Christmas Caress A HolidayS

About this Book

From New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Josie Litton

Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way! Oh, what fun it is to ride…

What happens after the happily ever after when doubts set in? Emma and Lucas-from my five-star contemporary romantic suspense, CARESS--find out during a very special holiday season in New York City. Sexy romps abound but so do poignant moments of tenderness and love as together they discover the gift of faith in themselves and in their future together.

CHRISTMAS CARESS is a stand-alone story. You don’t need to have read CARESS to enjoy it.

Table of Contents

About this Book Table of Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Sneak Peek

Chapter One

Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way! Oh, what fun it is to ride… The insanely gorgeous man stretched out on his back under me. Lucas in our bed, in the pre-dawn light of early morning was truly a sight to behold. Sleep-mussed hair the color of yummy chocolate, lean cheeks darkened by a scruff of beard, steel gray eyes locked on my own, biceps bulging as he kept his arms folded behind his head, the better to resist grabbing me. I would have taken a moment or a hundred to admire the sculpted sweep of his shoulders, the ripped perfection of his washboard torso, the power of the muscular thighs flexing between my own … But I was much too busy savoring the exquisite sensation of his magnificent cock thrusting between the tight, squeezing walls of my vagina. I must have woken up on the naughty side of the bed because I was taking my time, tormenting us both. First slowly, then more quickly, slowly again, I rose above him so that only the thick velvety crest of his cock remained between the lips of my sex before I sank once more onto him fully. With every thrust, he seemed to become even thicker, go even deeper, stroking me in just the right way along my hyper-sensitive clit and deep inside where I was so exquisitely primed for him. I was beyond aroused, so swollen, hot and wet that I knew I couldn’t wait much longer. Lucas’ stamina was as amazing as every other aspect of the man but even he had limits. Judging by the fine sheen of sweat gleaming on his taut skin, we were both reaching ours. As though our thoughts were as attuned as our bodies he moved suddenly, his arms unfolding from behind his head before I realized what he intended. Strong hands with none of the softness of desk-bound men cupped my breasts, squeezing lightly. The callused pads of his thumbs rubbed over my pebble-hard nipples.

“So fucking beautiful,” he growled. His mouth closed on me, suckling hard. Pleasure exploded at my core. As his tongue soothed the tiny hurt he had inflicted, I felt myself hurtling toward the brink. My head fell back but not so far that I didn’t catch the flash of smoky fire in his eyes as my blond hair tumbled down my back. I gasped when he reached out suddenly, twining it around his hand and pulling me to him. “Enough.” The deep rumble of his voice shimmered over my skin. Before I could draw a breath, he reversed our positions so that I was lying under him. With my knees over his shoulders and his hands squeezing my ass, Lucas began a relentless, punishing drive into me. The slow, gentle lover of the night before was gone. So was the patience that had let me have my way with him…until now. He devoured me, demanding my complete surrender. My entire body shook as I realized how completely I wanted to give it to him. “Come for me,” he ordered. “I can feel you’re right on the edge. Stop fighting, baby, let go.” I wasn’t fighting…was I? I hadn’t meant to but it was there all the same, that tiny flicker of resistance that, if I was honest, I had to admit I’d begun to experience lately every time we made love. Deep down inside, I had trouble believing it was all real. Lucas, the way he made me feel, the life we had together, every bit of the marvels that shaped my days and nights with him. Any moment, I would wake up and discover it was just a dream. Crazy, I knew, but it left me weirdly reluctant to experience even more happiness when I was secretly, even superstitiously afraid that it would all be wrenched away. Fortunately, Lucas left no room for any such fears, at least not when he was buried deep inside me. He knew my body too well. Another hard thrust, the stroke of his fingers on my clit, and-I screamed his name. My back bowed, my fingers digging into his biceps. I clung to him as he gasped in turn and buried his face in my shoulder. Powerful shudders rippled through his body as he came, his release extending my own until the world fell away, taking us with it. ~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was still smiling an hour later when I left the loft building with its spectacular view of New York Harbor and headed uptown. Every inch of me felt as though it was glowing. What a fabulous way to start the day. Too bad it was likely to be downhill from there. Not because anything was wrong, except in my own mind. Far from it. I, Emma Whittaker, daughter of the biggest Ponzi scheme crook since Bernie Madoff and until recently the woman America most loved to hate, was living in my own 21st century version of “Cinderella”. A few months ago, I’d been worrying about how to keep a roof over my head while I struggled to find work that didn’t involve stilettos and a pole. Now I was co-habitating with my very own Prince Charming in a gorgeous Manhattan apartment and I had a job that I loved. To add the cherry to the sundae of my life, it was almost Christmas. New York was draped in its best bling, chestnuts were roasting on corner pushcarts and best of all, it wasn’t snowing. Heck, it wasn’t even particularly chilly. The forecast said we’d hit near 50 degrees with plenty of sun. For a non-cold-weather person like myself, that was as good as it got short of being handed a ticket to a tropical paradise. I was fairly sure Lucas wasn’t planning to do that. He hadn’t mentioned it and besides, we were committed to an insane round of holiday parties. But he had seemed pre-occupied lately. That wasn’t like him. The king of New York real estate who also possessed a personal portfolio of properties to droll over was a master of the laser focus. Whatever he turned his attention to got the full impact of his formidable will, intellect, and passion. I knew because I was so often the lucky recipient of all that and more. That should--and usually did--make me beyond happy, the morning’s little sexcapade being only the most recent example. But lately I’d been on edge and not in that good, wet, hot-and-bothered way that Lucas could effortlessly induce just by looking at me. The closer we got to the holidays, the harder a time I was having finding the Christmas spirit. Charles Dickens knew what he was talking about with that whole Christmas Past thing. I’d spent the three previous holiday seasons holed up in my college dorm room, alone, friendless, and facing a future where I had no one to depend on in a hostile world

except myself. I had pushed myself to exhaustion and beyond in order to graduate the past June, just three years after I started, before what money I did have ran out and my hopes of getting a degree went with it. Not that my dual business/art degree had proven to be of much help, at least not until Lucas came along and changed everything. The experience of being so alone still lingered in my memory, a gray pall over what should otherwise have been a joyful time. I knew what the problem was, or at least I thought that I did. Deep down inside I was dealing with some serious self-esteem issues that I’d managed to avoid acknowledging back when survival itself was on the line. Now that it no longer was, they were making themselves felt much too clearly. The discovery of my father’s crimes had ripped me out of my privileged existence and plunged me into a dark and even dangerous reality. Coping with the challenges I suddenly faced had made me a better person in many ways. But it also left me with lingering doubts about my own worth. I didn’t need a shrink to understand that I had trouble believing that I deserved happiness, much less that it would actually last. Losing the world my father had built on lies and deceit had been bad enough. But the mere thought of losing Lucas… My chest tightened painfully. For an awful moment, I couldn’t breathe. I hadn’t had a panic attack in months but one was suddenly threatening. I fought it back, angry at myself for indulging the fear that made me unravel. Lucas and I were good. We were in love and neither of us hesitated to say so. Our sexual chemistry was off the charts but we were also friends who genuinely enjoyed each other’s company. I trusted him absolutely. Sure, he could be tough and even ruthless. On occasion, the world called for that. But at his core, he was a decent, honorable man, everything I could ever have hoped for. So what if there were times-too many recently--when I had to pinch myself to be sure that he was real? I was not going to be a needy, clinging person, the sort that would quickly drive both of us crazy. But I was a visual person, hence my fascination with art, both creating and curating it. Maybe that was why I saw my insecurities as a wild-haired, prune-faced little imp squatting on my shoulder, perfectly positioned to whisper in my ear. Resisting the impulse to flick it off onto the ground and stomp on it, I squeezed

around a gaggle of tourists on Fifth Avenue, slipped through a nondescript door and took the rickety stairs up two flights to the third floor of a beautiful old Beaux Arts building. Beyond a glass-paneled entrance with letters etched in fading gold lay all that remained of the legendary “Waltham’s”. Before the world went digital, the bookseller had occupied the entire building from the opulent store on the ground floor with its 30foot vaulted ceilings and grand staircase to the bustling offices above. I had vague childhood memories of visiting there during what sadly turned out to be its final years. Now all that was left was this tiny corner preserved by an aging but still loyal clientele. Hiram Waltham was hunched over his cluttered desk. The 80-year-old looked startlingly modish but only because 1970s fashion was enjoying yet another day in the sun. Hiram had never bothered to update his wardrobe, which meant that he cycled in and out of style every ten years or so, kind of like a bad penny except Hiram was anything but. He was the real deal--intelligent, courtly, and just plain nice. I wouldn’t have known that either he or the remnant of Waltham’s still existed if Lucas’s mother hadn’t happened to mention both and gone out of her way to provide an introduction. Although ‘happened’ probably wasn’t the right word. Very little that Katherine Phelps did was less than purposeful. She was every bit as focused as her formidable son. Fortunately, she seemed to like me. So far. I wasn’t sure that the jury was completely in on that matter; just another of my insecurities. Hiram glanced up, saw me, and smiled. He cleared a pile of books off the chair next to his and gestured for me to sit. With a decided gleam in his eye, he said, “Your timing is perfect, Miss Whittaker. I think I’ve found just what you’re looking for.” God, I hoped so. Finding the right Christmas gift for Lucas was my major occupation these days, what with the gallery where I worked closed until after New Year’s. I was getting just a tad obsessive about nailing the perfect present. Money was a factor--because it always was as I’d learned when I didn’t have any. But what really counted was finding a way to show Lucas that I knew him, got him, cared about what he cared about, and was delighted to put in the time and effort to find something he would truly enjoy. To my way of thinking, that was love, no matter what the price tag.

