Private Party

Amanda McIntyre

www.spice-books.co.uk

Magazine editor Abby Crenshaw’s sex life is pleasant, convenient…and nothing like the exciting stories she hears from her colleagues. But it’s her sexy young coworker Ryan who really catches her eye—and who stars in her X-rated fantasies.

Finding herself alone on her fortieth birthday, Abby plans on a quiet night at home…until Ryan reveals that the attraction is mutual! But will Abby stick with her unsatisfying life, or is Ryan’s promise of a night of wicked pleasure a risk she’s willing to take?

Chapter One

Damn, I have shoes older than him. I watched the new guy, Ryan—whom I’d hired for the advertising department—from the corner of my eye as he tapped a stack of papers on the copy machine. He had great hands, though I would never tell anyone my little fetish about a guy’s hands. Some women notice a man’s ass (granted Ryan’s wasn’t bad) or the size of his shoes (unfortunately, my Frank killed that theory the first time I saw him naked). But guys’ hands show the character of the man, in my opinion. And Ryan, aside from his other stellar attributes, had the kind of hands you can imagine gliding over your skin. Hands that exuded strength and looked as if they weren’t afraid of a little hard work, but at the same time could knock you off the bed with their expertise.

Of course, it was just a theory.

As Passions executive editor, it was my duty to notice the little things. That’s why for a week I’d been carefully scrutinizing his facial expressions, the way his dress slacks, neatly creased in all the right places, hung perfectly from his narrow waist. He had an array of freshly starched button-down dress shirts that fit across the impressive breadth of his shoulders. I hadn’t seen one that looked like it hadn’t been to Murphy’s Dry Cleaning next door.

That alone made me curious as to how close by Mr. Perfect lived. Yes, Mr. Perfect. He always wore a tie, always had that shirt tucked neat and his hair cropped short at the neck and above his ears, leaving a mop of coal-black curls atop his head. It was the only unruly thing about him, that and his wicked smile. Which—I’d overheard one day in the women’s restroom—could make you wet in ten seconds flat.

Damn, I wish I could remember what that felt like.

To paraphrase some of my younger editors, he was juicy. I looked down at the article featuring summer melon recipes and sighed.

“Ms. Crenshaw?”

I was startled from my focus on the juicy new employee and cautioned a glance at his pants stretched over his tight ass as he leaned down to fill the paper in the copier.

“Yes, Chloe, what is it?” My cheeks were warm, though for the life of me, I didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if I’d been fantasizing about him or anything…“As if,” my young assistant would say in response to such an absurd notion. I was trying to broaden her language skills.

Her mission? Broadening my scope of men. Men? Yes, I was or had been recently…that is to say, I’d been involved in a relationship with a decent guy for about—

“How long have I been dating Frank?”

Chloe shrugged. “A decade, maybe longer?” She raised her pert waxed eyebrows and gave me a smile, the one she knows damn well annoys me. “Must be truly memorable for you?”

“Never mind. What is it?” I went back to my article, forcing my mind not to think of the word juicy.

“A bunch of us are meeting in the break room at noon, we’re going to go over this month’s sex poll. Want to join us?” Her smile was the devil’s own and her eyes glistened wickedly.

“I don’t know. I have a lot of work…”

“Heard that last time, Ms. Crenshaw. Come on, you skipped last month’s poll and we need the view of someone—”

She paused and I tilted my reading glasses down the bridge of my nose, watching and waiting for her to finish. I had finally succumbed and purchased a blouse in fire-engine red to supplement my otherwise all-black wardrobe, hoping to give off the impression of being sexy and in control. Lord knows, it was exactly the opposite of what I felt. Somewhere along the way, my life had become complacent, uneventful, in other words…boring as hell.

“Someone who has more experience.”

I gave her a short laugh. Well, we both knew that was bull. By comparison, I was far less “experienced” than three-quarters of my twentysomething staff. I held her gaze hoping to intimidate her, but she stood firm, arms folded across her ample chest, encased in her fourteen layers of camis and tees. On her, they looked good, but on me, it would look like I was trying to set some world record for looking like a sausage casing.

“I have a ton of work to do. Besides, you don’t need my opinion. I’m sure you can handle it without me,” I offered, dropping my gaze back to the article I was pretending to read. Truth was, I would’ve liked to just listen. Maybe I would discover something that would liven up my relationship with Frank.

“Translation, you’re afraid to take the poll?”

I glanced up at Chloe and at that instant Ryan passed by my office window. I had insisted on glass walls to create a sense of cohesiveness with my staff. As my gaze met Ryan’s I wickedly considered that blinds might be a worthwhile addition.

I blinked from my wayward thoughts, realizing he was offering me one of his much-talked-about sexy grins. Dampness formed between my legs.

Damn.

I met Chloe’s challenging stare. .I was never one to back away from a challenge.

“Is there still champagne in the refrigerator?”

A grin broke out on her youthful face and she nodded.

“Noon. I’ll be there.” I waved my hand, shooing her away.

She smacked her hands together and offered a wide, pink-glossed grin.

“Excellent! The others will be so excited.”

She turned on her slick, red platform heels and her plaid miniskirt flipped provocatively as she marched down the row of cubicles outside my office. Maybe it was my thoughts of Ryan that made me reconsider joining them. Maybe it was it was because I was approaching my fortieth birthday and I needed a boost. My twenties were my wild time and in retrospect, I wonder how I managed to survive unscathed.

Bent on building my career, it was not until my mid-thirties that I met Frank. Stable, independent, he had an established career and lifestyle that didn’t require my presence 24/7. That worked for me. Taking on the executive editorship of a prestigious magazine meant many a late night and for any other man than Frank that would have created instant problems.

I checked my calendar to see what day Frank was due back in town. We hadn’t had sex in weeks and while sex with Frank wasn’t what I would call explosive, it was pleasant…convenient might be a better word.

In the past few months, we’d gotten into the routine of things—he was tired, I was tired, one of us had an early flight or a meeting. Without the commitment that neither of us really wanted, there wasn’t much holding the relationship together except the chance that maybe, just maybe, one day we’d wake up and suddenly decide this was as good as it was going to get. But the truth was, we’d created a relationship based on having our own space and there were certain rewards that went with that.

