The Virgin Sex Queen Read online

  Who knew predatory men could turn her on?

  Who knew good ol’ Alan could be predatory? Aggressive? And what aggression! Threatening, dark, promising, inducing all sorts of scenarios in her head that had her heart almost stuttering behind her heaving bosoms.

  Glancing around, Sophie caught a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror through the open door. Cheeks flushed, thick braid hanging over one shoulder, a flowered print cotton dressing gown buttoned to her throat.

  Reality check. Her bright eyes dimmed, embarrassment creeping in. Yeah, she’d better get with reality, better stop fantasising. Alan had just come back from the gym where all those sexy little gym women ran around in skin-tight leotards and leggings, with their trim little backsides and thighs, their pert breasts. Unlike her, standing in a cotton nightie and dressing gown, her ample bottom pushing out the back of it like a bustle. If she’d been born in the times where bustles were all the fashion, she wouldn’t have needed one - she already had one given to her by nature, along with big bosoms she could rest a cup of iced tea on, and apple cheeks.

  Pity party coming on, she could feel it. Taking a deep breath, she turned away from the bathroom and the damning mirror and walked into the kitchen chanting mentally to herself, I’m okay. I’m good. I’m worthwhile. Get a grip! Don’t wallow in pity. Be me. Be the goddess that I am. Standing in front of the ‘fridge, she let the cold air swirl around her heated face and dry her suspiciously wet eyes. Reaching in, she withdrew a bottle of iced coffee and poured a small amount into a glass. Swirling it around, she stared at the depths before swallowing it in several gulps.

  SJ wandered in just as she finished, meowing and looking demandingly at the cupboard where Sam kept his tins of cat food.

  “Yeah,” Sophie muttered, opening the cupboard and selecting a small tin of Fancy Feast. “Just like a male, demanding and expecting everything.”

  Pity party had just turned into sour grapes.

  SJ didn’t even bother to answer, just kept his eyes glued to the tin as she opened it and searched for his dishes. Not finding where Sam had put it after washing it, she saw the bowl that Alan had used for breakfast, and with childish satisfaction she plopped the cat food into it and set it down before SJ. “Enjoy.”

  ~*~

  Early the next morning the low tones of Alan and Sam’s voices drifted through her partially open door.

  “Did you feed that flaming cat from my breakfast bowl?” Alan asked.

  “No,” Sam replied. “I just walked in the door.”

  “Huh. So who did?”

  “Maybe Sophie?”

  This was met with silence.

  Smiling, Sophie lifted her head from the pillow.

  “Which is odd,” Sam continued. “All SJ’s bowls are in the bottom of the pantry with his cat biscuits.”

  That explained that one mystery.

  “Soph is Soph,” Alan finally said. “Who knows how a chick’s mind works?”

  Sam laughed, Alan’s quickly accompanying him.

  Bloody men. Sophie lowered her head back to the pillow.

  “Okay.” Alan’s voice receded. “Gotta go to work. I’ll pick the food and drinks up on the way home this arvo.”

  “Cheers,” Sam responded. “Means I don’t have to get up early.”

  “Lazy bastard.”

  “Right back at you, mate.”

  As soon as Sam came down the hallway, SJ jumped off her bed and disappeared out the door.

  “SJ, have you been sleeping with Soph? Did you desert Alan last night? Who’s a clever boy, then?” Sam’s low words had Sophie smiling.

  Call it mean spirited, but she was still annoyed enough at Alan to enjoy the fact that SJ had deserted him for her. Best choice the cat had made all week.

  Mind you, snuggling up against Alan - no! No, she wasn’t thinking about that, not now and not ever. Ignore the lurid dreams, the - everything. All she needed was a good, long walk to clear her head.

  Swinging out of bed, she stood and stretched, crossing to the door to call out to Sam, “You having first shower?”

  “Go ahead,” he called back. “I’m having a cuppa and reading the paper first.”

  Pointedly ignoring the smell of masculine soap, shaving cream and the lingering scent of Alan’s aftershave, Sophie showered and dressed in knickerbockers and t-shirt, pulling her hair up into a ponytail and brushing her teeth before retrieving her thongs from the bedroom and going into the kitchen.