I took a seat and watched as Hiram opened a drawer and fumbled around in it for a moment before producing a slim book small enough to be tucked into a jacket pocket. The paper cover was tattered and worn; the title a bit smeared. Even back in its day, whenever that had been, the little book would have fallen far short of the most modest printing standards. Yet here it was on Hiram’s desk, an unlikely traveler from the past. Holding out a pair of white gloves, he said, “You’ll want to put these on.” I did so as I asked, “What is this?” “An extremely rare copy of “The Gentleman’s Directory”. Specifically the 1870 edition, the first year it was published. The only other copy I’m aware of is owned by the New York Historical Society. They keep it tucked away, well out of sight.” “Why is that?” I asked. Darling Hiram actually blushed. “It’s…a bit risqué.” This was the 21st century. The closet was well and truly empty. What could the city’s historians possibly think shouldn’t be put on display? Delicately, he said, “There are still well connected families who can be touchy about certain branches of their lineage.” I must have looked puzzled because he added, “Not every society matriarch was pure as the driven snow. Some were enterprising women who climbed the social ladder on their backs, as it were.” It took me a moment to realize what he was saying. My eyes widened. The crèmede-la-crème of old New York Society with roots in the sex trade? Lucas would love this. He had to deal with those people or more correctly with their descendants. Plus he was fascinated by the city’s history. His knowledge of it was so thorough that on our walks through various neighborhoods he could make vanished worlds come alive in my mind, as though he peeled away layers of time to reveal what lay beneath. If there really was anything to reincarnation, I often wondered if Lucas had known those same city streets in another life. I had no difficulty at all imagining him stepping out of a Victorian-era hansom carriage, a top hat in his hand and a rakish look in his eyes as he contemplated the pleasures to be had by gaslight. “Their names are in here?” I asked, returning my attention to the little book. Bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows wiggled with delight. “Oh, yes. It is, as the title

suggests, a guide to the city’s brothels for the discerning gentleman visitor to our fair city. Of course, to enjoy the range of entertainment possibilities described therein, he would have had to be quite flush. The irony is that some of those women made enough money as so-called soiled doves to rescue the fortunes of the old line families they married into. It’s one of the city’s more delicious little secrets.” Carefully, I opened the tattered pamphlet and scanned several pages. Brothels were listed by address, name of the madam, décor, and the specialties of various girls, the last part spelled out in considerable detail. Apparently, only the finest establishments had made the cut but even so hundreds were included. In an era when Vegas didn’t yet exist, New York had provided its own version of Sin City. “One can only imagine the dedicated group of researchers who put this together,” Hiram said with a chuckle. “Dragging themselves from brothel to brothel, determined to do right by their readers.” “Very enterprising,” I murmured as I turned a few more pages. Blanket Hornpipe I could sort of figure out. But I could only speculate as to what Blowing the Grounsils involved, much less the appeal of a Pully Hawly or a St. George. Too bad the pamphlet didn’t come with a dictionary. Although, now that I thought of it, perhaps Lucas and I could come up with our own definitions. I felt myself blushing in turn. Hiram laughed, a raspy, old man sound that made me smile in turn. “It’s perfect,” I said. “But as to the price…” In the past three years, I’d become expert at pinching pennies. Heck, I could make poor George Washington scream for mercy on a dollar bill. Even so… “A pittance,” Hiram said. He named a sum well within what I could afford. When I tried to protest that it should be more, he said, “This little gem should go to someone who will truly appreciate it. Lucas loves this city, warts and all. He’ll get a kick out of it.” I took another look at the pamphlet and succumbed. Warmly, I said, “Thank you for finding this. It really is perfect.” The elderly bookseller beamed me a smile and wrapped up my purchase. I slipped it into my purse and thanked him again before venturing back out into a city that

suddenly seemed to hide even more secrets than I could have guessed.

Chapter Two

One task down, on to the next on a list that was starting to feel endless. I needed something to wear to holiday parties, and not just one something. Lucas and I would be photographed together. Like it or not, my appearance reflected on him. Showing up in the same one or two gowns definitely wouldn’t do, especially not when they came from consignment stores and were several years out of date. But my bank account wouldn’t stretch to anything else and I definitely wasn’t taking money from him. We’d had our first real fight when he blew up at the idea that I should chip in for sharing the apartment. I’d lost that one--big time. I had no desire for a rematch in any form. Fortunately, a solution had presented itself…maybe. Cabs being impossible to come by and facing an Uber wait of thirty minutes or more, I walked a mile south to the fashion district. With so many visitors in town, it took longer than normal. Imogene Phelps was already in the showroom when I arrived. “I’m sorry to be late,” I said. “It’s a mad house out there.” That was putting it mildly. Privately, I subscribed to the belief shared by every true New Yorker that tourists should be confined to their own fenced-off lane on the sidewalks and that cattle prods were an appropriate tool to keep them moving along. For the love of god, why does anyone want a ten-minute video of a building? News flash--the building won’t move. Really, it won’t. If it does, you should be running, not standing there videoing the thing. Also, allowing tourists on the subways during rush hour is nuts, being a risk to their own safety and everyone else’s. Someday, someone is going to run for mayor on that platform and win in a landslide. Imogene set aside the gown she was examining and smiled. “Don’t apologize. This is my happy place.”

I couldn’t help laughing. The wife of Lucas’s half-brother, Adam, Imogene was a stunning woman, part-French, part-West Indian, scary smart, and one of the nicest people I’d ever met. She had a style sense that couldn’t be beat and she seemed to know every designer in town, especially those who were up-and-coming. The strangely named, at least to my ears, Fashion Institute of Technology trained young designers. To showcase their creations, FIT loaned outfits to those whose photos were likely to pop up on the highest traffic celebrity and fashion sites. Imogene had patiently explained to me that I was now one of those people. “You’re the significant other of Lucas Phelps who, let’s face it, is this city’s most eligible bachelor even when Prince Harry is in town. Of course, everyone is going to want to get a look at you.” As much as I cringed inwardly at the thought, I realized that she was right. After my father’s arrest, I’d been hounded by the paparazzi. Their coverage had led to death threats and made me unemployable. But since I’d begun being seen in Lucas’ company, it was as though someone had flipped a switch. I’d become the “Golden Girl” who had snared the prince of the city. Now all I had to do was dress the part. And evade the gilded posse of female sharks who swam in New York’s most elite social waters and who had, until very recently, assumed that it would be one of them who tagged and bagged Prince Charming. An intimidatingly elegant, razor slim woman emerged from the back. She greeted Imogene warmly before looking me over with a bluntly appraising eye. “A bit big on top,” she said, “but we can work with that.” Big? I was a 34B, not exactly busty. But whatever. I was more interested in whether this really was the solution to my problem. “Before we get started,” I said, “I’d like to be sure that I understand how this works.” Not that I doubted Imogene but I didn’t feel that I could afford to put a foot wrong. The woman shrugged. “We find the right outfits for you. You wear them to the right events. Afterward, you either return them or work out an arrangement with the designer.” She gave me a knowing smile. “You’d be surprised how much of New York