After my silent, secret lusting after Mr. Juicy all week, I couldn’t wait to see Frank. Sure, maybe I was a bit surprised to find my eye wandering. I mean Frank was a handsome man for a guy over forty-five. He was healthy, worked out and kept fit. He was bright and worldly in a good way that made him easy to be around. He could choose the right wine for any meal and was able to discuss a great many topics with impressive authority.

And just when I’d start to think he was losing interest, he’d surprise me with a little token, nothing extravagant, usually something silly that he knew I’d love, like a rose or a single piece of my favorite raspberry chocolate.

Of course I was happy, who wouldn’t be?

I was going to need more champagne. Already I’d passed on answering more than one of the questions on the poll ranging from cunnilingus technique to multiple orgasms—neither, I might add with mild concern, that I had any experience with. Frank was a no-frills man. Old-school I suppose, he had no need for gizmos or gadgets, or lessons in yoga positions. He even laughed when I presented him with a grab bag Christmas gift of an older collector edition of the Kama Sutra.

“Are you unhappy with our sex life, Abby?” he’d asked as he removed my bathrobe. At the time, I’d looked into those hypnotic blue eyes of his and tossed the book into my bureau drawer thinking we didn’t need it. Nine months and three business trips later, we still hadn’t cracked it.

I am happy. I took another sip of champagne.

“Have you ever considered using special furniture in your lovemaking?”

Amy’s wicked, wide-eyed gaze traveled around the group seated at the break table.

“I have one of those wedges.” Her grin spoke volumes.

“Oh, girl, you are so not going to just let that one lie there. Come on, fess up. What’s it like?” Josie, another of my junior editors, leaned across the table, munching on a carrot between her thick, ruby-red lips. All eyes were glued on Amy.

My palms began to sweat.

“Well, the other night my boyfriend came over and he was more than willing to give it a try, if you catch my drift.” She glanced at me and wiggled her brows.

I am happy. I am happy.

“So, first I did a little striptease—”

Squeals emanated from the seven women—my illustrious office staff—followed by giggles and urges for her to continue. I hoped that my senior colleagues had left for lunch. On Fridays they usually planned longer lunch hours, all except me, of course. But there was that one time when Frank showed up in town earlier than usual and we met at a nearby hotel…I took another sip of champagne.

“The wedge adjusts to allow all types of sex play…”

Amy chattered on about the heated night with her boyfriend while the rest of the staff clung to every word. I had mixed feelings regarding these frank discussions about sex. I was caught somewhere between being sensible and mature, and afraid to admit I wasn’t getting anywhere as much action as my younger staff.

In truth, the content of the magazine had changed since I started in the editorial department. However, as women gained more freedom to express what they wanted from relationships and embraced their sexuality, we changed with the times. It wasn’t a bad thing, just unexplored territory for me personally. Still, a good editor would realize that growth was potential, and with growth came risks. And risk-taking was becoming less and less appealing. I couldn’t tell if it was my age or my relationship with Frank that caused that phenomenon. But we weren’t talking about Frank or my relationship being dry and uneventful, were we? I focused my thoughts back on the magazine poll.

“The angle was perfect. It was fantastic, really. I could feel every inch of him, moving inside me, in and out, in and out. I think it was good for him, too, because he kept saying, ‘That’s good, that’s good,’ over and over and over…” She didn’t even blush as she displayed her satisfied grin to the room of enthralled women.

“Ohhh, girl, I’m going to get one of these the minute I get home. I got to get me some of that action,” Josie squealed.

The other girls nodded in agreement.

“Did you have to use any lube? That’s always my problem,” one of our mail runners asked.

“Lube?” Josie cackled. “I’m willing and lubed up just listening. That new guy, Ryan, well, he just better watch out around me today.” She licked the tip of her finger and touched her hip, releasing a hiss through her teeth.

I rolled my gaze heavenward. With all this pent-up sexual tension, Ryan was sure to spontaneously combust into flames. I had to douse the flash fire. “Ladies, why don’t we leave poor Ryan out of this. For all we know he may be in a blissfully happy relationship.”

They turned a collective gaze to stare at me. “What? It’s no longer possible to be involved in a mutually satisfying relationship with one person?”

They continued to stare at me as if I had two heads.

“You just don’t want anyone touching your eye candy, Abby. You think we haven’t noticed? Has it done it yet?” Josie whispered. “You know, in ten seconds?” Her grin was pure evil.

Luckily for Josie, I liked her warped sense of humor. “Let me remind you, darling, just who signs your paycheck.”

She grinned and slapped my shoulder. “You know I’m just messing with you. Besides, we wouldn’t dare say anything that would give away your secret fantasy, especially if we thought Ryan might overhear us by accident.” She sat back and gave me a demure smile.

Her gaze drifted over my left shoulder, the same as everyone else’s. Shit.

“For what it’s worth, I’m happily single.”

His baritone voice slid over me, like a cool river rushing over my burning flesh. I shut my eyes, steeling myself against a powerful surge of humiliation. If ever I felt every moment of my almost forty years, it was right now. “Okay, lunch is over, back to work.”

I slid out of my chair, and stood too quick, unsteady on my legs. Ryan caught my arm.

“Hey, it’s okay, it was all in fun.”

“Yeah, back to work means you, too.” I didn’t bother to look up at him as I busied myself with rinsing out my glass. Hopefully I had some crackers left in my bottom desk drawer that I could wolf down and with any luck choke on and die without anyone noticing.

I heard the muted whispers of the girls leaving.

“So like how many O’s did you have that night?”

“Three together, but I had a couple more after that. There’s an instruction manual for achieving the right height for oral sex. Omigod, it was phenomenal.”

“I have got to get that Web site link. Do you have it here?”

“Sure, it’s joy wedge dot com.” I strained to hear the full link as they left the room. It was only Ryan and I left in the break room.

“Do you guys do this often?”

“Do what?” I tried to give off my professional, platonic persona, but with my cheeks burning and unable to look him in the eye, I’m guessing I was unsuccessful.

He chuckled, and by God if I didn’t get wet again. This time, however, my thoughts ventured further into my secret fantasy.

“Sit around and talk about sex? And might I add frank sex?”

What did he know about Frank?

