Beneath the Surface by Gracie C. McKeever Page A

remembered his comment in her office about what he could do with a tie.
    She paused at the foot of the bed. Visions of herself naked and on her back in its center, spread eagle, arms and legs tied to each post danced in her head only to be replaced with fantasies of Eric in the same position.
    She had a hard time deciding which image turned her on the most, her thong getting soaked at just the thought of having his big hard body helpless and at her mercy or the other image of her at his mercy. God, a girl could go crazy trying to chose a method of orgasmic torture!
    Eric chose that moment to amble back into the room, smiling at her as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

    32
    Beneath the Surface
    Tabitha squirmed and craned her neck to glance into those sharp indigo eyes rather than avert her gaze. She’d almost forgotten how much taller than her he was. How much bigger, stronger and harder.
    She liked the way his broad shoulders filled the doorway, tapering down to washboard
    abs she couldn’t help but admire despite her strong wish for him to put on a shirt and spare her hormones the resultant trauma.
    Tabitha let her gaze roam further down his body, gaze locked on his hands resting at his sides, focused on the long fingers, wondered how they would feel inside her, caressing her labia, pinching her clit, igniting nerve endings that had long gone unignited.
    God, this was crazy! She’d never had this intensely carnal reaction to any man, and she’d been exposed to quite a few as good-looking, virile and big as Eric.
    Blind dates arranged by well-meaning acquaintances that had almost ended in date rapes. A couple of aborted wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am sessions of which she’d come to her senses in the middle of and just in time to avoid a bigger mistake than accepting the ill-advised date in the first place had been. Little foreplay, no foreplay, the closest she’d come to even remotely enjoying herself was the one time she’d given into her baser nature and taken her pleasure without regard for what she was giving back.
    Poor Michael.
    But nothing, no one , had affected her the way Eric was affecting her now.
    What was it about him? Or maybe her long-neglected libido was catching up with her. More like punishing her for her concentrated disregard.
    How long had it been? Eighteen months? Two years? She’d lost count after Michael, throwing herself into growing her business to the exclusion of everything and everyone else.
    “So, where were we?”
    Tabitha jerked up her head and stared when he clapped his hands and rubbed them together as if he were ready to dig into a juicy meal…and the look in his eyes told her that she was on the menu.
    She glanced at his hands again. They looked capable of doing all sorts of naughty things to her body if she let him, and she was sure he wouldn’t have a problem obliging her if she showed the tiniest bit of interest. She knew the type. Too sexy for his own good, and he knew it.
    How many women did he have on the side, at his beck and call? How many had become notches on his bedpost? Did she really want to become one of those notches?
    Problem was, she wanted to do naughty things to him as much as she wanted to let him do naughty things to her. These longings alone should have been enough to make her run from the room screaming into the evening for refuge at the very least if not a nunnery.

    33
    Gracie C. McKeever
    Instead, Tabitha held her ground and cleared her throat as he traversed the floor.
    “We were surveying your wardrobe.”
    “No.” He shook his head, moved forward, and bent close to her ear. “If I remember correctly, we were somewhere around here…” He dipped his head low, planted a gentle kiss on her neck, his light whiskers tickling her skin, speeding her pulse.
    Tabitha closed her eyes, gritting her teeth against the heat rising in her body, her skin so sensitized to his closeness, she thought she’d spontaneously combust if he touched her