Hot and Haunted by Megan Hart, Saranna DeWylde, Lauren Hawkeye Page B

her hair, she smiled. He cried her name when she slid him inside her pussy. She let her head loll back as she moved. Anthony pressed his thumb against her clit in a perfect counterpoint to every thrust.
    There was no hurry but no hesitation. She rode him a little harder, a little faster. She was so wet for him that his thumb slipped and slid against her until it spun her into desperate shudders of pleasure. Her body gripped him. Her hands, flat on his belly, curved and dug into his skin. Anthony thrust harder, fucking deeper, until he came with a hoarse shout.
    Lira leaned forward, her hair curtaining them, to kiss his mouth. “I love you, Anthony. I love you.”
    He held her close and whispered the words in return, and she gave herself up to him all over again.
    The world had changed. So had society. Only time would tell if any of them had fallen sick, or why the Resurrected were changing. Only time would lead them through to whatever was going to happen next. Lira had no idea what that might be, but as she settled next to Anthony on the bed that was plenty big enough for two, she knew that whatever it was, she was ready for it.

 
    P ICK M E U P
    Lauren Hawkeye

 
    Chapter One
    “ I HOPE I didn’t scare you.”
    I sat in the passenger seat of the car, soaked to the skin. Outside raged one of those freakish summer storms, you know the ones, where the air is so heavy and hot that you’d swear you could eat it with a spoon. Yet the water still fell, slick silver sheets of it, warm like a bath. All the while, the thunder and lightning cracked through the thick sky, rather like a loaf of bread that had baked for too long.
    I studied the man who sat behind the wheel. He was a lanky one, slightly awkward-looking, with his plaid oxford shirt buttoned crookedly and sticking to his slightly sweaty skin. Still, I liked the way the curls of his light brown hair tumbled into his eyes, how his thickly rimmed glasses sat on his nose, even how his brow furrowed as he tried to think of a way out of our predicament.
    I knew that I should be thankful to him for swerving to avoid me, which landed his car in the ditch—I had been standing in the middle of the road, after all—but I knew that most men would be hard-pressed to drive by a woman standing in the rain, a woman whose white dress had gone completely transparent in the wet.
    I knew that I was okay-looking; attractive even, on a good day. I also knew that I looked good wet. My hair was a bright, unnatural red that darkened only a bit in the rain and stood out like a beacon. And while I’d always been self-conscious about my hourglass shape, most men seemed to enjoy my curves.
    I didn’t normally think about my looks too much. They were just there, a part of me, as they’d always been, just as I’d always had ten fingers and ten toes. But tonight, I knew, they were necessary to my success. Again, not many men were going to miss the chance to pick up a wet, decently attractive woman who stood out like a sore thumb in the middle of a dark, quiet, rural road.
    I looked at the man again. He was frowning. He caught me looking, and said, abruptly, “No, you didn’t scare me. I was just worried that I’d hit you.”
    I found it sweet, this concern from a stranger. The first thought of many men would be to check the damage to their car, but not this one, no. He was there, with me, in the steamy hot interior of the vehicle, assuring himself that I was okay.
    “My name’s Holly.” I shifted toward his warm mass in the driver’s seat, posturing like this more out of habit than a genuine desire to expose the deep cleavage I had on display; still, I found myself somewhat disappointed that he didn’t look.
    “Brody.” He spared a quick glance at my face before continuing his drumbeat on the steering wheel.
    Hmm. Not the most talkative of men. Still, I’d always been good at getting people to talk, even when they didn’t want to, and I certainly had no intention of sitting in a