Special Delivery. Riki Kaye

to that, and so much more. He had shown her that sex wasn’t merely a joining of bodies, but an unending discovery of sensual joys and emotions she never knew existed. Now she couldn’t live without it. She enjoyed it. She craved it. And oh, how she ached for more.

      The elevator stopped on the thirty-first floor. Megan watched the doors open.

       I should bail now, while I have the chance.

      Two men squeezed past her to exit.

       I’m not moving. Why am I not moving?

      Another man boarded.

       It’s now or never. Here I go…safety is just two steps away…

      The doors slid shut.

       I must be totally nuts.

      The new guy zeroed in on Megan immediately, his eyes roaming appreciatively over her curves as he maneuvered past her to get to the floor buttons. For the gazillionth time, she felt stripped bare. Sure, she had dressed this way on purpose, but for the benefit of only one man. It hadn’t occurred to her that she would be running this gauntlet.

       Note to self: Kill Jeannie for talking me into this…

       Twenty-four hours ago

      Jeannie selected a fortune cookie. “Hon, this is way worse’n you think it is.”

      Megan stopped picking at her lunch and regarded her best friend. “What, I’ll be psychologically scarred for life because I haven’t gotten any for three weeks?”

      “Don’t you get it? This is just the beginnin’!” Jeannie declared, her concern bringing out her honey-magnolia drawl. “It’s only the reason my folks got divorced.”

      Megan dropped a chopstick. “Divorced?”

      “Dad was a workaholic,” Jeannie explained. “Gone before dawn, not home ‘til dark, workin’ weekends, always tired. He an’ Mom hardly ever did anything together, an’ they never talked—”

      Megan winced. “This is just like Michael…”