  “Hey.” Sam looked up from where he sat reading the newspaper at the kitchen table, a cup of hot tea in one big hand. He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and grinned. “Got the shits up with Alan?”

  “What do you mean?” Filling a glass with cold water, Sophie raised her brows.

  “Feeding SJ out of Alan’s breakfast bowl was kind of a hint.”

  “Oh, that.”

  “Yeah, that.” Amused, he waited.

  “Slip of the hand.”

  “I bet. What did he do?”

  “Not a thing.”

  “Uh huh. Do you feel better?”

  She smiled widely.

  Laughing, Sam took a sip of hot tea. “So, got anything planned for the day?”

  “Hmmm, let’s see. Anything you want done, master?”

  “Nah, she’s cool.”

  “Okay. Well, I’m going for a walk and then I’ll see what I feel like doing. Might even break out the laptop and play with some ideas.”

  “I thought this was a holiday?”

  “It is. I said playing, not putting in eight hours of writing, big difference.”

  “If you say so.” Sam shook his head. “I certainly don’t break out the thermometer for fun when I’m on holidays.”

  “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  “No, I think I do.” Sam’s gaze slid back to the paper. “Don’t forget the BBQ tonight.”

  “Not likely to. Anything you want me to cook or pick up?”

  “Nah. Alan’s picking up the food and drinks, and when I get up we can slice some salad veggies and bung ‘em on a plate. The meat’ll get chucked on the barbie when everyone’s arrived and everything will be done.”

  “I need to do something.”

  “You can wash the dishes.” Sam’s mouth quirked at the corners as he glanced sideways at her.

  “Then I’m buying paper plates and plastic forks and knives.”

  “Got them already.”

  “Alan’s right, you are a lazy bastard.”

  “Hey, it was your suggestion too, don’t forget.”

  “Only just now!”

  “Yeah, right after I told you who’d be cleaning the dishes.”

  “You didn’t tell me, I asked.”

  “Did you accept?”

  “Sure. I’ll hold the plastic bag and do the rounds of the table.”

  “Sheila after my own heart.” Laughing, Sam returned to the newspaper.

  Getting an apple from the ‘fridge, Sophie left the house, making sure to pocket the spare keys on the way. Knowing Sam was going to probably be asleep by the time she got back, she didn’t want to awaken him to let her back inside.

  Going one way down the street was fine, she enjoyed the cool morning air before the warmth of the day set in. It had to said, she also enjoyed the satisfied feeling she got knowing she was no longer part of the rat-race, getting ready for work, dressed in suits and climbing into cars for the journey into the city to work. Office workers, labourers, shop assistants, people from all walks of life were leaving for their jobs.

  Not that writing was a walk in the park, she had to be disciplined, but at least she could write in her nightie if she chose. No one saw her, as her Aunt Tish pointed out, the ash from her cigarette nearly falling into the cake batter she’d been mixing.

  No, not many people saw her, and it was for this reason that she maintained normal hours, writing for eight hours with breaks only for lunch and a cuppa. Every third day she set an afternoon aside for emailing and p
romotion. Every Saturday was chore day, every Sunday rest day. Write five days a week, two days off, and normal hours. A walk early every morning or late afternoon, depending on what was happening. Routine. She liked routine and it kept her focussed, disciplined. It would be too easy to slide into being a slob and get lazy about her work and time. Nope, Sophie had worked out early on the best way for her to write.

  True, it was different to Ghost’s routine, he wrote all hours of the day and night, depending on his mood, but in his own way he was as disciplined as she. Like all dedicated writers, they both had their systems worked out to suit their individualities.

  Walking back, she started to meet the odd person in their garden and she greeted them with a wave of the hand. Several of the ladies and one man stopped her with the usual, “New to the neighbourhood?” and “You’re Sam’s cousin, right? The writer?” She spoke to them briefly, enjoying the chit chat before moving onwards.

  As she neared Sam’s house she was met by four women standing at the adjacent driveway. About to just smile politely and walk past, she was stopped by a tall blonde. “Excuse me, but I couldn’t help noticing that you’re staying with Sam Willow.”

