Frankie heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Are you always so arrogant?”
“That depends,” Ross countered. “Are your nipples always so hard?”
She glanced at his crotch. “Are you always so hard?”
Ross chuckled. He wasn’t the least surprised by her candor, but he wasn’t going to let her get off easily. In fact, he wasn’t planning on letting her get off for a while…. He hauled her against him, rocked his pelvis forward and swiftly lowered his head, catching her surprised gasp with his mouth. “I am around you, Frankie,” he admitted with a resigned laugh. “Always around you.”
Then he nudged her forward, ending the moment. “But right now, Carnal Contessa, our fans are waiting for our advice. So move your ass, dearest.”
Their public wanted heat, Ross thought. Fine, he’d give them some heat. And by the time this session was finished, he’d make sure that nothing but ashes remained of the doubts Frankie pretended to have about the authenticity of their attraction.
Playtime was over. It was time for truth or consequences.
Dear Reader,
Welcome back to my CHICKS IN CHARGE series! (If you missed Getting It! last month in Harlequin Temptation, be sure to check out eHarlequin for a new copy. You won’t want to miss it.) To say that I’m enjoying this group of feisty women-—and finding their perfect heroes—would be a huge understatement.
Card-carrying member of CHICKS IN CHARGE Frankie Salvaterra is the Carnal Contessa of the up-and-coming magazine—CHiCs. She’s the resident sexpert, and her plain speaking and outrageous suggestions for spicing up a flavorless sex life have quickly propelled her to semistardom. But when a meddling matchmaking friend steps in, Frankie finds herself sharing a room with CHiC’s newest employee—The Duke of Desire, Ross Hartford. Too-sexy Ross is every bit as outrageous as she is, every bit as confident when it comes to bed play—a lethal combination, to be sure. When Ross and Frankie are thrust into a royal “He Said, She Said” promotional tour for the magazine, Frankie finds it harder and harder to hang on to her righteous indignation…particularly since she’d rather hold on to him.
Be sure to look for my first single title release, The Future Widows’ Club, coming to Harlequin Signature Spotlight in April. Also, I love to hear from my readers, so swing by my Web site—www.booksbyRhondaNelson.com—and sign my guest book.
Enjoy!
Rhonda Nelson
Getting It Good!
Rhonda Nelson
Dear Reader,
An Evening To Remember… Those words evoke all kinds of emotions and memories. How do you plan a romantic evening with your guy that will help you get in touch with each other on every level?
Start with a great dinner that you cook together. Be sure to light several candles and put fresh flowers on the table. Enjoy a few glasses of wine and pick out your favorite music to set the mood. After dinner take the time to really talk to each other. Hold hands and snuggle on the sofa in front of the fireplace. And maybe take a few minutes to read aloud selected sexy scenes from your favorite Harlequin Blaze novel. After that, anything can happen….
That’s just one way to have an evening to remember. There are so many more. Write and tell us how you keep the spark in your relationship. And don’t forget to check out our Web site at www.eHarlequin.com.
Sincerely,
Birgit Davis-Todd
Executive Editor
Though the dedication is the only part of this book she can read until she’s much older, this book is lovingly dedicated to my darling daughter, Allie.
You’re the best, ma petite amie. I’m growing my very own best friend. How cool is that?
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Prologue
The Bet
“I’LL SEE YOUR MASSAGE and raise you a blow job.”
A slow, wicked smile curved Tate Hatcher’s mouth. “Confident, are you?”
Zora slid the customized fellatio chip to the center of the table and gave her husband a small enigmatic smile. Horny better described her current state, but let him think what he would.
She wasn’t a great poker player and, to make matters worse, when she and Tate played Dirty Poker she always seemed to be the first player to lose focus. Her gaze skimmed over him. But who wouldn’t, with a husband as sexy as hers? Her nerve endings tingled with needy anticipation and a slow steady throb commenced between her thighs. Hell, she was tempted to fold simply to get the game over with.
But she couldn’t.
At least, not yet. She’d been waiting for months for a hand like this and, though he didn’t know it, she intended to up the ante in an unexpected way very soon.
Tate blew out a breath and those aged-whiskey eyes shrewdly considered her. “I think you’re bluffing… But on the off chance that you’re not, I’m going to see your blow job—” he dropped another fellatio chip into the growing pile and lowered his voice “—and raise you a secret fantasy.”
Zora arched a brow and thoughtfully tapped her cards. A secret fantasy, eh? Tate was a conservative player, didn’t raise the stakes unless he was confident of the outcome, therefore one could reasonably assume that he had one helluva hand.
With effort, she suppressed a small smile. Even a helluva hand wasn’t going to beat the one she currently held. The odds that he had the only hand that would beat it were too slim. Out of the realm of true possibility.
In other words, she had him.
Though every nerve tingled with excited energy, Zora pretended to consider her cards once more, then let her gaze tangle with his. She cocked her head. “Why don’t we make this a little more interesting?”
Tate’s eyes instantly sparkled with smoky arousal. “Oh? How so?”
She leaned forward. “Let’s forget Dirty Poker for the moment and talk about matchmaking between a couple of mutual friends.”
The abrupt change in subject matter cleared the heat from his gaze. Tate heaved a long-suffering sigh and simultaneously slouched back in his seat. “Zora, do we honestly have to have this conversation again? We shouldn’t meddle. It’s rude.”
“It’s only rude if we’re wrong. And we’re not. You know they’re perfect for each other.” An argument she’d presented for months, yet Tate still firmly refused to “meddle.”
“No, I don’t. I suspect that they would suit. However, I don’t know and, more to the point, neither do you.” He paused. “Jesus. They can’t be in a room together without verbal bloodshed.”
That was true, Zora had to concur. Frankie Salvaterra