“Oh, that, sure…we were just going over the monthly poll in the next issue. And yes, we try to do it frequently.”

“Just once a month?”

His voice was steady and calm. I heard the sound of coins clanking into the pop machine, and the clatter of the can as it moved down the chute. It landed with a thud, like my heart pounding against my chest.

Ryan took a large gulp of his soda and tossed the can away, smiling, as he held me captive with his predatory gaze. His hand reached out and snapped the lock on the break room door, one of the few rooms that didn’t—thank God—have a window.

“If I had my way, I’d do it more than just once a month,” he said as his hands came down on my hips.

My skin was on fire and his flesh had yet to touch mine. “You think you’d be up for the task?” I asked, turning my head so his mouth was free to explore the spot I loved, just below my ear. He was very good at taking the initiative.

He lifted the hem of my sensible black pencil skirt over my hips and pressed me against the counter, proving he was well equipped for the job. His hand smoothed slow and easy over my leg, touching the tops of my thigh-high stockings.

“You are one sexy woman, Abby. It’s too bad you’re my boss. I guess I really shouldn’t be thinking what I’m thinking right now.”

His fingers skimmed over my flesh, between my legs, easing past the edge of my underwear and into my throbbing, slick heat.

I braced my hands on the counter, reveling in the delicious sensation of his stroke, coaxing me toward mindless pleasure. The height of my stilettos aided the sensation as I spread my feet apart.

“Maybe you could just tell me what you’re thinking and we’ll keep it confi-” his finger plunged into me deep, causing me to sigh “-dential.” I finished the word with another sigh.

“I want to fuck you, Abby. So that you’ll never look at sex the same way again. Not just once a month, Abby. But every night…every night…” His hot breath seared my flesh as he spoke.

“Yes, fuck me. Fuck me,” I whispered.

“Abby? Abby? Sorry, I didn’t catch that, what’d you say?”

Ryan popped open his soda and the hiss of carbonation punctuated the silence. I blinked from my fantasy and found him staring at me with a curious smile. He hadn’t moved from the machine, hadn’t pressed his lips to my skin, hadn’t…oh, God.

“I’m sorry, what did you ask?” I smiled congenially, trying to focus on reality, even as my body sweated from my tawdry fantasy. “My mind is on a million things.”

“I asked if you only do it once a month?”

He tossed the can toward the recycle bin and I followed its path, curious if the rest of my fantasy would play out. I waited as it hit the side of the metal rim and dropped with ease into the recycle bin. Score.

“Um, if there’s time,” I stated, my mind lost somewhere between reality and lust.

“That’s a shame.”

I cleared my throat. The champagne, my wicked thoughts and being alone for two minutes with him had me tangled in knots and all of them tied to a bed with you know who staring down at me.

“Well, back to work, no rest for the wicked as they say.” I smiled brightly in the hope that I gave off the illusion of being in complete control.

“We all have a bit of wicked inside us, Ms. Crenshaw,” he said, punctuating his words with a grin that made his eyes positively twinkle with bad-boy charm.

I was so in trouble.

Chapter Two

I glanced at the clock by my bed. Nine thirty-seven. In less than twenty-six hours and twenty-three minutes I would reach that pinnacle milestone of forty.

Pinnacle as defined by the fifteen minutes I’d just spent with Frank.

He rolled off of me, breathing a sigh as though he’d climbed Mt. Everest in a day.

“Damn, that was great, Abby, just great.”

Frank drew his arm over his face and took another deep breath, blowing it out long and slow. I toyed with asking him if he’d be interested in visiting the joy wedge site, but before I could get the words out, I heard his steady breathing and knew he was asleep.

No big O to speak of. Not even a little O. Frank sex.

The words stuck in my mind like a gooey Band-Aid that gets on your shoe and you just can’t shake it. Was there something wrong with me? Here I was the top editor of a suave women’s magazine that touted sexual health and well-being and I couldn’t even get off with my boyfriend.

Was I happy? Would a joy wedge even solve our problem? Deep in my heart I was beginning to have serious doubts. Maybe what I needed was more wicked.

I turned on my side and fluffed up my pillow, staring longingly at the red digital clock inches from my grasp and I thought of Ryan’s words.

“We’ve all got a bit of wicked inside us.”

I stared out my corner executive office window at the brilliant blue sky, daydreaming I suppose you’d call it, maybe fantasizing. It was my birthday and Frank had given me a lovely necklace at breakfast, a little something he picked up while in Milan. He’d kissed me passionately, as passionate as Frank gets, and gathered his bags to make it to the airport on time. Another meeting, in Germany this time, but he’d make it up to me when he got home next Monday.

So here it was, the day I was born, and it fell on a Friday to boot. Rotten, pissy luck. No boyfriend, a Friday fortieth, and three whole days to wallow in my sorry-assed state.

I was not happy. Seriously.

Was there something wrong that all day I’d run between hot and cold, wishing for some combustible spontaneity and thinking how nice a good book in my hammock would be?

Maybe I’d see if some of the girls wanted to go out and celebrate…then again, most of them probably had dates, or would hit the dance clubs where they would grind and bump their asses into the crotches of strange men and call it dancing. In truth, I was a big girl and ought to be able to handle being by myself on my birthday. It wasn’t as if the last forty were anything to write a book about—with the exception of my twenty-sixth. That birthday would live in infamy…

A bunch of my friends had surprised me with a trip to the beach. They’d rented a small cottage in obvious need of repair, but it came cheap and they only needed it for sleeping anyway. There were the five of them, my best friends in the office secretarial pool. Free as birds to swim, play and flirt openly with whomever they pleased. Surely the dangers that face young women were present, but life didn’t seem so scary then. Perhaps we were just lucky.

I’d just stepped from a cold morning swim, and padded onto the beach, my long dark hair plastered like seaweed to my shoulders. I had a great figure…killer really, with descent breasts, full and round that filled my crocheted bikini top. My waist was still trim, sloping gently to the small triangular patch that covered my dark curls. My skin was golden. On the beach somewhere a radio blared “Closer,” by Nine Inch Nails, and I was in heaven.

“Is the water cold?”

