knocked out of him. He wanted to give her everything he owned, but she had to be willing to accept it. And forget about trivial nonsense.  Thick disappointment lodged in his throat at the thought of her running away but he refused to beg her to stay.

“Okay.”

She hesitated for a moment, but then continued pulling from the few clothes in the closet.

“I didn’t ask your permission Jaxon.”

“I’m sure you didn’t, Miss Vincent,” he said, sighing as he entered the spacious enclosure. Pulling a folded black sweater from the shelf, he worked it over his head and then stepped into a pair of slate grey slacks before slipping on socks, shoes and a belt. When he went to his bureau and slapped on a hint of the sweet-spicy cologne she’d given him, her eyes grew round and her packing halted.

“Are you leaving?”

“Yep.”

“Where are you going this late at night?”

“Out,” he replied, draping a black wool sports coat over his arm.

Grooves of a scowl lined her forehead. “But…I thought you were tired?”

“Yep. And don’t forget hungry and horny.” He patted his pockets, satisfied when he felt the prickle of his keys. Then he checked his wallet for the essentials. He deliberately left the mobile phone on the valet stand.

“What did you just put in your wallet? And why aren’t you taking your phone?” Mila almost shrilled as she followed him to the hallway between the closet and bathroom. “Are you’re still hungry? And horny?”

He turned and made sure to give her a cordial smile, much like one he’d give a stranger on the street.

“My needs were the least of your concern just a little while ago. Don’t start worrying about me now.”

From the Cutting Room Floor 3

Rye and Lacey, after a concert, at Rye's condo:

Lacey left Rye to sort his mail and listen to his messages, making her way through the tastefully decorated corporate residence to the master bathroom. Of course she’d been there many times before, but since she and Rye were intimate now she looked at everything in a new light. She smiled as she surveyed his closet, knowing he liked things neat but wasn’t compulsive about it like she was. He wasn’t a clotheshorse, but had plenty of quality, items, and they were organized for the most part. She was also glad to know that the apartment, especially the bedroom, wasn’t strictly a utilitarian bachelor spot. Thanks to either Emily Ann’s or Jensen’s influence--and she hoped no other woman’s--the place had a homey feel. The modern furniture pieces were of neutral tones, but colorful accents were strategically placed for cohesion. She liked it. Before, she wouldn’t have given the dynamics of his living conditions a second thought, now she couldn’t help think how well their tastes and styles would merge.

            She had no business thinking about such things.

            Muttering a self-reprimand, she opened the sink doors and found a bottle of body scrub and prayed it was Jensen’s and not some hoochie’s. She sighed in relief when she discovered the seal on the fruity blend hadn’t been broken yet, a virgin bottle. Surely a shower would help wash away her angst and doubts about Rye’s ability to be in a committed relationship. Earlier, at the concert, it had been tortuous to watch the desire and longing on Dana's face as the woman gazed at Rye. Lacey had seen that look a dozen times before, but this time was different because Rye was hers. It made her sick to know that Dana knew Rye intimately, had felt his touch, could describe what he looked like when he came.

            “Oh, God,” Lacey groaned, cupping her hands over her face. How was she going to get past this insane jealousy? It was so not becoming of a progressive woman and business owner. Rye had told her he belonged to her; why was it so hard to believe it?

           She’d never been bold and outspoken like Monica or assured to the point of cockiness like Lisa, but she’d always held her own. No, she hadn’t dated in a while before Rye, but not from lack of opportunity. Men desired her; she’d just chosen to be alone because as Mark had proclaimed, she preferred The Thymes as her bedmate. That was then. Now she was with a man she couldn’t get enough of, who was desired by lots of women. Thicker skin on her part was definitely in order.

            She toweled dry after stepping out of the shower, noticing that at some point Rye had taken her clothes away. He must have put them in the washer. Determined not to parade around his home buck-naked, she rummaged through his dresser until she found a plain white t-shirt neatly folded in the fourth drawer she opened. Donning the smallest one she could find, she smiled when she saw it fit rather snuggly around her breasts and backside to stop midway her thighs. Rye would like that; he loved anything that drew attention to his favorite parts of her anatomy. On second thought, her sweet stuff was giving her boobs and butt hell in competition for Rye's favor.

          Making her way to the living room, she found him sitting on the sofa wearing only a pair of boxers. His skin was a bit flushed and his hair stood on end. He must have showered in the second bathroom.

            “Better?” he asked in a low husk, his eyes burning a trail from her damp hair to her bare feet. He’d opened the curtains, revealing floor to ceiling windows and giving them a perfect thirtieth floor view of the city. Then he just stared.

            

            She nodded, her voice forgotten, so entranced was she by the heat in his eyes. Had she bothered with panties, they would be worthless right now; she was already wet from his visual attention alone.

            “Take the shirt off,” he ordered softly.

            Without hesitation, she crossed her arms and caught the fabric at the hem, then lifted it over her head. The the material fluttered soundlessly to the floor and she stood naked in front of him, awaiting his next command.

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