Play Doctor: Dream Machine Part 27

"All clear, Mr. Watson," Rosie said quietly.

"Of course it is." Sam ducked his head and clambered out of the limo, then stomped to the elevator.

G.o.dd.a.m.n it, she'd even acquired a key to the elevator, locking the door open so no one else could use it. He ignored that it was standard operating procedure and lashed out, "You think other people might not need the G.o.dd.a.m.ned elevator?"

"Better than having the door open and somebody shoot you from inside. Besides there are other elevators still available."

Her voice was so d.a.m.ned reasonable. Placating. Like he was some baby to be soothed out of a tantrum.

Which is exactly how he was behaving but G.o.dd.a.m.n it, his people were supposed to be protecting others.

Not him.

She turned the key and let the door close, pressing the b.u.t.ton for the penthouse. The elevator began to rise, a quiet chime announcing each floor they pa.s.sed. And with each ding, Sam became more and more aware of the delicate smell of apricot shampoo and woman filling the confined area. He closed his eyes, trying not to deliberately inhale great lungfuls of that amazing scent.

As long as she was around him, he'd not sleep. Instead he'd be staring at the ceiling imagining what it would feel like to cup her b.r.e.a.s.t.s in his hands, to unzip her pants and nudge aside that blue thong. Imagine going down on her and tasting her honey. When she'd been in the gym doing those stretches, he'd obsessed about some of the positions she could get into while he f.u.c.ked her. Then in his office while Chad had been briefing her, he'd pictured her stretched out over his desk, her legs. .h.i.tched over his shoulders. And now she'd be in the next apartment, so d.a.m.ned available.

d.a.m.n it!

"Mr. Watson, do you have a problem with me guarding you?"

"Nope." He couldn't help that his answer sounded like a growl. He had one h.e.l.luva a problem and at the moment it was punching against his zipper. He s.h.i.+fted his briefcase so she wouldn't see his hard-on.

"I mean, do you have a problem with a woman guarding you?"

s.h.i.+t! She thought he didn't want her because she was a woman? Why not add s.e.xual discrimination to the mix today? He exhaled and opened his eyes. "No, Ms. Ramos, I do not have a problem a female operative leading my team."

"Then do you have a problem with me personally?"

Was it a problem that he was imagining pinning her up against the wall and ramming into her until she screamed her release? How the h.e.l.l did he explain that to her without getting slapped with a s.e.xual hara.s.sment suit in addition to the discrimination one?

"If I didn't have complete confidence in your abilities, you wouldn't work for Hauberk, and Chad wouldn't have personally chosen you as team leader."

That must have been the answer she was looking for. She nodded, and her shoulders imperceptibly relaxed.

"Thank you."

"I'm pis-ticked off at whoever is sending those d.a.m.ned photographs, and I fu-frickin' don't like having to accept that I had to ask my own people to protect me. Leaves me d.a.m.ned twitchy. So don't take my grouchiness personally, Ms. Ramos. It's not directed at you."

No, what was pointing directly at her was his G.o.dd.a.m.ned d.i.c.k.

The elevator bounced once before the doors slid open, and Sam waited for her to precede him.

Aw, c.r.a.p. Now he had to watch that bitable a.s.s of hers walk along the hallway and that did nothing to help him control his raging hard-on.

She's your employee. She's a crack shot with that Glock 11 she carries. He almost groaned as the image of her bending over on the firing range, wiggling that a.s.s at him, had his c.o.c.k so hard it hurt.

She can stomp on your nuts and have you singing soprano without breaking a sweat.

Didn't work. All his d.i.c.k thought of was wrestling on the ground with her body pressing against him, over him, under him. Around him.

What was in that coffee of Sandy's today that left him so f.u.c.king h.o.r.n.y? Spanish f.u.c.kin' fly?

As they approached the door to his apartment, the door to 1202 opened and Kris nodded. "Evening, Mr.

Watson."

Sam couldn't help but notice his newest and youngest operative standing at attention, a worried frown marring that baby-smooth face of his. Aw h.e.l.l. He'd stomped on that poor boy's ego pretty good earlier. Hadn't he been a bucket of suns.h.i.+ne today?

He stopped, and blew out a breath. "Look, Kris, I owe you an apology. I shouldn't have yelled at you this morning. I've been..."-a festering pile of self-centered dogs.h.i.+t?-"under a lot of pressure lately."

Yeah, right, and if you buy that one, I've got some land in the Okefenokee for you.

"It's all right, Mr. Watson. I don't think I'd be feeling too happy if someone threatening me had access to my apartment and personal information either."

He might have bought Kris's smile if it hadn't been for the Mr. Watson. Unlike some of his employees, Kris had never had a problem referring to him as Sam. Or even "buddy" on occasion in the gym. Mr.

Watson meant he still had some fencing to mend.

"Chad told me you and Walters got those cameras in place."

"Sir, yes, sir. It was no problem at all, sir."