we dress especially during the holidays.” “We’re delighted that you’re helping us out, Charmaine,” Imogene chimed in. “You’re really stepping into the breach. Emma did have access to an amazing wardrobe. The one that belonged to the 1950s movie star, Margo Stark. I’m sure you read about the auction.” Lucas had hired me to curate the late star’s fabulous penthouse in New York’s most legendary apartment house, the Arcadia, prior to its sale. That was how we’d met and how the transformation of my life began. The apartment was now the possession of a Russian oligarch who had installed his recently discovered American daughter in it. “Darling, I was at the auction,” Charmaine exclaimed. “Wild horses couldn’t have kept me away. The most incredible clothes.” She sighed. “We still haven’t managed to equal the glamor of the 1950s but at least we can keep trying.” For the next hour, I got an up-close look at those efforts. The array of gowns was dizzying. All were gorgeous, even if none could quite equal the vintage 1950s blue silk Pierre Balmain gown from Margo’s wardrobe that I’d worn the first time Lucas and I attended an event together. He’d insisted on buying that gown for me at the auction. I was looking forward to wearing it again but I thought I’d save it for a strictly private event. My wayward mind wandered off into a happy little vignette of Lucas slowly peeling that gown off me. As though in further proof of our mind meld, the man who had the starring role in all my fantasies chose that moment to call. I excused myself to take it. “I was just thinking about you,” I said, crossing the showroom and stepping into the privacy of the dressing room. The low velvet rumble of his voice raised goosebumps on my bare skin. “Oh, yeah? We were naked, right?” How well he knew me. “Now that you mention it, I practically am.” I heard his office chair creak as he sat up suddenly. “How’s that?” “Naked, practically. I’m standing here in my bra and panties. Oh, and those black Laboutins you like.” The shoes had been a gift from him. He’d cajoled me into accepting them using

blatant physical persuasion that I remembered very fondly. Lucas cleared his throat. “Where are you exactly? I can drop by--” I laughed. “Down, boy. I’m with Imogene. We’re getting me dolled up for the holidays.” “Is she with you right now?” “What? Uh, no… I’m in the dressing room. Imogene has gone off to consult with my new fairy godmother about accessories.” “Good. Close the door.” A shiver ran through me. “Lucas…” “Do it, babe. Then lean back against the wall.” How could I possibly be so tempted? After the previous night and the morning? Yet the mere sound of his voice was enough to make me clench deep inside. Even so, I did try to resist…sort of. “I can’t…they could come back at any moment.” “Really? When they’re talking about shoes and handbags?” Thereby proving yet again that he not only liked women, he understood us. Or maybe he liked us because he understood us? I could go round and round on that one, especially since my head was spinning already. But I had more urgent matters to consider. “You’ve got a point.” He chuckled. “I can see you, babe, in my head. You’re wearing that sweet little peach lingerie set I watched you put on this morning.” When I’d finally managed to get dressed, after the shower we’d shared together. “Do you still have on that little garter belt with the ivory thigh highs?” “Uh…yes…” “Oh, man,” he groaned. “Slip your hand into your panties, sweetheart. Find that luscious bare pussy of yours and part your folds just like I would.” I hesitated but the truth was that I wanted to do exactly as he said. Succumbing was all too easy. At my first touch, I clenched hard. I’d gathered up my courage recently and had a waxing. The results were intense. “Lucas, this is so bad!”

“It is, baby, and we both love it. Touch yourself. Do it for me.” I sucked in breath and obeyed. Once…again… It wasn’t the same as when he touched me, not remotely, but the effect was still predictable. “Your clit is swollen, isn’t it?” His voice was a low rumble in my ear. Swollen and slick, hot with need for him. This was insane. I couldn’t be getting myself off to phone sex in a dressing room where I could be discovered at any moment. I was sane, sensible, down-to-earth. Or I had been until I met Lucas. Since then I’d become shameless. Anywhere, anytime, anyway--monogamously speaking--he could convince me to drop my panties. Or in this case slip my hand into them. “Just one finger, baby, that’s all. And just the tip. Stroke your clit, feather light. Imagine I’m there, touching you.” “Oh, god…” “Close your eyes. Can you feel me pressing you up against the wall while I play with you? Your nipples are hard and they’re crushed against my chest. You need to move but you can’t. I won’t even let you grind against me, no matter how much I want to.” A groan broke from me. His deep chuckle in response was a little strained. At least, I wasn’t the only one of us being tormented by our play. “You’re so wet, baby. If I were there, I’d get down on my knees, spread you wide, and tongue you until you came screaming. You know how good that feels.” I did, heaven help me. Good didn’t get close to it. But I was…getting close, that was. So very close… “Don’t stop, baby. Just light little touches on your gorgeous swollen clit. Think about how I like to suck that ripe little berry into my mouth, savor your juices, let you feel my teeth just a little.” My breath was coming in rapid little pants. I was sure that he could hear it. “You’re right on the edge, aren’t you? I can almost feel you trembling, see the flush that creeps up over your skin right before you come. That’s the sweetest sight, baby, you just about to come.” He was right; I was close… My legs were quaking and every brush of my finger on

my clit made the muscles deep inside me coil even tighter. The pressure was building inexorably. I couldn’t contain it any longer. It had to be released-“Stop.” What? He couldn’t be serious. I was right on the edge… Which, of course, was exactly what he’d intended. To keep me there, ready to go off like the proverbial firecracker. I didn’t have to do what he said. Sure, my B.O.B. days were over but if I wanted to get myself off, I damn well would. On the other hand, thanks to Lucas, I’d learned that anticipation had its own rewards. “You’re a beast,” I told him. His laughter was strained. “If it’s any consolation, I’m sitting here with an epic hard-on trying to figure out how I’m going to make it to a meeting in fifteen minutes.” “Don’t you dare--” If I was stuck, so was he. “Wouldn’t dream of it. But fair warning, we’re going to be a little late getting to the party tonight.” I couldn’t resist taunting him in turn. “Just a little?” He must have caught the wistful note in my voice because he said, “We can ditch it altogether, if you’d rather.” For a moment, I was tempted. A night of wild, bed-thumping sex with Lucas or spent with people I didn’t know whose only interest in me alternated between my connection to him and the extent of my décolletage. Decisions, decisions. Except this was a charity bash at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, for a cause Katherine Phelps and the rest of the family all supported. The city’s movers-and-shakers would be out in force. Lucas’ absence would be glaring. “Heck, no,” I said. “Champagne by the boat load, those little caviar blinis I love and some pretty decent art. No way I miss that.” He laughed again, not believing me for a moment but letting me know all the same that he appreciated my willingness to commit to an evening that promised to be 1% charity and 99% business and political schmoozing. “I’ll make it up to you,” he said.

“Oh, yeah? Before or after?” “How about both?” Oh, my. Good thing I didn’t have to be at work tomorrow morning. One of my alltime favorite pleasures was lying relaxed in bed, still feeling sinfully wet and tender where his cock had lately been, while I watched Lucas get ready for the office. Naked, he was a glorious sight to behold. But seeing him in a bespoke three-piece suit, perfectly tailored to his formidable body, was a guaranteed turn on for me. “I shouldn’t be much longer,” I said quickly. “When do you think you can get home?” “Not soon enough,” he grumbled. A deliciously wicked idea blossomed full-blown in my mind, as though my subconscious had been working away on it all this time. “I’ll be waiting.”

Chapter Three

Traffic was still a nightmare so I took the subway downtown. Standing up, holding onto a pole and swaying along with everyone else as the train took a curve, I glanced at the ad hanging a few feet above me. An exhibition of works by a 19th century French painter was coming to New York in January. Tickets had just gone on sale. The ad featured his most famous painting, “The Odalisque”, a full-length nude portrait of a harem woman. Vaguely, in a half-trance induced by the motion and the flashing lights in the tunnel, I remembered that a few years ago, the owner of a yacht christened “the Odalisque” ran for governor in a neighboring state. When his opponent pointed out that “odalisque” meant “sex slave”, the idiot savant--he was a dummy except when it came to getting rich with other people’s money--was outraged. He insisted that it meant nothing of the sort. It was just a word that the artist had come up with somehow and picking it just showed what a refined art lover the would-be governor was. When pressed further, he lost it and made clear that the peasants weren’t supposed to have a clue what a word like “odalisque” meant. How dare he be called out on it! He lost. To be strictly fair, the translation was a little harsh. Ingres had never encountered a real woman of the harem. Maybe that’s why his imagined version appears entirely natural and at ease in her nakedness as she reclines on a silk-draped couch. She gazes at us over her shoulder with an air of confident sensuality and just a hint of wariness, as though she holds the key to a treasure we can only dream of. All the way to my stop, I kept looking at her as naughty, sexy thoughts swirled through my head. By the time I let myself into the loft, I was the female equivalent of hot buttered rum--wet, steamy and thoroughly spiked. My ivory wool dress and the belt that went with it landed on the bedroom floor. For

a fraction of a second, I considered keeping on the rest, then decided against it. Clothes of every sort suddenly felt far too restrictive. Thigh-highs, garter belt and all the rest joined the heap on the floor. I was tidy by nature but just then I had no patience for anything except getting naked. Once I was, I eyed the bed. Lucas and I were both innately tidy. Working together as we did every morning, we’d left the bed made, without a wrinkle, much less a damp spot. So innocent looking. I loved that bed but how could I not? I’d had some of the best times of my life in it. But just then, it wouldn’t do. Too far from the front door. Plus, I still had that painting stuck in my head. Lucas had moved into the loft several years before we met. Right before we did, the pipes had sprung a leak, forcing him to relocate for a while. He’d taken the opportunity to renovate, making the sprawling space even larger and airier. From the entrance, a direct sight line ran the full width of the apartment through the main living area to the high windows looking out onto the roof garden and beyond to the harbor where Lady Liberty reigned. The view was magnificent but the really neat thing about those windows was that, at the touch of a button, they frosted over, providing that rarest of all luxuries in the city--privacy. I hit that button before I stepped into the living area. The long, cordovan brown leather couch near the windows would do perfectly for what I had in mind. I stretched out on it, facing the door and felt a delicious little tingle of wickedness. In short order, my nipples were hard and I had to resist the urge to stroke the still swollen bud of my clit. I was just starting to feel a little stiff, not to mention a wee bit chilled, when a key turned in the lock. If it was the building manager coming to take care of a problem that I didn’t know about, well then… Lucas stood in the open door. His thick dark hair was windblown and his tie was askew. He looked like a man on a mission. One glance and he stepped inside quickly, shutting the door behind him. Without taking his eyes from me, he flicked the lock shut. “Jeez, babe…”