  It wasn’t actually a question, so Sophie just nodded.

  “You write.”

  Another statement, and going by the look on the blonde’s face, she wasn’t impressed. Sophie nodded again, adding , “That’s right.”

  “You write pornography,” the plump brunette beside the blonde stated.

  “Not pornography,” Sophie replied, wondering for the thousandth time why no one got the erotic romance genre. “It’s romance.”

  “Explicit romance,” the blonde said.

  “Explicit as they get.” Sophie smiled. “But romantic.”

  “I saw your book covers in Elsie’s shop.” The blonde frowned. “It’s not decent writing.”

  “No, it’s saucy covers.” Game face. Sophie thrust her hands into her pockets, donning the cool, calm façade like a second skin. “And hot writing. Have you read any of the genre, Miss…?”

  “Debbie Martin,” the blonde replied. “And no, I wouldn’t touch it with a ten foot pole.”

  “Wonderful, because it really only requires two hands. One for holding the book, the other to…” Sophie paused and licked her lips slowly.

  Debbie’s eyes narrowed.

  “Turn the pages.” Sophie smiled widely. “Maybe you’d like to loan one of my books, Debbie?”

  “It’s filth.”

  “Depends on your definition of it.”

  The plump brunette glanced at Sam’s house. “He’s such a lovely man, Sam. Hard to believe his cousin is into writing trash.”

  “I’m trying to educate him,” Sophie said. “So far, he’s using one hand.”

  Debbie drew herself up coldly. “I beg your pardon?”

  “He hasn’t used the other hand to turn the pages. Yet.”

  There was a muffled giggle from a short, fair-haired woman. Well into her fifties, she held out one hand. “I’m Sharon Stone. No relation to the famous actress.”

  Sophie shook her hand. “I’m Sophie Willow, filth writer, apparently, though I prefer erotic romance writer, but what the heck? Everyone’s entitled to their own opinion.”

  Sharon laughed. “Oh, don’t worry about Debbie and Kim, their husbands have to book an appointment to have sex and even then it’s in the dark.”

  “Well!” Debbie stormed off, Kim right behind her. The door to her house - and wouldn’t you know it was right next door to Sam’s - slammed behind them.

  Not in the last perturbed, Sharon gestured to the woman beside her. “This is Margaret.”

  Margaret smiled shyly. “Pleased to finally meet you in person, Sophie. I don’t actually read much, but I’ve heard about you.”

  “Not good stuff, obviously,” Sophie returned wryly.

  “Ah, don’t worry about those two.” Sharon waved a hand dismissively. “They’re a pair of straight-laced witches. So tell me, how long are you staying?”

  “Just a couple of weeks.” Sophie glanced around. “Do you both live in this street?”

  “I live across the road and Margaret lives a few doors up from me. It’s one big happy family.” Sharon grinned. “Bitchy members included.”

  “Just like a real family.” Sophie laughed.

  They chatted for a few more minutes before Margaret and Sharon had to go, and Sophie continued back to the house. She wasn’t too disturbed by Debbie’s comments, it wasn’t the first time she’d heard similar and no doubt it wouldn’t be the last time.

  The house was quiet and a peek through Sam’s open doorway revealed him sound asleep in what was apparently a typical pose for him - buried under the sheet, shock of hair on the pillow, one bare leg hanging out, doona half on the floor from where he’d pushed it to the end of the bed, and SJ reclining against his thigh and glaring a warning at Sophie not to disturb his warm human pillow.

  Amused, Sophie went to her room and retrieved the laptop, taking it into the kitchen and turning it on. Pouring a glass of Diet Coke, she copied her ideas from her notebook into the Book Ideas folder on the desktop, then logged onto the internet and downloaded emails.

  After updating her website and blog, which she maintained herself, answering emails, checking out the groups she belonged to, she spent several pleasant hours surfing the ‘net, checking out new books and author friend’s blogs, typing comments and generally relaxing and having fun.