First Mr. Watson and now sir. And not just sir, but the military sir, yes sir. Well, he supposed it was natural for Kris to fall back on his naval training.

"I didn't expect you'd have a problem with it, son."

Son? Son? Kris is twenty-five, you idiot, not eight the way you've just made him feel. He's not young enough to be your son.

Okay, technically he probably could have been a father at fourteen thanks to Becky Sue's idea of a birthday present that year. Thank the good Lord above, she'd stolen a condom from her brother Billy's bedside table before sneaking out. Not that he'd needed another condom for a coupla years after that, but if she'd not had the forethought that night, he could have been a daddy by his fifteenth birthday. But he sure as h.e.l.l wasn't old enough to call Kris son.

"Mr. Watson?" Rosie said, touching his arm. "Are you okay?"

An electric shock jumped from her fingers and crawled under his skin in a tingle that caused his breath to hitch. He'd noticed that she was a toucher, seen her patting people's arms or hands to calm them or support them, but she'd never touched him before. His c.o.c.k hijacked his thinking processes and started him imagining her tiny hands closing about Sam Junior, milking...

s.h.i.+t on a stick! She's your employee, not a member of the Rouge.

"Yeah." He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled as he forced his mind back onto the scene in the hall. "Look, Kris, I didn't mean to imply you're not a good CPO. Chad wouldn't have a.s.signed you to the team if he didn't have confidence in you."

Color crept up Kris's neck. "Thank you, sir."

"Sam."

"Sam," Kris repeated, his smile breaking out.

Feeling that at least one corner of the world was back on its axis, Sam headed toward the end of the hall and his sanctuary.

Rosie stopped him as he pulled his keys from his jacket pocket. "Let me get that for you."

His teeth threatening to splinter when his jaw locked down, Sam stepped back and let her unlock the door with her own key. She drew her gun and entered his apartment. Chad had reported they'd monitored the cleaning service doing their thing that afternoon, so they knew the apartment was clear. Though he couldn't fault her vigilance, it was what she'd signed on for when Hauberk hired her, but d.a.m.ned if it didn't shrivel his b.a.l.l.s that she was willing to take a bullet meant for him.

Marking one's territory was never so naughty...

Take Me Again 2009 Mackenzie McKade Wild Oats, Book 2 Dolan Crane would love to hate the beautiful new veterinarian who's horning in on his territory. It's tough when the flame-haired fantasy come true makes his body burn with just a smile. The smart thing to do is forget about her, so perhaps a threesome arranged by his old college buddy is just what he needs to get her out of his head.

Divorcee Tracy Marx has followed her restless feet to Santa Ysabel to start a new practice-and maybe find someone to take her outside the boundaries of vanilla s.e.x. Instead she finds trouble in the form of a cowboy whose dark, s.e.xy gaze lights her up-and could also destroy any chance of success. The best thing to do is stay far, far away from him.

When Dolan shows up for the promised night of fantasy, he's shocked to find Tracy has traded her medical bag for a leather bustier and bondage gear. Tracy would like nothing better than to slap that smirk right off Dolan's face, but the prospect of being sandwiched between two men is impossible to resist-even if one of them is her adversary.

Besides...no one calls her chicken.

Warning, this t.i.tle contains the following: Ride-me-cowboy s.e.x, hot, explicit menage scenes, light bondage, graphic language, and a heated romp in the hay.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Take Me Again: As the music ended, Tracy Marx stepped out of the cowboy's arms. d.a.m.n. What was his name? Was it John? Paul? George? Ringo? A silent chuckle tickled her throat.

With a sultry expression, he smiled down at her, sliding his palms up her bare arms. "How about another dance?"

"Dance?" She glanced at him not really seeing him. Shamefully, her mind wandered to another-one who'd left her wanting with a single look. The flame had sparked again when their eyes had met once more.

The whole time they'd sashayed across the floor all she could think of was the dark-haired cowboy who appeared out of nowhere. Even when Tom- yes, Tom was his name-had suggested they find a quieter place to talk all she could think of was blue-black hair and eyes dark as the night.

She scanned the room in search of her mystery man. Disappointment hit her hard when the spot where he had last stood was vacant. Reluctantly, she drew her attention back to Tom and his question. "Can't. Promised the next dance to-"

c.r.a.p. Forgot that guy's name too. She never had problems with her memory. Guess she had too much on her mind tonight.

The stout cowboy she had met earlier sidled up to her. "Charles," he said slipping an arm around her waist to pull her back firmly against his body. "My turn."

Tom stiffened. His brows tugged down into a scowl. For a moment, she thought he might raise a ruckus.

Men were gutsier then she remembered. They could be so primitive. Give them a drink or two and they became throwbacks from the Stone Age, fighting to resolve all their disagreements.

Tracy released a pent-up breath when Tom finally tipped his hat. "Later, sweetheart."

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Charles whispered in her ear.