I managed a shrug of my bare shoulders. Against the hand I had delicately posed at my crotch, I could feel the heat gathering in me. “I thought I’d save us some time.” Almost thirty feet stretched from the door to where I lay on the couch. Lucas crossed the distance in long, swift strides. As he came to me, he yanked off his tie, opened the top buttons of his shirt, and undid the clasp of his belt. When he was a few feet from the couch, he stopped. His eyes raked over me. “Good thing you frosted the windows. Otherwise, the pigeons would be slamming into them.” My wayward gaze went to the impressive tenting of his trousers. I wet my lips. “That’s me, always thinking.” He put a knee on the couch and bent over me. The back of his hand brushed my cheek. “You have great thoughts, sweetheart. I love the way your mind works.” I took a quick breath. Every inch of my skin felt vividly alive and hyper-sensitive. “Yet somehow I don’t think it’s my mind you’re focusing on right now.” His chiseled mouth curved in a wicked smile. “Think again. I’m always focused on your mind--what you’re feeling, needing, wanting, all of it.” The curve of his finger stroked slowly down my neck. I moaned softly. His smile deepened. “Right now, I’m guessing you’d like this…and this--” His gaze never wavered; he watched me intently, gauging my response. That was part of what turned me on so hugely. How much he cared. How patient he was. The pleasure he took in my pleasure. The fine wool of his suit felt cool against my overheated skin. At the thrust of his thigh between mine, a long, pulsing quiver ran through me. I never knew what to expect with Lucas. There were times when he made long, slow, sweet love to me until I was mindless with need and boneless with pleasure. Other times he let the dominant side of his nature out to play. A part of myself that I’d never known existed reveled in that. And then there were those times when he wanted me to take the lead, as I had that morning. A quick glimpse of the blazing heat in his eyes and I knew it was Dominant Lucas who had come home to me. At the moment, that was just what I needed. There was something about being naked while he was still fully dressed. He looked

so supremely civilized, the embodiment of urbane masculine power but with an unmistakable edge of primal wildness. My gaze went again to his groin. I watched with mounting excitement as his long, blunt-tipped fingers undid the button of his trousers and eased down the zipper. He reached inside and with blatant ease freed his cock. His other hand ran lightly over my hair before cupping the back of my head and urging me to him. “Suck it,” he said. I obeyed without hesitation. I loved doing this for him, loved the sense of power that came with making this strong, supremely controlled man unravel. And, to be perfectly frank, I was extremely fond of that particular part of him that was capable of driving me to such ecstatic release. With all that in mind, my tongue flowed around the velvety softness of his crest, flicking at the underside before I drew him into my mouth and sucked greedily. A shudder ran through him. His grip on my hair tightened. He made a sound of agonized pleasure. “Emma… what you do to me.” That was good but I wanted so much more. Hollowing my cheeks, I sucked harder. The hot spurt of pre-cum on the flat of my tongue was my reward. But it still wasn’t enough, not nearly. With one hand, I fisted his length, with the other cupping and stroking his balls. He swelled even further, becoming longer and thicker. Presented with the stark evidence of his virility, I felt myself softening, becoming slick and hot with need for him. All the while, I watched him, riveted by the flush of pleasure darkening his cheeks and the wild, almost feral burn of his eyes. Emboldened, I redoubled my efforts. The taste and scent of him made me quiver. I felt his balls drawing up and knew he was about to… His hands closed around my head, gently pulling me loose. My sound of protest was smothered by his wildly possessive kiss. Breathless, my senses swirling, I was hardly aware when he swept me up and bent me over the arm of the couch. Soft suede teased the undersides of my breasts as my bare toes scrapped the carpet.

I moaned when he grasped the nape of my neck, holding me in place as his thighs thrust between mine, forcing my legs wide apart. “I can’t get enough of you,” he groaned. “You’ve made me insatiable.” The push of his crest between the lips of my sex sent a rush of moisture from me. I wanted him so desperately, needed him… Yet despite the intensity of his own arousal, he held himself in strict check, sliding into me slowly once, again, the pace frustratingly controlled and sensual. Held as I was, face down, ass in the air, legs spread, I was compelled to accept the carnal torment until I couldn’t bear it anymore. The powerful walls of my vagina closed around him, squeezing, demanding. He gave a hoarse shout and grasped my hips as his control broke. From that seeming position of submission, I milked him fiercely, not relenting in my own pleasure until the last spasm of his finally subsided and he lay limp over me. ~~~~~~~~~~~~

When my heartbeat at last began to return to normal, I snuggled deeper into the jacket that Lucas had stripped off and wrapped around me. We were still on the floor beside the couch where we had collapsed. My head was on his chest, his arms holding me securely against him. I could feel the pounding of his heart under my cheek. Hoarsely, he said, “I think we’ve discovered something new but we’re going to have to keep it to ourselves.” I couldn’t help smiling. His hair was mussed from my gripping it, his chiseled lips a little swollen, his eyes heavy-lidded and slumberous. All in all, he had the look of a supremely well-satisfied male. “Why’s that?” I asked. “Because if other people find out that sex can be this good, no one will want to do anything else.” I laughed, all-too aware that I was blushing. “Then we better not tell anyone.” “It might be too late. I rushed out of the meeting that I was supposed to be in. It was either that or sit there pretending to pay attention when all I could think of was you.” That was nice, especially given how continuously he was in my thoughts. I shifted a

little, wrapping an arm around his waist, and nestled closer. Getting up off the floor still seemed like way too much effort. We’d have to eventually but not quite yet. “It’s almost the holidays. Why are you having meetings anyway?” “Why indeed when I’d much rather be right here with you.” Softly, I said, “We should still go to the party. Your family--” “Yeah, yeah, I know, they’re all big supporters of the charity it’s in honor of. So am I, for that matter. But before we go--” He tucked his fingers under my chin and raised my head. Our gazes met. I was struck that behind the air of sensual relaxation, he suddenly seemed very focused. All that high-wattage brilliance and power turned in my direction was a little daunting. “There’s something I need to tell you,” Lucas said. “This may not be the best time or place, but I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I need to get it off my chest.” My mind scrambled to process that. He had seemed pre-occupied lately. I’d noticed that even if I had no idea why. I could have asked him--probably should have--but I’d been too absorbed dealing with own mounting insecurities. Now all I could do was regret that. “What is it?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound as tremulous as I felt. He took a breath, let it out slowly, and said, “You know I love you. I’ve told you so and I have to hope you believe it. But I want to make sure you know all of it.” “There’s more?” How could there be when that was all I could ever have wished for? Solemnly, he nodded. “I’m concerned that you’re thinking too much about how much I’ve changed your life and not enough about how completely you’ve changed mine.” His perceptiveness didn’t surprise me. He was a very intelligent man but even more than that, he’d told me himself that much of his success came from simply looking and listening. In my experience, too few people really did either. I just hadn’t realized that he was so tuned to my innermost concerns. His hand slipped around to the back of my head. He stroked my hair as he said, “You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met and just to be clear, I don’t mean because of the sex, great as it is. I mean all of you, your mind, your heart, your courage, your sense of humor, the way you step up and handle everything that life throws at you.”