A deep voice jerked my gaze upward and standing in front of me was a surfboard, upright in the sand, detailed with red-and-yellow flames. Attached to it was a bronze god of the sea. His eyes sparkled blue-green and his shoulder-length blond hair whipped haphazardly into his eyes.

His smile could melt an iceberg. I knew, because my body, chilled from the water, heated instantly when he offered it to me.

I wanted to tell him the ocean would warm up the moment he stepped into it, but my tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth. My gaze traveled the length of him, taking in his broad shoulders and lean waist, and noting with some trembling in my stomach the stark white band of flesh where his trunks rode low on his hips. In three words, the boy was hot as sin and a perfect side dish to my twenty-sixth-birthday beach party.

“So, I’m having a party tonight to celebrate my birthday. If you’re not doing anything maybe you could stop by.”

I tossed him a flirtatious smile as I walked away, sand flipping on my heels.

“Where?”

I pointed up the beach a few steps from where I’d stepped from the water. “Here.” I laughed, delighting in the fact it was my birthday and deciding I was going to go after anything I wanted, including my surfer boy.

I was happy.

In a secluded cove late that night beneath a star-filled sky, I slipped a condom over the biggest cock I’d ever seen. I lay back, tossing my arms in abandon over my head, and let him worship my body. There was little left of the blanket we lay on—it was wadded beneath our twisted limbs as he drove into me, holding my hip in the palm of his hand, while bracing over me with the other. I remember with crystal clarity his bulging bicep and thinking he had amazing strength, not to mention those hands—exceptionally amazing!

My body climbed higher and higher with each masterful stroke. He moved slow and easy, his persona I suppose, sampling my lips as if savoring a delectable meal, punctuating each thrust with a low-timbered moan.

“Jeezus, your pussy is so fine,” he grunted, working up a sweat that made his corded muscles glisten in the moonlight. “So tight. Is this your first time?” He bent down, taking my turgid nipple in his teeth, and tugged gently, until I cried out from the erotic pleasure.

I had to agree. He was fine, way fine.

The crash of waves on the shore faded as a ringing from the rush of blood to my head drowned it out. I felt nothing, I heard nothing but the mechanics of our bodies working frantically toward release.

His breath drew in short gasps, his hard length relentless in its quest. He stared down at me, his grin matching mine. With each lunge, I gave him just another little piece of my heart.

Then my world shattered in a million particles of light. Above me, against the summer night sky, I heard my surfer boy groan loud and long as he rocked his crotch against mine in a lover’s kiss, his body trembling in his own release.

“Yeah, it was my first,” I said in a bare whisper. My body had changed. I had changed. No longer a girl, I was a woman.

He withdrew without preamble and flopped alongside of me on the sand. The air rushed between my legs and I sensed the sticky wetness mixed with sand. Before he could tell me his name (which I never found out), I splayed my young, nude body over his and kissed him full on the mouth. He didn’t know it yet, but this was the man I was going to marry. I was totally happy.

Funny how life works sometimes.

“Hey, you in there? You look like you’re someplace very far away.”

I turned to see Ryan standing inside my office door. I glanced at my watch—it was close to five.

“Just thinking.”

He nodded. “Well, here are the new ads. Thought you might want to take a look at them. Not nearly the caliber of the joy wedge, I’m sure.” His grin was wicked.

“Thanks. Just leave them there on the corner.” He hesitated as he laid the papers on the edge of my desk.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” The question was innocent enough, but the look in his dark eyes was unmistakably sinful. Did I dare?

“No thanks, that’s all. Have a good weekend.” I regretted the words even before I finished them.

He nodded again, hesitating by the door.

“I heard a rumor that it’s your birthday. Is that true?”

I smiled, wanting to go back to twenty-six and skip forty altogether. “Yeah, not that it’s any big deal.”

He frowned and gave me an incredulous look.

“You can’t be serious. Hell, forty—you’re just getting started. You’re at that stage in life where you’ve worked it all out. You’re in your prime, Abby. You deserve to go out and have some fun. I suppose you and Frank have special plans?” He leaned against the doorjamb, and crossed his arms.

Maybe he was buttering me up for a promotion, or maybe just thinking of doing other things with butter. I wasn’t sure if it was him or me, but it seemed his words hung just a hair over the boss/employee line.

I blinked away my thoughts. “Thanks, but I’m not really doing anything special. Frank’s away on business, you know—”

“Yeah…?” He glanced at the floor, silent for a moment before he looked up again at me. “Hey, well, happy birthday, Abby. I hope you get everything you wish for.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that, really.”

He turned to leave, spinning back to me with a curious look as he stuffed his hands in his pants pockets.

“You’re sure you want me to go? I mean, we could go grab some Chinese, or something.”

He shrugged as if he was asking me out. He wasn’t, though, I quickly reminded myself. He was just being nice.

I stared at my desk, thinking how many times I’d toyed with silly fantasies about him, but the truth was I was over a decade his senior. The paperweight on my desk was older than him. I…was a lot older and, Lord help me, hopefully wiser.

“No thanks, Ryan. Really, I appreciate it. But I’m a big girl, I can handle spending a birthday alone. Besides, don’t you have plans? I mean surely there’s a girl in your life?”

He scratched his head. “Yeah, there is this woman, but I’m just not sure of things, you know?”

I laughed quietly. “Yeah, I do, been there, done that.”

“Besides, I’m not really into the whole clubbing thing. I’m more of a quiet pub kind of guy.” He glanced up at me and gave me an unspoiled grin. “But I have been around long enough to know what a brush-off is. Very polite and professional, I might add.”

“Ryan, it’s just that—”

He held up his hand. “Hey, no need to explain. I just saw you in here…alone and I thought maybe you’d enjoy the company tonight.”

Tonight? The single word made heat coil in the pit of my stomach.

If I said yes, I had a feeling things could get complicated. How would I handle that? On the other hand, having some company, if only for a drink, would be very nice. Besides, the fact that my head was sending up red flags meant that it was a huge risk and weren’t risks what I’d been saying that I needed?

“Okay, one drink…for my birthday, then its home for both of us—you to yours and me to mine, understood?”

He put up his hands in surrender. “Understood.”

“Is this my second drink?” I peered at the glass as I held it up to the light. I had downed the first glass of chardonnay like a thirsty camel. My head was a bit fuzzy.

