Cover of the new book "Private Eyes in Some Like It Rough"

Private Eyes in Some Like It Rough



Warning: This excerpt contains adult content. 18 and over only, please.


[Hayley has just won the audition at The Naked Truth strip club, so she can go undercover and investigate their subject. Ry, who watched the whole thing and was aroused beyond belief, is driving her home.]

“You did good, Hayley.” He glanced over and his gaze lingered before he stared back at the road. “How did it feel, up onstage? You looked like you were enjoying it. Or was that just part of the act?”

Remembering, she shivered. “It was scary at first. The idea of all those people watching me while I . . .”

“Stripped.” The word rasped out. “And yet you did it.”

His vaguely accusing tone made her stick out her jaw. “As a performance. An undercover job where my costume and, uh, nudity were my disguise. Besides, I’ve gone to avant garde dance, even theatre, where the performers were nude.”

“But were they dancing to arouse?”

“Did I do that?” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “Arouse?”

“Hell, woman, you know you did. You must’ve given every guy in the place a hard-on.”

Her heart was pounding so hard she could barely breathe. “Including you?”

“Hell, yeah!” He jerked the Jeep around a corner, driving too fast and narrowly missing another car.

His rough confirmation made her bold enough to admit, “It aroused me too.”

“Shit, Hayley. Oh hell, I can’t drive and talk about this.”

They were at the entrance to Stanley Park, in the lane that led toward the Lions Gate Bridge. He shifted lanes quickly, to take the one that fed into the oceanfront drive circling the perimeter of the park. His profile looked grim and he had a tight grip on the steering wheel.

Her heart beat even faster and sexual tension knotted her muscles, throbbed in her pussy.

He turned the Jeep into a parking spot above the seawall walk. There was only one other parked car, and no people in sight. He slammed the headlights off and flicked off the ignition.

Then he turned to her. “You looked turned on when you were dancing. That was real?”

She took a deep breath, let it out, and confessed. “I imagined one man watching me while I stripped for him. Imagined my moves arousing him. The thought of that, of his hungry eyes on me, was a turn-on.”

Ry grabbed the jacket off his lap and tossed it in the back. “I’m still aroused. How about you?”

She stared at the fly of his suit pants. Oh, yes! It was all she could do not to whimper at the sight of the massive erection thrusting against the fabric. Her pussy throbbed and she squeezed her thighs together. “Yes. I am.”

“Mutual arousal.” His voice grated. “Want to do something about it?”

In her wild imaginings, there’d been, if not necessarily romance, at least a little finesse. More than You scratch my itch and I’ll scratch yours.

But damn, this was Ry, the man she’d fantasized about since she met him. Tonight she’d been naked onstage, naked in front of him, and she was hornier than she’d ever believed possible. Pretty words and gentle kisses weren’t what her body needed.

She’d wanted excitement, and this was IT.

“Yes.” As the word sighed out of her, his lips were there, inhaling it and devouring her mouth with a hot, hungry kiss.

She moaned, closed her eyes, blindly grabbed his head. Gripped him as she kissed back.

Hayley had never been a woman who’d get swept away by a kiss. A part of her had always remained analytical. Aware of mingled breath, teeth knocking. Kisses that were too wet, too bland, or too acrobatic.

But Ry’s kiss banished thought. It was a total, in-the-moment experience. Passion and bliss, relief and hunger. Sensation that flooded through her body, igniting every pleasure center.

Especially the one between her legs, where she was damp and throbbing.

She and Ry were opposites in so many ways. How could it be that their mouths had been designed for each other?

Their hunger met and matched. Onstage, she’d imagined herself to be a sex goddess in his eyes, and now he made her feel like one. A goddess who drove him wild with need.

Their bodies twisted awkwardly toward each other on the front seat, craving more. His fingers fumbled with the top button of her raincoat.

And car lights strobed through the Jeep, making them jerk apart.

“Damn!” he said. “We can’t do this here.”

“My apartment?”

“Too far away. I need you now.”

Need. He needed her, the way she did him.

“We’ll find a place,” he said roughly. “Get out.”