My throat tightened. I wasn’t so sure how well I’d handled anything. About the best I could say was that I’d survived. As for the rest… “I had a good life before I met you,” Lucas went on. “I certainly wasn’t unhappy about it. But that’s only because I didn’t understand how much was missing.” His lips brushed against my forehead in a caress that as soothing as it was, still sent a jolt of pleasure through me. “After my dad died,” he said, “my whole focus became protecting what he’d built and then making it even better. I worked hard, which I took to justify the fact that I also played hard, and uh…you know.” Fucked hard. He didn’t have to say that for me to get it. Men like Lucas--not that there were many like him--were the apex males in the glittering world city that was New York. Women--smart, strong, gorgeous women--were drawn to him like so many moths to a flame. Early on after we’d met, I’d looked him up on social media. Judging by the photographs, he’d had a preference for brunettes but I’d found no indication that he’d ever had a serious relationship. No live-in girlfriends, for example, at least not until I’d come along. I was tempted to ask him why that had changed but then I realized that he was already telling me. “I assumed that I’d get married someday. I even thought that I knew what the woman would be like.” A rueful chuckle escaped him. “Basically, a sexy, female version of me--able to understand and share my own unrelenting focus on success. I think of that now and--” He shuddered. “Looking back, I realize that my life was shades of gray lit up by occasional splashes of red whenever I scored some really big deal. Then you came along and suddenly everything’s in Technicolor.” My breath caught. I knew beyond any doubt that he was deliberately speaking in terms I would appreciate. Softly, I said, “Lucas, you must know, you do the same for me and so much more.” “We do it for each other, sweetheart. That’s my point. You and I together, we’re standing on equal ground.” He stood, drawing me up with him. Holding me close, he said, “When you start

doubting that, I want you to talk to me about it, all right? Don’t keep it locked up inside. Promise me?” I blinked back tears. Nothing in my life--not my privileged childhood or all the struggle that had come afterward--had prepared me for the overwhelming joy of being loved by this amazing man. The sensation was at once humbling and exhilarating. Words failed me. All I could do was nod. Once again, Lucas understood. He bent his dark head and touched his lips to mine in a kiss as sweetly tender as it was consuming.

Chapter Four

We did get to the party late but not so much that we were spared the feeding frenzy on the red carpet. Lucas kept an arm around me as we navigated past the cameras. He resisted all efforts to get him to stop for “just a quick” question but did pause long enough for the paparazzi to get their photos. I’d have been happy to pass that up, too, if not for what I owed the designer of the deceptively barely-there gold silk lamé gown that I was wearing. But Lucas was vehement about making it clear that our relationship was serious. Inside, the charity gala was the usual swirl of beautifully dressed and bejeweled women accompanied by men in a mix of elegant tuxedos and whatever passed for this season’s style. Hint to every guy: skinny pants with short cuffs don’t work for anyone. Lucas was most definitely in the first group although I thought he set a standard all his own. Only his brother, Adam could match it but then he’d been a male model. Never mind that he’d done that while putting himself through Harvard, Lucas still loved to tease him about it. Adam owned his own construction firm; he actually got to climb up in a crane and swing it around whenever he wanted to. Males--whether straight and gay--all seemed to understand why that was immensely cool. Even as I went through the motions of greeting everyone, I was still thinking about Lucas and what he’d said. Slowly, I let myself accept that in understanding the doubts that haunted me, he had taken a weight from my shoulders. In its absence, the burden of the past no longer had the power to eclipse the present. As I glanced around the beautifully decorated ballroom--filled with evergreen boughs, diamond lights, and vivid sprays of poinsettia--a sense of hope filled me. For the first time, I felt the true spirit of the season.

In that frame of mind, I was more than happy to join Lucas’ family. Imogene looked marvelous as ever in crimson velvet and a glorious emerald necklace. Lucas’ sister, Caro was with her, looking every inch the successful tech entrepreneur in a glittering silver pantsuit that emphasized her long legs and curvy figure. “We started to think that you weren’t coming,” Caro said with a grin. “But here you are, positively glowing.” I blushed. It was a curse. No matter how hard I tried, I had the kind of complexion that lit up way too easily. Imogene had a great, throaty laugh that suggested she was no stranger to showing up somewhere right after a romp; she was just better at concealing it. I snagged a blini and took a bite. The understated saltiness of the caviar exploded as the eggs popped on my tongue. Sinfully good flavor had me stifling a groan. Lucas caught me at it and grinned. He leaned closer so that his breath whispered over the curve of my cheek. “How is it that everything you do makes me hard?” I raised a brow while doing my best not to choke. “Everything?” He nodded, leaned further, and used his teeth to snag the rest of the blini right out of my hand. Muscles deep inside me tightened as he chewed, swallowed, and smiled again. “Everything.” “Sleeping?” “I love watching you sleep, especially since I know you wake up so soft, warm, and welcoming.” He had me there. I could never refuse him but especially not in the early mornings when I inevitably awake from dreams about him. “What about when I come home from the gallery, kick off my heels, moan about what a tough day I had, and ask if there’s any beer?” “Are you kidding? A woman who likes beer and gets insanely sexy from a foot rub? What could be better than that?” My cheeks flamed again as I remembered exactly what my foot rub a few days ago had led to. Until I’d met Lucas, I’d had no idea that the feet were a serious erogenous zone. Live and happily learn.

“Never mind,” I said hastily. His mother had just spotted us. Katherine Phelps was elegantly beautiful in a deep blue silk sheath that hugged her slender figure. She smiled warmly as she greeted her son, then beamed that same smile at me. “Emma, dear, you look wonderful.” We cheek kissed, the real deal, no air kissing. I inhaled her perfume, Givenchy’s classic “Amarige”, and thought not for the first time that Katherine was everything I would hope to be at her age. Except for one thing: She had lost her husband, Lucas’ father, far too soon. In the seven years since his death, she had battled back from paralyzing grief to rebuild her life. This evening, she was escorted by a handsome, silver-haired banker I’d seen her with before and who was clearly fascinated by her. Cocooned in the circle of Lucas and his family, I couldn’t help but have a good time. It would have been hard not to among the Phelps. Not only were they warm and loving to each other--and to me. They were also smart, witty, and engaging. Even so, I couldn’t help being aware that not all the attention coming my way was positive. While the couples who stopped by our table to say ‘hello’ were, at the very least, polite, frostier attitudes were on display around the room. My heart sank a little when I realized that without exception, they were coming from young women, all gorgeous, perfectly groomed, and very much at home among the social elite. Exactly the kind of woman Lucas could be expected to be with. We had been to more social occasions than I could count in the past few months during which I’d been only distantly aware of any such hostility. I could only conclude that it was more in evidence now precisely because Lucas was making it so clear that he and I were a couple. Throughout the cocktail hour and the dinner that followed, he left no doubt that I was the focus of his attention. Every smile, every touch, made his feelings vividly clear to me and to anyone who cared to look. Finally, I tore myself away to visit the ladies’ room. I was finishing up, still in the stall, when a trio of young women breezed in. They were chatting among themselves. “Seriously,” one said, her voice grating with self-righteous indignation, “what is Lucas thinking? She’s a nobody! Even worse, she’s a walking reminder of one of the worst financial scandals to ever hit this city. Everything about her calls his judgment

into question.” “You can’t say she isn’t beautiful, Sherri,” another said. “Plus she obviously adores him. Maybe he gets off on all that doe-eyed adulation.” “Oh, please, Lulu,” the third chimed in. “Face it, there’s more to her than that. After all, she’s here with his family.” Sherri’s voice rose into a decibel range that made me wince. “He’s making a terrible mistake. If he wants to bang her that’s one thing, but to actually be seen with her? I never thought he was the kind of guy to think with his dick but apparently I was wrong.” “All guys think with their dicks,” Lulu said. “It will blow over. Dulce agrees with me, right?” “I don’t know… A few months ago, maybe I would have but they’re still together. And his family obviously likes her.” “They’re just indulging him,” the Sherri bitch said. “That’s the problem; everyone does. Nobody has the guts to look Lucas Phelps in the eye and tell him that he’s making a fool of himself.” “Is he?” Dulce asked. “Or are you still burned because you made a play for him last week and he turned you down flat?” “I tried to do him a favor! He’s just too thick-headed to realize it. She’ll damage his reputation and harm his business.” In my recent self-worth doubting phase, that would have hit me hard. But now it didn’t even leave a mark. My focus was entirely elsewhere. She’d made a play for Lucas last week? What the hell? The stall door banged open when I kicked it. Fueled by righteous indignation and a whopping big dose of whup-ass, I strode out. At the sight of me, Sherri jumped a little and gave me a faux smile. “Oops,” she said. I advanced on her, not stopping until she paled and backed up against a sink. Shooting laser-darts out of my doe eyes, I sneered. “How desperate do you have to be to go after a man who obviously has no interest in you? I’m sure Lucas let you down easy because that’s the kind of man he is. But I’ll