Ryan swirled the ice in his Jack Daniel’s. “It is. You don’t drink much, do you?” He smiled.

“If by that you mean I don’t party much, no, after a certain age, you let go of that whole scene. But I drink, it’s just social or with dinner now,” I replied, sipping my wine. “However, this is lovely.” I held up my glass, marveling at its light golden hue.

“Just like the woman,” he murmured quietly.

I glanced at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He leaned back in his chair and held his glass between his hands as he studied me. “Don’t, that makes me nervous.” I fussed. Maybe it was time for me to leave. Here came complicated, packaged as a gorgeous young man, with an amazing smile and a personality light years from Frank’s. I simply did not have time for complicated.

“I am not doing anything but sitting here having a birthday drink with my boss.”

“It’s my birthday,” I reminded him with a cocked brow.

“Yeah, well it’s mine, too.”

“No way,” I replied in my best Chloe voice.

“Way,” he replied with a grin. “My twenty-sixth.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You are not serious.”

He nodded as he tossed a kernel of popcorn into his mouth. “What can I say?”

I watched how his mouth chewed up the morsel and I took another sip of wine.

“Really, it honestly is your birthday?” I asked, not quite ready to believe the coincidence.

He finished another piece of popcorn as he stroked a cross over his heart.

“I don’t lie about birthdays,” he responded casually.

“So what big plans do you have for tonight?” He grinned as he held his arms outstretched. “This is it.”

“No, I refuse to believe that,” I scoffed. “A good-looking guy like you? Come on.”

He laughed again. “Why do you think I asked you out?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but no response came.

His expression changed and a slow wicked grin crept up his handsome face. “Ms. Crenshaw, did you think I had something else in mind?”

My cheeks burned, in part from the wine. Either that, or deep down inside me, that little bit of wicked was scratching to get out.

“No, of course not.” I shook my head and averted my eyes from his steady gaze by taking another sip of wine. Second glass, almost gone.

“Of course not,” he repeated, taking a sip of his drink and offering me an intimate smile.

He leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “But what if I did?”

Chapter Three

I nearly spewed out the popcorn that I had stuffed in my mouth. “Out of the question.” I held up my palm…firmly.

“Of course, it is, I’m just saying…you know, hypothetically speaking?”

I signaled the waiter. “Another glass, please? Chardonnay?”

I ignored him even as I felt his gaze burning a hole into the side of my head.

“Listen, I don’t know what you’re up to, but I know that you and I are light years apart in age.”

“What if I said I liked older women?”

“Then I’d say, I’m your boss.” I gave him a pointed look.

“And if you weren’t?”

“That is irrelevant, because I am.”

“Then I quit. Now what’s your excuse?” He leaned back with a satisfied look on his face.

“You can’t just quit.”

“I just did.”

He finished off his drink and peeled out a few bills as the waiter set my glass down.

“I have this,” he told the waiter. “And could I have another of these?”

“I’ll pay for that,” I addressed the waiter, whose gaze bounced from Ryan to me as if he wasn’t quite sure what was going on.

“It’s her birthday,” he responded.

“It’s his birthday,” I replied at the same time.

The waiter and his puzzled smile left.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He went about rolling up his sleeves, exposing his tanned forearms with a faint sprinkling of dark hair. Giving ample showcase to those fantastic, capable-looking hands of his.

I tore my eyes from watching him and pushed away the thoughts of what his torso probably looked like under that dress shirt.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. There was a logical, reasonable way to respond to this kind of thing, but damned if I knew what it was.

“Let’s dance,” I heard him say.

Oh, yeah, there we go. Right from the frying pan, into the fire.

I opened my eyes. There was no way I could do what I had seen the girls in my office show me at lunch. “I really don’t think so.”

“We’ll take it slow, I promise.”

Heaven.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I muttered as he dragged me to the postage-stamp-sized dance floor. There was just a jukebox, no live band in the pub, but I was grateful when the song changed as he was trying to position my butt to his crotch.

“Damn,” I heard him whisper. I turned to face him, on territory more familiar to me.

Anne Wilson’s powerhouse, sensual voice singing “Alone” slid over my wine-soaked senses, making me smile at the irony.

He slid his arms around my waist. Oh, yeah, this was much better. Gawd, Abby, what are you doing? Trouble, trouble with a capital T.

“I bet you think I don’t know how to dance like this,” he spoke with quiet confidence. It was one of the things that impressed me in his job interview. He was more mature than the majority of men that I’d met, young and old.

He drew me close with one arm, his hand splayed over my lower back as he swayed slowly back and forth. It didn’t matter we were surrounded by a throng or people. It was as if he and I were the only ones out there. And damn if that wasn’t enough, he knew the words to the song.

I swallowed, grasping for the end of my reason, which seemed to be flapping loose in the breeze.

“My parents listened to Heart, I love their stuff.” He grinned.

His parents. “Of course,” I replied as my stomach rubbed deliciously against his. I leaned back, purposely keeping my breasts free from rubbing against his chest. I didn’t need to know what that felt like, my imagination was already doing a number on my insides.

“Relax, Abby. You are an incredibly beautiful woman. You do know that, right?”

Maybe deep down inside I did know it, but I’d been hiding behind my fear of growing old with Frank, perhaps molding myself into the model woman I thought Frank wanted.

“Thank you, Ryan, I’m flattered. A little embarrassed perhaps, but flattered, thank you.”

“I’m not shooting for flattery, Abby,” he said as he drew me close.

I wasn’t afraid of him exactly, I was afraid of myself, of how much I desired him, how much I wanted to spend more time to get to know him. You need to be realistic, Abby.

“I’m not sure what you’re shooting for, Ryan. I mean, you’re amazingly attractive, a great dancer and, good lord, what they say about your smile is absolute Gospel, I would swear to that.”

He glanced over my head and grinned with a short laugh. “I’m not looking for a pat on the head, either, Abby.”

“I didn’t mean—” I stammered, my resistance beginning to wear thin as he held me tight.

His brow quirked with his curious smile. “Though I am now curious, what about my smile?” he asked.

“Oh, silly rumors. Office gossip.” I tried valiantly to dodge his interest. I already had the definite taste of my foot in my mouth.

