Praise for Anne Oliver
‘This attraction-at-first-sight story has just the right blend of adventure, passion and heartfelt emotion to make you want to spend time with this terrific twosome.’
—RT Book Reviews on
Hot Boss, Wicked Nights
‘A tantalizingly wicked read … Oliver gives the reader a tale of a man who knows how to be so good at being bad.’
—www.cataromance.com on
Hot Boss, Wicked Nights
‘A terrific story. Anne Oliver has created a winner in Ben, the hot and sexy but equally complex hero.’
—RT Book Reviews on
Marriage at the Millionaire’s Command
‘… filled with idiosyncratic characters that endeared themselves to this reader and made their lives and careers what they wanted it to be without losing the love and passion they discover between them.’
—www.cataromance.com on
Memoirs of a Millionaire’s Mistress
About the Author
About the Anne Oliver
When not teaching or writing, ANNE OLIVER loves nothing more than escaping into a book. She keeps a box of tissues handy—her favourite stories are intense, passionate, against-all-odds romances. Eight years ago she began creating her own characters in paranormal and time travel adventures, before turning to contemporary romance. Other interests include quilting, astronomy, all things Scottish, and eating anything she doesn’t have to cook. Sharing her characters’ journeys with readers all over the world is a privilege … and a dream come true. Anne lives in Adelaide, South Australia, and has two adult children.
Visit her website at www.anne-oliver.com She loves to hear from readers. E-mail her at [email protected]
Also by Anne Oliver
When He Was Bad …
Mistress: At What Price?
Memoirs of a Millionaire’s Mistress
Hot Boss, Wicked Nights
Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
Her Not-So-Secret Diary
Anne Oliver
To old cats and favourite places in the sun.
Miss you, Cleo.
Thanks to Kathy, Linda, Sharon and Lynn
for your advice on all things PA, and to Meg
for her valued insight and suggestions.
CHAPTER ONE
OH … THE things the man could do … He was the most creative lover she’d ever had. She’d enjoyed a few but this one was the flame on her Flaming Sambuca. Slithering lower, Sophie Buchanan licked the lingering flavour of blackberries and cream from her lips. As sweet as it was, she was done with dessert.
The silk sheets slid cool and smooth against her skin, the perfect foil for his hard, hot weight as she arched her body beneath him. Wanting more. Wanting everything. And she told him what that was. Every glorious detail.
Then she sighed as he set about fulfilling those requests, starting at her ear lobe and working his way down.
His mouth was warm, wet and wicked, suckling at her neck, laving her collarbone and sending goose bumps from the roots of her hair right down to the tips of her toes and every throbbing place in between. His thumbs, lightly calloused, chafed her sensitised flesh as he tweaked her nipples until … oh … bliss … she was in heaven.
‘There’s more,’ his gravel and whisky voice promised.
She hummed her approval, absorbing the scent and texture of his skin against hers while his hands continued their erotic journey.
Wanting to absorb the feel of his flesh through her fingertips, she slid her fingers slowly down his spine, touching every vertebra in turn, pressing her thumbs into the hard muscle on either side. She was rewarded with a harsh groan that tickled her ear and told her he was enjoying it as much as she.
Then he touched her some more. Everywhere. Everywhere at once. His fingers sought, found and satisfied all her secret places. Ripples of pleasure flowed through her veins like liquid gold—his expertise knew no bounds and it seemed his only desire was to bring her pleasure.
And he did, in every way. Jared … The name rippled through her mind like silken ribbons in a tropical breeze.
He smiled, traced her mouth with a finger then with his tongue, and she smiled too, before indulging in the most sumptuous of kisses. He tasted rich and dark, like the blackberries and cream they’d shared, and ever-so-slightly dangerous, which was okay, since she knew she was perfectly safe with him.
Yes … Perfection.
He kneed her thighs apart then slid inside her with agonisingly exquisite slowness. It was as if the world forgot to turn. As if it were coming to a stop. And perhaps it was. Perhaps it had ceased to exist, because it seemed it was only the two of them in a sparkling cocoon of everlasting velvet night.
And then.
She heard a moan, as if her voice came from somewhere else, and her eyes slid open, the darkness alive and glowing with wonder, the tidal wave of her climax still crashing around her. She lay a moment listening to the sound of her elevated breathing while her body slowly floated back to earth.
And reality.
She touched her still tingling lips, realised she was still smiling. And why wouldn’t she be? Oh … my … goodness.
As her eyes adjusted to night’s soft glow through her living-room window, she saw the Gold Coast’s languid summer’s evening had sprinkled the indigo sky with silver dust.
A dream. And the best sex she’d never had.
Yet even though his image remained tanta-lisingly vague, she could still taste him on her tongue. Which was as fanciful as it was true, she knew, but that didn’t make it any less sumptuous. As dream lovers went he was a five-star keeper. Which, all things considered, was a shame because why weren’t there any men out there in the real world to compare?
She shook her head against the cushion. It didn’t matter if there were a zillion comparable men beating a path to her door, she wasn’t interested. She didn’t need—or want—a real man in her life ever again. Not after Glen. He’d destroyed what they had and left her feeling less than a woman. Her dream lovers suited her just fine. Dream lovers were all about you and your wants and they didn’t let you down.
Best of all, they were safe.
Her laptop lay on the coffee table, its tiny power light winking in the dimness. Rousing herself, she switched on the reading lamp. Every luscious detail, before the glory fades.
Even though she no longer attended counselling sessions, the dream journal she still kept was on her night-stand, so she dragged the computer onto her lap, created a dream folder, flexed her fingers.
His name was Jared, and this dream hottie could scorch