give it to you straight. There is nothing wrong with his judgment. He does not think with his dick, as you so charmingly put it. And he’s as far from a fool as you’ll ever find. If you understood any of that, you might--just might--have had a shot at him. But you don’t and it’s too late anyway. He’s taken. He’s mine. Get over it.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dulce give a little fist pump. Clearly, she and Sherri weren’t best buds. Lulu, on the other hand, looked horrified. “Are you going to let her talk to you like that?” she whined. Sherri really didn’t have the sense a gnat is born with. She shoved away from the sink, planted her hands on her scrawny hips, and glared at me. “You’re trash, just like your father. Lucas is going to figure that out eventually and when he does, he’ll toss you in the dumpster. But don’t worry, there’ll still be a use for you. I hear the escort services are hiring.” What I suppose she’d meant as a cutting slur triggered a sudden flash of memory in the back of my mind. Hiram, the little pamphlet, the list of names. It was all I could do not to burst out laughing. At least one of Sherri’s ancestresses must have been a whole lot more charming than she could ever hope to be. Time had definitely not improved that gene pool. I let that go in favor of a more appropriate answer, one driven by the fierce need to stand between Lucas and anyone who would dare to disparage him. But before I could get it out, another voice intervened. “If they are, it’s because any man with half a brain knows to run like hell from a cold hearted bitch like you.” I whirled just as Caro made her pronouncement. She wasn’t alone. Imogene and-heaven save us--Katherine Phelps were with her. The women in Lucas’ family were drawn up like Valkyries, ready for battle. “You were taking too long,” Caro said to me. She nodded at Sherri and Lulu. “And I saw this pair of mini-brained vipers heading your way. Figured you might want some back up.” Katherine stepped forward. She eyed Sherri up and down with icy contempt. “I heard what you said about my son. Let me tell you, I raised him far too well to ever stoop to the likes of you.”

She slipped an arm through mine and drew me close. “You’re not fit to clean this young woman’s shoes. Get out of here before I forget I’m a lady and give you what you deserve.” Lulu had to give Sherri a push to get her moving but they went. Dulce remained long enough to shoot us a big grin before she, too, departed. Turning to me, Katherine said, “My son has accomplished a great deal in his life. All that’s been missing is a strong, loving woman to stand beside him.” Imogene and Caro gathered around us as Katherine hugged me. Softly, she said, “I’m delighted that he’s found her.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thinking about that in the car on the way back to our apartment, I blinked back tears. My own mother was far away, enjoying life with her new husband. But Katherine had made me feel--really for the first time--that I wasn’t without a loving, maternal influence in my life. As for Caro and Imogene, they were the sisters I’d never had before. That would take some getting used to but I was more than willing to make the effort. “Everything all right?” Lucas asked. His arm was around my shoulders as we relaxed in the back seat of the car. Nestled close to him, I could feel the strong, steady beat of his heart under his cheek. Looking up at him, I smiled. “Couldn’t be better.” By the time we stepped inside the loft, it had started to snow. Not heavily, just tiny, diamond-bright flakes that even I didn’t mind. Before I could take my evening coat off, Lucas surprised me by opening the doors to the spacious terrace. “Come out here for a moment,” he said softly. Joining him, I gasped. In our absence, the roof garden had been transformed. Hundreds of tiny lights twinkled in the branches of the trees and bushes. Flames leaped in the outdoor fireplace. From the surrounding speakers, a soft, romantic tune filled the night air. I smelled fresh pine mingling with the scent of the nearby sea, always so startling in the city, a reminder of our perch on the edge of the great world so filled with possibilities.

“Lucas…?” He stepped closer, until we were almost touching. I felt the warmth of his big, hard body and saw the light shimmering in his eyes. Quietly, he said, “I meant what I said earlier, Emma. You and I are equals in every way. But on this occasion--” I gasped as he went down on one knee in front of me. From his jacket pocket, he drew a velvet box. Lucas cleared his throat. This supremely confident man was suddenly endearingly nervous. Carefully, as though determined to get the words right, he said “Emma Whittaker, you’ve transformed my life. I love you more each day and more than I ever knew was possible. There is nothing more precious to me than being with you always. Please do me the honor of becoming my wife.” I gaped at him, unable to speak, my heart pounding. My legs gave way. Slowly, I slipped down beside him so that we were both kneeling face-to-face. Only then did I manage to gasp, “Yes, oh, yes!” With a full-blown grin, he flipped open the box and took my hand. The ring slipped on perfectly. My vision was blurred by the tears that finally wouldn’t be restrained but there was no mistaking the large, perfectly cut oval diamond turning the light within it into a multitude of rainbows. I looked from it to him. The light in his eyes dimmed even the radiance of the diamond, filled as they were with faith in us and in the future I now knew beyond any shadow of doubt we would build together. ~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now that you’ve met Lucas and Emma, I hope you’ll want to discover their story from the very beginning--what drew them together, how they fell in love and the challenges they overcame on their way to a very special holiday season. You’ll find all that and more in--

CARESS The Arcadia Series red hot contemporary romance

with a dash of mystery “Sexy. Mouthwatering. Beautiful. PERFECTION”--Jelena Bosh, Amazon “This will catch you unawares--lovely!”--Books Laid Bare “Josie Litton delivers another great, sexy read!”--E. Stewart, Amazon “Amazing, addictive, suspenseful, full of surprises, what a great read!”-Booksraddicting Welcome to the Arcadia, Manhattan’s most seductive address. For almost a century, the exclusive Art Deco apartment building overlooking Central Park has been home to passionate, star-crossed lovers. Now a new generation is about to discover the obsession and mystery hidden within its luxurious walls. When smart, gutsy Emma Whittaker returns to the building where she grew up, she’s only hoping to gain a foot-hold in a city that has turned cold and hostile since the exposure of her father’s multi-billion dollar financial fraud. Instead, she meets the one man who can make her forget all the hard-learned lessons that life has taught her and tempt her to risk everything, even her heart. Lucas Phelps is New York’s premiere realtor, the confidant of stars, tech moguls, and oligarchs, gatekeeper to the city’s most sought after properties, none more so than the Arcadia itself. At ease in the world of the wealthiest and most powerful, Lucas has long since hidden his true nature behind steely resolve. But his deepest yearnings will return to haunt him when he crosses paths with the one woman capable of shattering his hard-won control and unleashing his darkest desires. As the betrayals of the past and the dangers of the present collide within the Arcadia, Emma and Lucas will struggle to overcome both before they can make the future their own. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ EXCERPT

Lucas I was in the kitchen, spreading cream cheese on a bagel, when I heard an odd sound. At first, I didn’t pay much attention. There are a lot of strange sounds in any building. You get used to them after a while. I’d only been here since yesterday and I was still adjusting to the place. I’d even admit to being a little jumpy but whatever I heard was just wrong somehow. It sounded almost like… Metal tearing loose from wood. I turned and looked through the kitchen into the adjacent pantry just in time to see the latch fly off the double doors of the dumbwaiter in there. That quaint little invention still found in some older buildings amounts to a miniature elevator handy for hauling groceries and other small items up to individual apartments. But it seemed that someone had found another use for it. The doors banged open and a woman came hurtling through them. My brain registered a quick impression--blonde, endless legs, violet suit or dress, whatever. Mostly, my reaction was straightforward: What the hell? Her momentum was so great that she ended up sprawled half-on the counter in front of the dumbwaiter with the rest of her angling down toward the floor. As entrances went, hers was ungainly, startling, and quite likely illegal. Unless she had a damn good reason for being in the dumbwaiter--not much chance of that--she’d just broken into the apartment where I was staying. On occasion, women have done crazy things to get my attention--shown up at my door in nothing but stilettos and a smile, for example. Not unusual for a guy with my wealth and public profile who was also--I would modestly admit--not hard to look at. But none of them had ever gone this far. At once, I dismissed the possibility that the blonde had seduction in mind. Best case scenario, she was a thief expecting to find the place empty and clever enough to exploit a weakness in the security system that no one had thought to fix. That was bad enough but the fact that her appearance came hours after I’d been warned that someone might be gunning for me limited my options. I had no idea how seriously to take the threat. Granted, New York real estate is a