  It was lunchtime when she finally logged off. Returning the laptop to the bedroom, she retreated back to the kitchen and looked around. The house wasn’t messy considering two single blokes lived in it, but it could still do with a tidy. Working quietly, she dusted, swept and mopped, her own contribution to staying as Sam’s guest even though he’d never expect it of her. It was probably going to be a waste of time considering guests were coming over for a BBQ, but she could always tidy up again tomorrow.

  SJ appeared a couple of hours later as she contemplated the contents of the open pantry. This time she got out his own bowl for the cat food and he thanked her by bumping his head against her leg and nipping her ankle before eating with gusto.

  “Geez.” One hand against the kitchen bench, she rested her ankle on her opposite knee and rubbed it. “Rough love or what?”

  “All males like some rough love,” a voice drawled. “You know that.”

  Glancing up, she saw Alan standing in the doorway between the garage and kitchen holding plastic grocery bags.

  Be cool. Taking a deep breath, she managed to smile genially at him. Ignore the pulse, ignore the pulse! “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Too busy spoiling the cat.” Smiling just as genially, Alan crossed the room to place the bags on the kitchen bench. Bending down, he ran a finger over her ankle. “SJ has some whopper fangs, his love bites can hurt.”

  One finger on her skin and she could swear he left a hot spot on it. Determined not to crumple in a heap at his feet and beg for more touches - everywhere - she dropped her foot back on the floor and pushed away from the bench. “Any more bags in the car?”

  “I can handle it.” He strode across the room. “I am a man, after all.” He flashed her a grin. “And I bite as hard as SJ.”

  Thank God he seemed to be back to normal, not referring to their unexpected encounter of the night before, that would have made the evening awkward and the last thing she wanted was to make things awkward when Sam and Alan had been nice enough to let her stay with them.

  More comfortable with the teasing Alan, regardless of the fact that his little comment had her skin tingling, she smiled back at him. “Do you bite your suspects?”

  “Only a nibble, anything else is frowned upon.” He walked down the two steps and disappeared behind the open boot of the car. “Really, Soph, I’ve got this.”

  Coming around beside him, she leaned in and snagged a couple more grocery bags. “So have I.”

  “I’d forgotten what a determined chick you
can be.” Picking up a carton of light beer, he hoisted it onto his shoulder before grabbing another carton of Coke and tucking it under his arm.

  Impressive. Sophie forced her eyes away from the flex of muscles in his arms, resisting the temptation to ogle the way his uniform shirt stretched tight across his chest as he balanced the carton on his shoulder.

  Stay on a safe subject. She followed him back into the kitchen. Man, he had a nice arse all right. Nicer than her own. Nobody following her could ever think her arse was nice and tight. Mentally kicking herself for thinking it, she said, “Schoolyard memories? Interesting.”

  “Oh come on, admit it, you’re impressed that I remember those days.”

  “I admit I’m impressed you remember anything apart from chick chasing.”

  “I’m impressed that you remember me and my noble deeds.”

  “Noble deeds behind the gardener’s shed. Very noble.”

  Alan headed back to the car. “Jealous?”

  Yeah. “Not at all. You always were entertaining.”

  His eyes appeared above the bonnet to spear her with a glance. “Oh, I’m entertaining even now.” He bent back out of sight.

  Hmmm, now was that a loaded reply or an innocent one? Not about to ponder the first thought, Sophie slid her hands into the grocery bags’ handles. “Still the class clown?”

  “How would you know that?” He followed her into the kitchen. “You were several years behind me in school.”

  “Your reputation was well known.”

  “Wow.” He grinned. “I’m a hero!”

  Sophie paused meaningfully. “Sure you were.”

  “I was a hero to many girls. Still am, in fact.” He flexed one bicep. “Man in uniform, body like a Greek god, what’s not to lust after?”

  “Hence the reason why you’re single with no girlfriend?”

  “Even Greek gods need a rest.” He disappeared back into the garage.

  Soberly, Sophie began unpacking the groceries. Alan could easily get a girlfriend, he was fun, cute, teasing…sexy. Out of her league. Yeah, right out of her league. Slim, beautiful women were his style, not passably pretty, fat ones.

  Almost immediately she scolded herself. “Do not think like that. Don’t. You’re worth something, Sophie. Be the goddess you are. Be-”