“Hey now, that’s not fair. Come on, tell me, Abby.” His grin widened, his grip around my waist growing tighter.

His crotch rested against my thigh and I sensed his semi every time he brushed my leg. I took a deep breath. “Whew, is it hot in here?” I had to take a deep breath to clear my head of thoughts of hunkering down on my heels and taking him deep in my mouth, as the couples danced unfazed around us.

I shook my head. “You have to promise you won’t use this against me.” I worried my lip as I glanced up at him. Things were getting out of hand, between the wine and the music. His gaze landed on my mouth, lingering there as his hand slipped lower, cupping my bottom.

“I can be very persuasive,” he whispered, leaning close.

I swallowed, wondering whether I should hold out and find out just how persuasive he could be.

Wrong. You do not want to go there.

“But I do,” I muttered quietly as I gazed into those penetrating, dark green eyes.

The music had changed and Usher’s “Yeah” pulsated its sensuous beat across the room. The dance floor was transformed to a sea of gyrating bodies, all of them engaged in their own intimate form of musical foreplay.

He leaned down to whisper in my ear.

“Follow me.”

He weaved us to the far edge of the dance floor, away from the dense bodies in the center of the floor. The corner of the dance floor was shadowed, dimly lit by the glow of the neon lights above the polished bar.

“I can’t hear you, where’d you say you heard this rumor?” he asked. His grip never wavered as his body found the rhythm of the music. He turned me in his arms, holding my waist as he moved his hips in unison with mine. He lifted my arms behind his neck and slid his fingers slowly down the sensitive soft insides of my arm. “Is it working?” he whispered in my ear.

“Your skills of persuasion?” I asked, closing my eyes to the ethereal bliss of his hard body against me. “Oh, yeah.” I risked moving my hands over his hips, holding him in place, getting in lost the slow, sex-filled music.

“The women’s bathroom.” I turned my face to his, too close to that tempting mouth with a full lip that I could imagine biting in the throes of passion.

He gave a low laugh. “You didn’t happen to see my phone number written on the wall, did you?” he teased.

Between the wine, the music and his sexy mouth, phone numbers were the furthest thing from my mind. Every rational bone in my body screamed that I needed to end this and go home.

“I wasn’t exactly looking,” I replied with a smile. He was a good guy, unbelievably sexy, well-mannered and without a clue. My favorite flavor.

He twirled me once and brought me up hard against his chest. “So, are you going to keep teasing me or are you going to tell me what they said?”

I stared deep into those forest-green eyes and even without the grin, the juncture of my thighs grew damp with arousal. “It’s naughty.”

His brow rose.

“I’m a big boy, in case you hadn’t noticed,” he responded.

I had…in many ways. “They said that your grin alone can make a woman wet in ten seconds.”

“Really?” he asked, sporting a cocky smile.

Shit. Don’t disappointment me, Ryan, and turn out to be one of those self-serving pricks that lives in an “it’s all about me” bubble.

“I guess I should be flattered, huh?”

“Well, I suppose there are worse things they could be saying about you,” I joked lightly, thinking that maybe I needed more wine.

“I’m really more interested in hearing what does it do for you, Abby.” He drew me close.

A woman on her way down the back hall to the bathroom bumped against me and Ryan reached out to steady me, his hand landing on my hip.

“Me?” I held his gaze, swatting away the hazy image of me packing up my office things. “Sure, you have a great smile.” He smiled as his hand grazed my skirt hem. My heart, already pounding from dancing, began to thud for far different reasons. His fingers brushed the flesh of my thighs, where the black lace tops of my stockings met my bare flesh.

“Yeah?” He gave me a full-tilt sexy smile that gave no question as to where he was going with this. Truth was, I wasn’t sure what I wanted. It had been a long time since a man had shown avid interest in me as a woman. I had to admit it was a bit of a head rush to think that a guy like Ryan found me attractive.

I gave in to the music and the shadows, becoming someone who took risks, who wanted to be just a bit wicked.

I swayed my hips in rhythm to Usher’s smooth tenor voice pumping out the words like foreplay. Ryan’s left hand held me close, both if us with our heads down, focused on our hips moving in syncopation to one another, leaving no doubt to the possibilities of what might happen tonight.

I placed my palm on the front of his shirt, sliding over the smooth fabric made warm from the heat of his body. He smiled as he pulled me close, silently inviting me to enjoy the ride.

Lost in the music, I glanced at the couples around us, seeing an orgy of sensuality, from the sedate to the sublime. My breasts puckered from just watching them, mimicking their moves.

Ryan leaned down and his hot breath brushed over my cheek.

“You have a fantastic body, Abby.”

I smiled, feeling freer than I had been in a long while. He touched my cheek, barely grazing my flesh as his hand trailed the curve of my neck, sliding lower, parting the collar of my blouse. He was testing the water…hell, so was I. How far did I want this to go? The idea of sneaking into the back bathroom made me squirm.

Fueled by the throbbing, staccato beat, neither of us spoke, lost in looking at each other, succumbing to our primal urges, acting out the dangerous fantasy that neither of us wanted to admit aloud. I want to fuck you, Abby.

I could see it as clearly as if he’d spoken the words. I bit my lower lip, letting my body ride his in my mind. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Our bodies slick with passion, we moved separate yet connected, urging each other higher, pushing the realm of reality-finely in tune, a perfect tight, mind-blowing fit.

“Abby, lets get out of here.”

I blinked, realizing the music had stopped and so, too, had my fantasy bubble popped.

I brushed back my hair, which was plastered to my damp forehead. Good god, what just happened? I stepped away. Chickenshit. “I’m sorry, but this just can’t happen.”

His all-out sexy grin faded as he studied my face. “You’re serious?”

I swallowed, focusing on the floor. “You know, technically you could file sexual harassment charges against me.”

“You think that’s why I asked you out?” He stared at me, shock registering on his handsome face.

“No…I, it’s just awkward,” I replied, searching for an easy way to remove myself from the dance floor, this pub, this situation. I wondered if I had a message from Frank on my cell. I’d left it back at the table.

He took a step closer and took my arm. “Abby, I find you an attractive woman. I quit my job, remember?”

“You can’t do that,” I reasoned, holding up my hands, hesitating when he walked closer and bumped them with his chest. Good lord, he was as delicious underneath those clothes as with them.

