An Authorized Excerpt:
“And by the way,” Kirstina yelled,
perhaps a little too loudly, “I faked all my orgasms.”
“Yeah, well. I faked mine too!”
Despite shaking with anger
Kirstina couldn’t help but smirk. Mark had one thing going
for him and that was a great sense of humor. That wasn’t
enough to keep their six month relationship from falling
into the rocks and splintering into a thousand pieces
though. As she watched him dash out the bar door in his own
fit of rage and humiliation, she figured this argument was
the final blow- she’d never see him again. It hurt a little-
this was a do or die holiday- and seemed the decision had
been finally made. She took a deep breath, recovering
quickly. She was ready for a change, the bigger the better.
Kirstina turned the bar stool
around so she could face her drink. There happened to be
many eyes in the room peering at her, expectedly so after
the outburst, and a few muffled laughs were audible, but
whatever they thought was no big deal. These people were
strangers. Once she finished her drink and had gone she’d
never see any of them again.
With defiance she crossed her long
legs to one side and flipped back a strand of blonde hair
that annoyed her cheek. Maybe now that he was gone she could
relax and enjoy what was left of her holiday. Three weeks
yawned up in front of her. Whatever she wanted to do, she
could, without being argued with- visit museums, art
galleries, pubs, or sit on a bench in the middle of Hyde
Park and fondle herself- it was up to her. Free. Free at
last. Kirstina sighed heavily and smiled. She felt better
already.
“If what you just said is true,
then it’s a shame.”
Kirstina flinched. It was one
thing knowing the whole room heard what she had just said,
it was quite another to have someone acknowledge it with a
comment. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to the source of the
deep, rumbling voice.
He sat two stools down.
Immaculately dressed in an expensive three-piece suit, he
looked very much the business type. A slight gray fleck in
otherwise dark, heavy hair gave an indication of middle age,
even though his lithe physique did not. He was tall,
balanced by broad shoulders, under which there was hint of
muscle. This man took care of himself, despite twiddling a
cigar between his fingers.
He didn’t look at her. He was
staring at the crystal tumbler on the bar in front of him.
Kirstina could tell, however, he was giving her his
undivided attention. The square jaw flexed. Smiling, he
slowly lifted his eyes to meet her questioning glance. “I
mean, if you were with me that would never be an issue.”
Careful what you wish for- a
change, the bigger the better. A shiver of impending danger
trickled down her spine. She shifted her legs. His
unblinking black eyes fell to her thighs- her skirt had
inched up with her movement. A flush of heat crawled to her
neck.
Oh-oh, she mused. The jackal was
circling a wounded prey.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.
Thunder, rumbling in the distance. “My intention was not to
embarrass you.” He slid onto the stool next to her as though
invited. “Jack Berkley.”
She took his hand. The skin was
soft, smooth, cared for. “Kirstina Meyers.”
“Kirstina,” he whispered to
himself. “That’s a very pretty name.” The dark eyes
instantly swept over her breasts and to her face again. If
she had blinked she would have missed the glance. “Please,
let me buy you a drink,” he offered.
Her first impulse was to gulp what
was left in her glass and make a mad scramble for the main
door. It was screamingly obvious this man was coming on to
her and any other time she would have been repulsed with the
leering attention. But there was something incredibly
smooth, mysterious, and daring about him. The eyes. Must
have been the eyes. Whenever she stared into them her limbs
felt weak. Somewhat annoyed with herself, she agreed. “Thank
you. I’ll have a bourbon.”
His brow lifted. In the same
second he waved his hand for the bartender’s attention. “Two
bourbons,” he ordered. Turning back to her he said, “You’re
not British.”
Watching the drink being poured
she said, “No. I’m not.”
Jack waited a few seconds and then
began to laugh. A small scar in his right cheek deepened, a
flash of perfect teeth, and he dug in his pocket, taking out
a wad of bills neatly folded with gold clip. He peeled off
enough to pay the bartender. Then he saluted with his drink,
coaxing her to do the same. “Here’s to intrigue,” he said.
“I like a woman who doesn’t easily give up her secrets to
strangers.”
“I don’t have secrets.”
His smile faded instantly. The
brow furrowed over the dark eyes, which warned of storm. “We
all have secrets. They simply vary in degree, that’s all.”