Too aroused to ask questions, she opened the Jeep door. By the time her shaky legs had found solid ground, he’d come around the vehicle.

She stared at him in the light of a nearly-full summer moon. Oh God, he was handsome, black hair in disarray, gaze intent and burning. “Ry,” she sighed.

Then, because she was exactly the right height in her high heels, she took a step toward him until her body was flush against his.




[con't from bottom left column]

His eyes widened in appreciation. Uninvited, he took the chair beside her, his bare knee brushing seductively against her leg. “A recipe that’s just right for a tropical night.” The gaze he leveled at her held a challenge.

“And it’s definitely a beautiful tropical night.” Even if it was alcohol talking, it had been a long time since she’d felt so liberated and sexy.

“Nights in the tropics are always special. With the right company.”

How many tourists had this local Lothario used these lines on? But why should she care? This showed every sign of turning into her lucky night, one to gloat about to her friend and partner Andi, and to remember when she was back home in rainy, gray, dateless Vancouver.

She extended her hand. “I’m Sarah.”

He held it firmly, warmly in his. “I’m free.”

Free? What an odd thing to say. Did he mean available, or was he clarifying that he wasn’t selling sex to a tourist? Both, she guessed.

He definitely wasn’t her Ken doll, her Mr. Forever, this man who hadn’t shared his name. But what the hell, while waiting for Mr. Right, a girl’s body could dry out and shrivel up from disuse. At home she had a drawer of sex toys, but this guy would make a far sexier plaything.

Jeez, what was she thinking? He was a complete stranger.

Besides, what if all he had going for him was good looks? She ought to check out the merchandise before she indulged in any more wicked thoughts.

“Want a taste?” She took a swallow of the drink. Then, instead of handing him the glass, she leaned toward him, heart racing. She could do a pretty slick pickup, if she said so herself.

“Definitely.” Without hesitation he closed the distance between them and touched his lips to hers. Softly, gently, he flirted with her mouth, dropping teasing kisses, sucking her flesh, and nipping lightly. He smelled of some ocean-tangy shampoo or aftershave, and his breath was scented with rum. As he moved his mouth over hers, the short hairs of his mustache brushed her upper lip, sensuous and arousing.

It was all she could do to hold back a moan. They hadn’t even parted their lips, and her body was sparking like it was ready to combust.

She darted her tongue across his lips, and he opened them in an invitation she eagerly accepted. His mouth was hot, sweet, and tropical.

Oh, man, the merchandise definitely lived up to the ads. Tonight she was free from responsibility, so why not enjoy another round of sex on the beach? The literal kind.

No, wait. It wasn’t safe to wander off with a stranger, no matter how tempting he was. But he’d been talking to Ric . . . “Excuse me a minute.” She stood up.

Sarah gave her hips a sexy sway as she strolled toward the ladies’ room. When she reached the bar, she paused and glanced back. The man, sprawled in the rattan chair like a big black cat, made no bones about watching her, and the grin that kinked his full lips was knowing, confident, verging on arrogant.

He thought she was a sure thing.

Was she?

With her back to him, she leaned across the bar and whispered to Ric, “Can you vouch for that man?”

He gave her a wicked grin. “In what sense, Sarah? I haven’t personally experienced his talents, if that’s what you mean.”

“Jesus.” The plight of the redhead; she knew her cheeks were pink. “I mean, is it safe to, uh . . . Would you let your sister date him?”

“If she wasn’t married. Don’t you know? He’s—”

“That’s okay, thanks.” She cut him off, not wanting to hear if the pickup artist was someone she might see around town: a cashier at the grocery store, a waiter, a surfing instructor. All that mattered was, he was hot, it wasn’t dangerous to go with him, and he wouldn’t be asking for money.

Sarah went into the ladies’ room and studied her reflection. Her hair, in its short, deliberately messy wash-and-wear style, looked sexy. Her pale skin, which she always sunscreened liberally, was lit by a flush that made her blue eyes look bright and sparkly.

A flush of arousal at the thought of sex with . . . whatever his name was.

No, she wasn’t going to ask. This was a one-night fling. The less information, the better.