“I can and I did,” he countered.

I could feel his heart thrumming beneath my palm and imagined his heavenly body glistening, sliding over me.

“You don’t even know me.” I was losing ground and fast, though instead of fear, all I could sense was a sweet surrender.

“Abby, I’ve been trying to do just that all night. If you’d give me a half of a chance.”

“Ryan.” I took a deep breath and weaved through the crowd, back to our table.

Our table. Was that a Freudian slip?

He came up behind me, bracing his arms on either side of the table and capturing me between them. “Regardless of what you think, I’m old enough, Abby, to see in a woman’s eyes that she wants me as much as I want her.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Ryan, but I am involved…”

“I know about Frank.”

“You do?” He handed me my purse and jacket.

“Let’s take a walk,” he suggested.

He held the door of the pub open as I stepped into the night air. The humid summer air caught in my throat, making me wish I could be on that beach if only for this birthday. I kept my focus in front of me, careful not to get too close.

“What have you heard about me and Frank?”

He shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pants pockets. “Office rumors.” He glanced at me with a grin.

“Touché,” I responded.

We walked a bit before he posed the question I’d been expecting.

“So, what is the deal with you and Frank? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

Between the wine and his amazing cologne, I was having a hard time remembering this guy named Frank. The sad truth was, there wasn’t much to tell about me and Frank, not anymore at any rate.

“Oh, man,” I muttered as the realization dawned in my head that this was the most fun I’d had in a very, very long time. More than that, I wasn’t ready for it to end.

“What is it, Abby?”

“How far away do you live, Ryan?”

“Actually, we passed my place a few doors back. I thought maybe the fresh air would do us good.” He bent down and studied my face. “Are you okay?”

“I want to…I mean, can we…”

He cupped my face in his hands and kissed me slowly and thoroughly, successfully stopping my heart.

“Come on.”

He slid his hand in mine and we walked back to a quaint brownstone. I tugged on his hand as he led me up the narrow set of steps leading to his front door. “No one can know,” I stated with a mix of apprehension and anticipation.

“I don’t want to pressure you, Abby. I want you to want this. No regrets.” He touched my cheek with his soft fingertips. “But let me make one thing clear.”

He took two steps down so that we met face-to-face.

“I want more here than just a quick fuck, Abby. I plan to make sure that you forget about Frank. So if you aren’t absolutely sure, don’t come up these stairs with me. I’ll call you a cab—”

I grabbed his face and kissed him hard, wanting to embrace the feeling of being wanted, desired. I nipped his lip, savoring each kiss. “We best get inside, don’t you think?”

He grabbed my hand and pulled me up the steps. I felt wicked, wanton and free to do whatever I wanted, and right now, I wanted Ryan.

He slammed the front door and plunged us into the cool, dark shadows of his narrow foyer. He wasted no time backing me against the door, his mouth capturing mine in a kiss so fierce I could barely breathe. His hands fumbled with my blouse, yanking it free from the confines of my skirt. Unable to unfasten the small pearl buttons with his shaking hands, he glanced up at me and yanked open my blouse, sending the buttons clattering across the polished wood floor.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he whispered against my mouth. His hands were all over me, exploring, teasing, weighing my breasts, encased in black lace.

He rested his forehead to mine as he stared down at his hands caressing me.

“I want you now, Abby. I’ve been imagining what it would be like all night.”

My head spun with delicious need. I touched my hand to his cheek and felt the shadowy stubble of his beard on his firm jaw.

“You owe me a blouse” I whispered. “And if I don’t get you inside me soon, I may go crazy.”

His mouth slanted over mine as his hands shoved my skirt up past my hips.

“Next time, I promise I will take it slow, Abby.”

I nodded. It was no less than I wanted. My clit throbbed, aching with the torture of my imagination all evening, grinding against him on the dance floor, the teasing, the looks and the kiss. He wasted little time, as he removed my leopard-print bikini underwear. A birthday gift I’d treated myself to at one of Chloe’s lingerie home parties.

The fact that I wore my thigh-high stockings appeared to have a favorable effect on Ryan. He stepped back and blinked, my underwear dangling from his finger as he looked me over. My bra strap falling off one shoulder, no underwear, black thigh-high stockings and heels, with my skirt bunched around my waist, I must have been a sight.

I parted my feet, pleased to see his eyes glitter with desire. “Let me get rid of this.” I reached back to unzip my skirt. He stepped forward, capturing my hands behind me as his mouth came down hard on mine.

“Leave it,” he whispered against my neck, his breath sending heat between my legs.

He lavished hot kisses down my throat, teasing my breasts to stiff submission. I gripped his dark curly head, abandoning myself to the sensation.

He offered short, teasing kisses as I struggled with his belt. With a sigh and a deep kiss, I freed his cock, stroking, teasing, and reaching farther back to fondle his balls. As I prepared to kneel before him, he gently yanked me upright and lifted my leg around his hip.

“Next time,” he growled as he captured my mouth. His fingers slid along the crease of my bottom, finding my drenched folds as he seduced me to the point of being brain dead with his deep kisses. He stretched me, preparing to enter me. My body shook with anticipation. I had not felt this way in such a long time.

“Hold that thought.” He kissed me quickly and disappeared through a door in the long hallway. A breath later, he emerged rattling a packet in his hands.

“Allow me.” I plucked the packet from his hands and wasted no time sheathing his perfect cock, hot and ready to rock my world.

He pressed me against the door, lifting one foot and then the other until he held me braced against the door. Divine did not come close to describing the rapturous tightness of his cock shoving inch by inch deep inside of me, stretching me to accept him.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve thought of this,” he said, kissing me as he withdrew a few inches, jutting deeper, each time, until my juices coated him. The friction was ecstasy, his mouth on my neck, leaving marks I knew I would have to cover. I leaned back, grasping the door handle, my other hand grappling for something to hang on to as my body coiled tight.

Slick and ready, I welcomed his fervent thrusts, delighting in how my body jerked, how his hands grabbed my hips as he plunged over and over, his breathing labored with the intensity of his determination.

“You’re amazing,” he gritted between clenched teeth.