high stakes game and people with more money than morals can end up disappointed. They still don’t generally put out a contract on the guy who told them ‘no’. All the same, if there was a time to err on the side of caution, this was it. With that in mind, I didn’t hesitate. Before the woman could get to her feet, I got to her, slamming her up against the wall with my arm at her throat. My intent was to control her long enough to find out what she was doing here while providing just enough physical intimidation to get her to tell me. But Blondie had other ideas. Her head reared back, then quickly slammed forward in a move intended to jam the cartilage of my nose up into my brain. I barely managed to avoid the blow while also fending off what she was trying to do to my balls and the rest of me. Any lingering doubt I had about how to deal with her vanished. So far as I was concerned, she was clearly the person in the wrong. All I was doing was defending myself. If she wanted to fight dirty, fine by me. To that end, I pressed my arm harder against her throat to let her know that I was serious and snarled, “Stop it!” I was using my chest to keep her trapped up against the wall. One of my thighs was wedged between hers. Bastard that I am, I couldn’t help noticing that she was all long legs, full breasts, and willowy curves. That was distracting but I still had enough sense to know that my first priority had to be securing whatever weapon she might be carrying. Still, as I moved my hand over her, feeling for a gun or knife, I may have lingered a little longer than was strictly necessary. Her breath started coming in shallow little pants that I associate with a different kind of physical activity. That definitely didn’t help the situation. Nor did the fact that she was still struggling, so much so that the softness of her flat, smooth abdomen kept rubbing against my groin. After the shower I’d just taken, I wasn’t wearing anything other than a towel around my hips and it wasn’t much of a barrier between us. It sure as hell didn’t conceal the fact that I was suddenly getting hard. That was just downright disturbing. I like my women compliant, purring under my

hand and begging for more. Trying to crush my balls and rip my eyes out doesn’t do it for me. Still, the truth was that I was becoming aroused for reasons I didn’t care to examine--caveman stuff on the level of controlling the furious wildcat in my arms and bending her to my will, definitely not my usual style. I was trying to sort that out while coming to terms with the fact that she wasn’t armed when a shudder ran through her, her eyes rolled back and she suddenly went limp. Shit! I yanked my arm from her throat and caught her as she started to slide to the ground. Holding her, I stared down at her in shock. I didn’t think that I’d put so much pressure on her throat that she could pass out from it. I sure as hell hadn’t intended to no matter how she was trying to hurt me but the evidence was there all the same. For a moment, all I could feel was disgust at what I’d done. In an instant, I confirmed that she was breathing, thank god, but out for the count. Scooping her up, I carried her into the living room and laid her down on the couch. As I did so, I couldn’t help noticing that my earlier impression that she was a damn attractive woman wasn’t mistaken. It just fell far short of the mark. From the top of the silky blond hair tumbling loose from a twist at the back of her head to the bottom of her long legs, she was the stuff of dreams, the wet kind. Her face was oval, a little softer than the angular look a lot of women strive for, with a gently rounded chin and a mouth… Sweet lord, that mouth. Luscious didn’t begin to describe it. Full, moist, soft, a perfect shade of pink ripening toward rose that looked entirely natural. All too easily, I could imagine it wrapped around my cock while she-It was official; I was a sick bastard. She was lying there unconscious and all I could think of was-That I had a good opportunity to figure out who she was before she came to. But first, I didn’t want to take the chance that she’d wake up suddenly and try to leave. Or do me some serious bodily harm, which by now I might just possibly deserve. That she wasn’t armed didn’t matter. There were plenty of items within easy reach that could be turned into a weapon.

At least that’s how I justified in my own mind what I did next. Yanking a fancy tieback off one of drapes hanging to either side of an arch at the entrance to the living room, I hesitated only a second before using it to lash her wrists together. Looking down at the dark fabric against her smooth, pale skin, I was shocked--yet again--when my hard-on went to a whole new level. I’d played with bondage with partners who were inclined that way, and I’d enjoyed the sense of dominance but this was different. It didn’t feel like a game. It was real. And I was responding to it in a way that I’d never suspected I was capable of. Later, when this was all over, I could figure out what had come over me or better yet just forget it had ever happened. But for now, I checked her breathing again. It was slower and deeper, a lot closer to normal. Reassured that she’d be fine--at least until she woke up and realized what I’d done-I headed back to the pantry. Sure enough, several items were still in the dumbwaiter, including a pair of slim, flat shoes, a cell phone, and a small purse. I went for the purse first. The wallet tucked into it yielded a driver’s license from the State of New York. The picture confirmed that it was hers. So who exactly had taken a ride up a pitch black shaft, crammed into a space just big enough for a few grocery bags, in order to break into the apartment where I was staying? I held the license up and read the name on it. Emma Whittaker. She was twenty-one, at least for another month, didn’t need corrective lenses, had O positive blood, was willing to be an organ donor, living at-Emma Whittaker? As in the Emma Whittaker? The young woman who just a few years back was at the center of the fire storm that rocked the financial world and for a while at least made her the top target of every bottom feeding paparazzi and internet troll on the planet? That Emma Whittaker? Well, shit, this was starting to get interesting. A hard and, I’m sure, not particularly pleasant smile curved my mouth as I

wondered why exactly the woman America loved to hate had suddenly walked--or better yet hurtled--into my life. CARESS is complete! No waiting, no cliffhangers! Join my Readers’ Group and get FREE advance copies of selected new titles, and other special offers. I don’t spam and I take your privacy seriously. Your email will never be shared with anyone. Josie's Readers' Group Let’s connect! Josie on Facebook Josie on Twitter Josie on Pinterest If you enjoyed this book, please tell your friends, family, co-workers, anyone you think might also like to read it. Word-of-mouth recommendations are the best when it comes to finding new authors!

Sneak Peek

ANEW: Book One: Awakened The Anew Series Sizzling romance set in the near future

“Most beautiful, erotic twist of Sleeping Beauty! Can’t wait ‘til the next book!!”—Chrissy Dyer, Goodreads Reviewer

“...a new twist on futuristic romance! And let me tell you, it’s totally worth it!!!...Cannot wait for the next installment. FIVE STARS FOR THIS AUTHOR!!!”— Summer’s Book Blog

“5 Explosive stars...nothing less than spectacular..sensual, explosive and revealing.”—DawnMarie Carpintero, Goodreads Reviewer

“I loved every minute reading this book...What an amazing start to this series, thank you Josie Litton.”—Kerry Callway, Goodreads Reviewer

“…a completely unique and creative story that had me captivated from the start.”—Melissa Cheslog, Goodreads Reviewer

“I love Josie Litton’s creativeness. She will capture you and keep you conquered in everything she writes.”—Twin Sisters Rockin’ Book Reviews

“As an avid lover of romance novels of all genres, I am always so happy when I discover a new type of plot line or a book that has a superb story to support all of the steamy bits that make me blush. That’s definitely what you’ll get in this book.”—Loredana, Goodreads Reviewer

“…a completely unique and creative story that had me captivated from the start.”— Melissa, A Risque Affair Book Blog ~~~~~~~~~~~~ EXCERPT

I wake gasping for air, swept by a wave of panic that subsides only when I manage to untangle my body from the covers and sit up. For a moment, I have no idea where I am. Gradually, the bed and the room resolve around me. I force myself to breathe slowly until my heart stops hammering against my ribs and I am reasonably certain that I can stand. The rank wisps of a nightmare still cling to me. Afraid to chance returning to sleep, I leave the bed and pad over to the tall doors at the far side of the room. Earlier, I observed that they give onto a second floor balcony overlooking the garden. I am about to open them when a sound stops me. It is faint but distinct, and very close. I strain, listening as it comes again, a little louder and more quickly. At first the intervals between the sound are random but then it becomes so steady that I finally realize what I am hearing. Rain is splattering against the glass panes of the doors. Rain. As with so much else, I know what it is without having any memory of ever experiencing it. That at least I can remedy. Without hesitation, I fling open the doors and step outside. The stars are gone, replaced by dark, roiling clouds backlit by streaks of lightning. The columned overhang above the balcony protects me until the wind, mounting in the heart of the storm, slants the rain past it. Drops fall across my face, against my body, warm and delicious, smelling of a distant sea and a lush, moist land. I catch their taste on the tip of my tongue and laugh, stretching out my arms, holding them high so that the rain sluices down my bare skin, streaming in rivulets toward my breasts. That quickly, the silk nightgown dampens. The fabric clings to my nipples, making me suddenly aware of them. Hesitantly, driven by curiosity about my own body, I touch one, then the other, watching as they harden. The sensation is startling. Scarcely breathing, I skim my hands over my breasts, noticing that they feel heavier

and fuller. My fingers drift slowly downward, finding the contours of my waist, the dip of my naval, the flat, suddenly quivering plane of my abdomen until they come to the juncture of my thighs. Pressing lightly, I’m surprised to feel through the fragile silk a hot, satiny wetness that owes nothing to the rain. Emboldened by the darkness, swept up in the fury of the storm, I grip the fabric of my nightgown. Slowly, I begin to raise it, baring my ankles, my calves, a little higher, until just as I raise the gown above my knees, I freeze. Ian is standing nearby, watching me. My entire body blushes. Too late I realize that his room must be only a short distance from mine, a space that narrows to inconsequence as he comes toward me. His chest is bare above black pajama bottoms that ride low, exposing the V of his hip muscles and his tight, washboard abdomen. As the rain blows over his broad shoulders and cut torso, his skin glistens darkly. A few feet away from me, he stops. “I told you to go to bed.” His voice is soft and almost detached. I drop the gown so that it falls once again around my ankles and lift my head. Quelling my embarrassment, I return his stare. “That’s something you tell a child.” Reluctantly, the corners of his mouth twitch. “Your point being that you aren’t one?” “I’d say that’s obvious. Besides, I couldn’t sleep.” “Why not?” “I have no idea. Perhaps I’ll find out tomorrow, if you choose to enlighten me.” He needs a moment to realize what the defiant edge in my voice, the tilt of my head, the straightness of my back and shoulders mean. When he does, the heat in his eyes sends a ripple of dark excitement through me. “Sarcasm, Amelia? You truly are full of surprises.” He closes the distance between us until we are separated by mere inches. If I swayed toward him even a little, my nipples would rake his bare, sculpted chest. Softly, he asks, “Do you really want to challenge me?” Of course not! This is a man to placate and soothe, above all to please. But when I open my mouth that isn’t what comes out.