Her equilibrium was shot to h.e.l.l when he twirled her around and into his embrace. His feet immediately started to move to the quick beat of the music. Lightheaded, she missed the first step, but caught the next one to glide across the floor. He held her confidently, guiding her into each move easily.

"So, little lady, where you from?"

Little? She was five-eight, one or two inches shorter than him. Judging by his solid build the man was a bull-rider. Of course, she'd been wrong before. "Nebraska," she answered.

Tracy wasn't prepared when Charles abruptly spun her twice, drawing her firmly against him on the final spin. But it was the knee wedged between her legs that made her attention perk up. He rubbed his thigh up hers.

The large bulge in his jeans pressed against her abdomen was difficult to miss. The man was aroused. He ground his hips to hers emphasizing the point before giving her a devilish grin.

Good ol' Charlie expected a reaction, but she wasn't biting. Not my type. Besides she was just here to burn off some energy. Tomorrow was a big day for her.

Yeah. He might give her a good ride, but she was looking for something more, someone who could ignite a fire inside her with just a look. Someone like the cowboy she'd exchanged glances with before hitting the dance floor. Her thoughts wandered back to a pair of dark eyes. The bad boy persona the dark-haired cowboy wore screamed excitement and adventure. That's what she wanted-hungered for.

A light kiss pressed to her neck brought her back to the man that held her. "I've never seen you here before.

Visiting?" His voice deepened as he rubbed his cheek against hers. The scent of sandalwood was strong. She preferred the light spicy scent of the dark-haired cowboy. It left her speechless and h.o.r.n.y.

What was she saying? She didn't even know the guy.

"Yes. No." Truthfully, she wasn't sure. Her uncle had promised to help her establish a business in Santa Ysabel. Back in Omaha her mother had agreed to watch Sheldon until she found a home and babysitter. Again her chest squeezed.

It had been nine months since her sister's unexpected death. Sh.e.l.ly had been thrown from a horse. Her head had struck the only rock in the field. Tracy's ex hadn't appreciated becoming a parent so soon, but she had no alternative. Her mother had enough health problems of her own. Lois Marx had a bad heart. Besides Tracy was Sheldon's G.o.dmother and she loved the three-year-old as if he were her own. Leaving Nebraska was a new start for both of them.

Charles chuckled. "Which is it?"

"What?" Blinking hard, she tried to recall what he asked. She had s.h.i.+t for a memory tonight. What she needed to do was pull herself together, but it was difficult when she had so much on her mind. Other than college, she'd never been this far away from home, never been alone. Even married she had lived only a mile away from home.

He eased his hold putting enough distance between them so he stared into her eyes. "Are you visiting or staying?"

Multiple choices-this should be easy. Yet she remained silent pondering his question.

Just pick one, a voice in her head chastised.

"Staying," she heard herself say.

There, that wasn't so hard.

Yet saying it aloud authenticated her decision and she wasn't sure it was the right one. What if she couldn't find enough work? What if the people in California didn't like her? She was a country-girl born and raised. What did she know about dealing with people of influence? What she did know were animals, especially horses.

An ear-to-ear grin tugged at Charles's mouth. His hand fell to rest on her a.s.s. "Need a place to stay?"

His innuendo didn't escape her. She c.o.c.ked a brow, grasping his hand to guide it back to her waist. "Got it covered, but thanks for the invitation."

His palm worked its way back down to ride the top of her a.s.s. "Does that mean tonight is out?"

Men! She shook her head in disbelief.

Relief surfaced when the song came to an end. Hastily, she stepped out of his embrace. "Thanks, but I have plans tonight. Now if you'll excuse me." Cutting through the crowd, she avoided Tom when he nodded at her, choosing instead to head for the line growing outside the bathroom door. It was as good as any place for her to catch her bearings.

Tracy probably shouldn't have ventured outside her uncle's estate tonight. But her fifteen-year-old cousin had recommended she check out Jester's party. She didn't want to speculate how Laurie knew about this place.

From everything Tracy'd seen so far it was a meat market and the perfect place to pick up a one-night stand, which was exactly what she was in the mood for, but it would have to wait.

There would be questions if she didn't come home tonight. An inquisition was something she didn't need to deal with. But she might have stood a cross-examination for the tall, dark cowboy. She took one more look around the room and wondered if her mystery man had gone down the flight of stairs to the bas.e.m.e.nt.

"Looking for someone, sugar?" The whiskey-smooth male's voice sounded familiar.

She turned and a smile fell across her face. "Rowdy."

He wrapped his arms around her waist and raised her off her feet to twirl her around, nearly knocking over two other women in line. They cast a disgruntled look, but remained quiet as she slithered down his firm body, raising her skirt to where it barely covered her b.u.t.t. She gave the hem a tug as he settled her on her feet.

He held her at arm's length. "I couldn't believe it was you waltzing around the dance floor. What the h.e.l.l brings you to this neck of the woods?"