I had little feeling in my limbs and even less in my brain, having given over to the sweet sensation of him driving hot inside me. Tension, tight and throbbing, pooled between my legs. I grew dizzy with need.

“Look at me, Abby,” he stated quietly as he thrust into me, his sleek cock pulsating with the rhythm of his hips.

I curled one arm around his neck and held his dark gaze and when he kissed me again, I came unglued. Wave after sweet wave rocked my body. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard Ryan’s groan and he thrust twice more, spilling his hot seed into me.

The best sex I’d ever had.

My breath caught as he eased from inside me, and I lowered my legs to the floor. I teetered for a moment on my heels, my body vibrating from the aftershocks of my climax.

I wasn’t sure what to say. “That was—” I touched his face, suddenly wondering what he might look like at forty. I imagined he would only grow better with age.

Before I could protest, he picked me up and carried me through to the bedroom.

“Just a practice run,” he stated with a sexy grin.

He lay me on the bed and stood looking down at me, the grin seemingly plastered to his face.

“Would you like to shower first?” he asked, his eyes skimming my body. I felt delicious. Young and vibrant and appealing again. I wanted to believe that what he’d told me all night was true. That he wasn’t just looking for a quick fuck with his boss…his former boss. I felt bad about that.

“If you’ll join me?” I rolled off the bed and quickly removed my bra and stockings. He ushered me into the bathroom and adjusted the water as I stepped beneath the refreshing stream sluicing over my body.

I never knew showering could be so erotic. His hands lathered the soap into great white billows of creamy bubbles, gliding over my flesh, pinching my taut nipples. The water spilled over the both of us, and infused in our own private waterfall I let go any inhibitions of where the relationship might be going. I wanted only to give and take my pleasure.

He turned me to the wall, his hands in gentle exploration, caressing, teasing. His cock jutted proudly between his legs, glistening in the water.

“Spread your legs.”

His tongue found the soft curl of my ear, as I did what I was told. His hand slid around my waist, dipping low between my legs, stroking and teasing until I was crazy with need.

He bent down and kissed my bottom, nudging my thighs farther apart until I was exposed to him.

At the touch of his tongue, I nearly hit my head on the shower knob. He gently shoved my head down and resumed kissing my inner thigh, getting me used to the sensation of his tongue invading my slit.

This was nothing at all like Frank sex.

Heat built inside me, as the water washed over my back. My breasts swayed in front of me and I prayed that he would fill me soon.

A moment later, my prayers were answered when with a groan, he shoved into me, adjusting himself with glorious results as he eased into my tight sheath. He moved slow and steady, taking his time as my body pulsated around him with my first climax. His slick cock, determined to bring me up again, accomplished that very task with flying colors.

I embraced this night as if it was a cherished birthday gift, for me alone. I hadn’t felt this free in years. Not since my twenty-sixth birthday.

He came on his own release as my body milked him once more.

Twice, in one night. What would those office girls think? I didn’t want to think about it.

“Are you sure this is your twenty-sixth birthday?”

He hugged me from behind, holding me against his smooth, chiseled chest as the water sprayed down on us both.

“I swear it really is, Abby. And you are by far the best thing about this birthday.”

I smiled, remembering my twenty-sixth and how much I cherished it. “Happy birthday, by the way.” I smiled.

“Happy birthday, Abby.”

He nuzzled the crook of my neck.

“I have a lot more surprises in store for tonight,” he said as he turned me in his arms and kissed me slowly, savoring the fusion of our mouths.

“I’ve already seen your birthday suit.” I smiled against his tempting mouth.

“Yeah, I kind of like that you have. You never did answer me, though. Is the rumor true?”

I grinned. “Less than ten seconds, so you better get to work.”

He kissed me and somehow we made it to his bed, where he showed me how skilled he was in many ways.

I didn’t want this day to end, any more than I had my twenty-sixth birthday. I surrendered to Ryan’s lovemaking long into the night, experiencing sensations I hadn’t had in years. And at some point, I’m not sure exactly when, I realized I could never go back.

Not just to that day on the beach, but also not back to Frank. I had all but withered and died in that relationship. I’d lost my spark for life and pleasure, and Ryan made me realize that I deserved more. Even if I were to find that someone whom I could spend the rest of my life with, I had to know the passion between us was equal.

And for the record, I experienced more than three “O’s” that night in Ryan’s arms. All without benefit of the joy wedge.

Twelve months later

“Ms. Crenshaw…” Chloe stuck her head inside my open office door. “Meeting at noon in the break room?”

I glanced up from the ad I was studying. “Sure, I’ll be there.” I gave her a brief smile.

“Did you bring your book?” she asked with a wicked grin.

The Kama Sutra? I’ve got it,” I replied without looking up.

“Great, we can’t wait to hear all about it,” she gushed.

“Chloe, I don’t mind sharing this book with all of you, but my private life is my own.”

She grinned, and with a shrug of her shoulders nodded. “I understand, and speaking of which…what time did you want us at the beach house for the big day?”

“Let’s say we meet around two—that should be plenty of time. You’re sure you don’t mind bringing the hors d’oeuvres?”

“Are you kidding? This is the biggest thing that’s happened to this office since the joy wedge.”

Hard to believe that my twilight wedding to Ryan at our new beach cottage could compare with Amy’s joy wedge. “I’m honored you think so,” I said and chuckled.

If you liked Private Party, read more of author Amanda McIntyre’s spicy stories, always available in eBook format:

Spice Briefs

Mirror, Mirror

Spice

The Diary of Cozette

Tortured

“Winter Awakening” in Winter’s Desire

Plus, look for Amanda McIntyre’s next erotic novel from Spice, The Master & the Muses, available in both print and eBook format June 2010.

Hungry for more? Spice Briefs to suit every taste are available now at www.spicebriefs.com.

For something a little longer, visit www.spice-books.co.uk or stop by your local bookstore for stories that will ignite your senses!

Think you’d like to write a Spice Brief? Submissions are always welcome at spicebriefs@harlequin.ca

All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II B.V./S.à.r.l. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

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MIRA is a registered trademark of Harlequin Enterprises Limited, used under licence.

Published in Great Britain 2009.
MIRA Books, Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road,
Richmond, Surrey, TW9 1SR

© Pamela Johnson 2010

ISBN 978-1-408-92776-2