Instead, I hear myself say, “I told you earlier, being compliant isn’t in my nature.” His grin is wolfish. Before I can even think of drawing away, he brushes his knuckles down my cheek, along the line of my jaw and throat to the soft hollow at the base of my neck where he presses lightly. My breath catches. His touch is both arousing and strangely comforting. He holds me spellbound. “I think you have a lot to learn about yourself,” he says. Step by implacable step, he backs me against one of the columns along the outer edge of the balcony. The sudden hardness against my spine comes as a jolt. I have a flashing image of myself secured to the column, my hands raised high above my head, fastened with silken bounds. Slowly, holding my eyes with his, Ian reaches for the golden pins that still hold the coiled diadem of my hair. He pulls them out one by one. As he does, I watch the play of emotion across his face. He looks like a man in the grip of a compulsion as irresistible as what I myself am feeling, a ravenous wildfire of hunger for each other that threatens at any moment to rage out of control. Having freed my braid, he wraps it around his hand and gives a tug, drawing me even closer to him. A low groan breaks from him as his mouth claims mine, sucking at my lower lip. I feel the sudden, sharp nip of his teeth before his tongue plunges into me, exploring, stroking, demanding. Abruptly, my legs give way. I catch hold of his shoulders just in time to avoid sliding down the length of his body to his feet. A shudder runs through him. I can feel how desperately he is fighting for control. “Last chance, Amelia,” he says against my mouth. “Go back inside now.” I’m beyond being able to speak. All I can do is shake my head. A long quiver of anticipation runs through me as he grips the neckline of my nightgown. With his eyes locked on mine, he slowly pulls the garment down to below my naval. My wrists are caught in the sleeves, trapped against my hips. I feel the rain cool against my back, sizzling away the heat pouring from me, from him, from us. Looking down at my exposed flesh, he groans. “You are so beautiful.” Releasing my braid, he wraps his fingers around the base of my breast, his long

fingers squeezing lightly, caressing, and lowers his head. I feel the rasp of his stubble against my skin in the moment before he sucks my nipple into his mouth, swipes his tongue over me—once, twice—and sucks again hard. A cry of mingled shock and pleasure erupts from me. I grab hold of his hair with both hands and pull. He releases me but only for a moment. Covering my breast with his roughened palm, he circles it against the hypersensitive nipple as he takes the other into his mouth and subjects it to the same exquisite torment. I writhe against the column as all thought of trying to stop him vanishes. Abruptly, he lifts his head. What I see in his eyes should frighten me but I’m beyond that, driven by need for this man that eclipses all else. My throat is so tight that only a whisper escapes me. “Please…” For a moment, I am terrified that he will not respond, that he only means to toy with me, proving his mastery and leaving me to suffer for defying him. But if any such thought has occurred to him, he is beyond acting on it. Instead, he makes a low, guttural sound and bends, tucking an arm under my knees and lifting me effortlessly. A few quick strides and we are in the golden room. He kicks the doors closed behind us, carries me over to the bed and drops me flat on my back. Before I can draw breath, he comes down on top of me, kissing me deeply if swiftly, his mouth trailing from mine down my body until he is stopped by the nightgown bunched around my hips. Sliding his hands under me, squeezing the cheeks of my derrière, he pulls the gown the rest of the way off. He is still wearing the pajama bottoms but even so the combined sensation of his skin against mine with his weight and strength controlling me is more than I can bear. Desperate for what I can barely glimpse, I struggle to move as my hands push against his shoulders. “Please…Ian…please!” I’m not resisting…exactly. But I need…something…to touch him…to have some control over what is happening to me… Against my throat, he murmurs, “Another time, luscious, I’ll give you free rein but not now.”

Before I can more than dimly realize what he intends, he grasps my discarded nightgown and coils the fabric between his hands, pulling it taut. An instant later, my arms are stretched above my head, my wrists secured to a column of the bed. The sudden crash of reality with the fantasy image I had minutes before on the balcony sends a surge of panic through me. I cry out at my own helplessness and begin to struggle in earnest. But not for long. His breath warm against my skin, he murmurs, “Easy, just breathe, Amelia. Breathe.” Gasping, I try to do as he commands. He smiles at my effort. “Good girl, so good.” His approval sends another deep quiver of pleasure through me that persists as he spreads my legs, bending them at the knees so that I am suddenly open and fully exposed to him. I feel the heat of his scrutiny in this most intimate place before he lowers his head between my thighs, the rough silk of his cheeks nuzzling me. He looks up and his eyes meet mine down the arc of my body. “If you touch me, I’ll lose it,” he says, almost apologetically for what he is denying us both. His voice rasps against my skin. “Even so this time is going to be fast.” The broad flat of his tongue lashes out, lapping my most sensitive flesh from top to bottom again and again in long, firm strokes before the tip suddenly plunges, swirling into the source of the wetness coming from deep inside me. The pleasure is unbearable. I writhe under him, moaning frantically. In moments, I am on the edge of something agonizing yet exquisite that I cannot resist and desperately need. It is so close, so very close— I mewl in protest as he stops suddenly and slides up my body. Teasing the tip of my tongue with his, he says, “Taste yourself, beautiful. You are so damn delicious.” I all but buck off the bed as a hot, slightly salty flavor fills me. His hands on my hips press me down again. My breath is coming in sobs. I’m afraid that I’m going to black out when his thumbs spread me and his tongue finds the swollen nub where suddenly all the nerve endings in my body seem to come together. At the same time, he plunges two fingers into me, pressing against a spot of exquisite sensitivity that I hadn’t known existed. At that touch, I contract around him in a long, rippling sensation of pure, unleashed ecstasy.

Distantly, I hear myself scream. Hear Ian, as well, as he groans, “Fuck, you are so hot!” His weight suddenly lifts from me. I force my lids open even as muscles at my core continue to spasm. He is standing beside the bed, staring down at me, with a look of fierce triumph. Quickly, he strips off his pajama bottoms. At the sight of him, I bite down hard enough on my lower lip to draw blood. He is a tall, broad man and it seems as though everything about him is similarly proportioned. I entertain a moment of doubt but it vanishes when he comes down on top of me again. Feeling him along every inch of me without any remaining barriers is more than I can bear but he still isn’t done tormenting me. Taking his length in hand, he draws it up and down along my cleft, the velvety tip rubbing over my swollen clitoris. The sensation is too intense. Tears flow from the corners of my eyes. “I can’t,” I sob. “Not again!” Abruptly, he reaches up and frees my wrists. His voice is gruffly tender as he says, “Yes, you can. Put your arms around my neck.” I obey and am rewarded by the sudden thrust of his cock as every slick, hard inch fills and stretches me. The small flash of pain is gone as quickly as I perceive it. But Ian curses under his breath and goes still. “No!” He can’t stop, I won’t let him. My hips arch upward, demanding, taking— A harsh groan rips from him. He begins to move again, his fingers digging into my bottom, raising me to meet his thrusts. An incandescent flare of pleasure uncoils inside me where his shaft touches that ultra-sensitive place to such effect that I instantly contract around him. My sudden acute response doesn’t go unnoticed. He pulls out almost entirely but before I can find the breath to protest, he returns, giving me just a few inches at a time until… As he thrusts against the same spot again, wild, animalistic sounds erupt from me. From above, I hear a very satisfied male voice. “That’s it, baby, come for me.” I am transformed into pure sensation. Thought, reason, doubt, even need vanish. Only ecstasy exists, growing and growing inside me until it crests at a peak of incandescent bliss beyond anything I have yet experienced. Ian’s final thrusts and his

own throbbing release hold me poised there until at last I am gone, hurtled into oblivion.





This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Copyright 2016 Josie Litton. All rights reserved. Christmas Caress All Rights Reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property.