Suddenly, he was lost in thought. Kristina was grateful she
was no mind reader. If she were, she had the feeling that
her own thoughts would be flooded with wicked, unspeakable
deeds. As quickly as his sullen mood had overtaken him, it
was gone. “Well, if you’re not English, then I’ll venture to
guess you’re in London on holiday.”
“A mixture of pleasure and
business.” She hoped to continue sounding mysterious. She
was enjoying this man’s company and actually had visions of
saying yes if he asked her for a date. Wetting her lips with
a slow stroke of her tongue she sighed, “Mostly pleasure,
now.”
Jack propped his elbow on the bar,
throwing his shoulder into a stance that snapped his thick
neck to one side. His lashes never moved; Kristina was being
studied, and studied heartedly. She stared back. If he was
throwing out a net of some indecent proposal she wanted to
see it coming.
He reached over and lightly
stroked her wrist. She had the feeling this was some sort of
test because he continued to watch, scrutinizing her
reaction to the caress. And she tried desperately not to
show the excitement whelming up within. Fixating her own
eyes on his, she swallowed the shiver erupting in her
stomach, tickling like a feather, and winding its way into
her tightly folded thighs. All this stranger had done was
tenderly touch her arm and she was wet. Very wet. The tickle
turned to an ache. She pulled away from his touch; if she
hadn’t her silent whimper wouldn’t be silent for long.
“Kirstina,” he purred. “Do you
enjoy games?”
“What kind of question is that?”
Long fingers wrapped round her
wrist, not threateningly, more with sensual pleading. “Don’t
be offended,” he said. “Please, hear me out.”
She nodded. This was, after all,
quite intriguing. “Carry on.”
“Games are a source of
entertainment, relaxation, escapism. They’re meant to be
fun, enjoyable, sometimes stimulating, and sometimes even
dangerous, which in itself is alluring. Different types of
games for different types of people, yes?”
Kirstina leaned towards him,
puffing her lips seductively. “And what sort of games turn
you on, Mr. Berkley?”
His eyes widened and then narrowed
just as quickly. A seductive wash poured from his voice.
“Indecent games. I love everything sexual. I think you do
too.”
Kirstina’s heart pounded double
time. She sipped her drink in an attempt to sooth her drying
throat. “You really should work on being more extroverted,
Jack. You know, speak your mind.” She grinned. Nothing like
putting one’s cards on the table before the betting began!
Was he finding her as enticing as she found him?
The finger kept caressing her
wrist. “Of course men love everything sexual,” she added.
“It’s the nature of the beast. You have nothing to lose.”
“Nothing to lose,” he repeated,
diverting his attention to the cigar in the ashtray.
Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a monogrammed
gold lighter and snapped it to life. Sucking on the end,
smoke whirled around the smooth olive tones of his skin and
wisped into his hair. He clasped his drink and stroked the
side of the glass with his thumb. “Let’s see… what are women
afraid of losing? Money. Sexual dignity. Stability. Heart.”
His right brow lifted as he returned his attention to her
face. “But you’re not like other women, baby. You don’t fear
losing those things. Your personality is strong, your mind
set, your body your own. But you’re lacking a sense of…
excitement. Why not live on the edge for a while? Bring the
thrill back into your life?”
Kirstina shook her head. This man
was certainly dark and mysterious, but he was also extremely
full of himself. Still, what he was saying had an odd ring
of truth. She had been bored, and the remark made about the
orgasms wasn’t completely false. “Thrill back in my life?
And I suppose you’re just the man who can do that?” Her tone
dripped sarcasm. She was no push over despite the growing
fantasies that were beginning to cloud her judgment.
He was undaunted by her remark.
“In part,” he said, finishing his drink and stubbing out
what was left of the cigar. “If you’re interested, let me
know, soon. I’m in room 2002.” He stood, his presence
towering over her like a city skyscraper obscuring a streak
of light. And his huge hand clasped her throat, gently and
luxuriously. She whimpered slightly at the sudden touch, the
fire in her voice extinguished by heavy lips, which pouted
promise against her mouth. Promise of excitement, fun, and
living on the edge. And then he was striding out of the busy
bar, followed by another man who had been sitting
unobtrusively near by reading a newspaper. Neither looked
back.
What had just happened, she
couldn’t be sure. That was the strangest pick-up speech she
had ever heard. And the most alluring. She felt as though
she had been hit by lightning. It was the most exciting
thing that had happened to her in a long, long time.
