Succubus On Top by Richelle Mead Page B

moistening bee-stung lips.
    Oh God, to be a mouse , he thought.
    â€œMr. O’Neill,” she purred, brushing a lock of that shining hair away from her face. Faint streaks of honey laced those pale brown strands, like gold veins in ore. He wanted to bury his face in it. He wanted to taste it. “You’re late.”
    Despite nearly a foot separating their heights, he felt like the underling here, like he should do penance for his tardiness and kneel in her presence. Not that he would mind that so much, he decided, trying not to stare at the way her dress’s thin material molded itself to her hips and full breasts. Those breasts, he decided, were perfect. Definitely impressive in size, but not grotesquely out of control. And their shape . . . ah, even a master sculptor could never have duplicated those exquisite curves . . .
    Realizing she expected a response, he filed his base thoughts away under L for Later and gave her an unruffled smile.
    â€œMy apologies.” Now probably wasn’t the time to mention the attack back at his hotel. “But I never rush anything. At least not when a woman’s involved.”

    With that being only the mildest of the suggestive dialogue, I wasn’t surprised when things escalated between them near the end of the story. After all, I thought dryly, it wouldn’t be a true Cady and O’Neill experience if someone didn’t score. And man, did he score. The feline comparisons were right on because Genevieve was a cat in heat. She ended up tying O’Neill up in an elevator, performing an array of kinky acts on him that made even me raise an eyebrow. I was surprised American Mystery hadn’t edited them out, though I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t sort of a turn-on to realize such sordidness had come from mild, complacent—
    Elevator?
    We do have an elevator, you know , Warren had told me.
    Light brown hair. Hazel-green eyes. Petite. Nice breasts.
    â€œAhh!” I cried, dropping the magazine as if it might bite me. It landed next to my now-empty bowl, and a passing waitress gave me a startled look. Hastily leaving a wad of cash on the table, I grabbed my coat and purse and sprinted back to the bookstore. Doug was still playing Tetris in our office, but I was too upset to speculate much on what was again an amazing performance.
    All those looks. The whispers and smirks. It all made sense now.
    â€œThey think it’s me!” I told him, making him jump for the second time that day. “Genevieve. They all think I’m some sort of horny, rope-wielding, elevator-fetish dominatrix!”
    Doug raised an eyebrow. “You mean you aren’t?”

Chapter 4
    â€œ D oug!”
    He shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. I mean, it’s pretty hot, really.”
    â€œBut I didn’t do those things. It’s not really me.”
    â€œShe sounds just like you. Her name begins with a G too.”
    â€œBut it’s not . . .” I swallowed, noting the similarities as well.
    Doug watched me appraisingly. “You can’t really blame them. Description-wise, you two match, and everyone knows you and Mortensen are chummy—not to mention what a zealous fan you are and all. After they read the story, Casey even made the brilliant observation that you guys came in together yesterday. You should have seen the speculation that started.”
    â€œBut . . . that was nothing.” No one at work even knew Seth and I were dating. I hadn’t wanted that widely known. “We hadn’t done anything.”
    Doug shrugged again, rising from the computer. “Too bad. I wouldn’t have thought less of you if you had, you know. It’s your business anyway.”
    I groaned. “Not when it’s in print for everyone to see.”
    â€œI thought it was all fictitious,” he reminded me with a sly grin, putting on his coat.
    â€œIt is! Doug, what am I going to do?”
    â€œDon’t know,