The Virgin Sex Queen Read online

She waited for him to leap back. Instead, he shocked her by pressing a little closer, his cheek brushing against hers as he tilted his head to look down into the bag.

  Or at least she thought he was looking into the bag until she glanced sideways to find one dark eye studying her as he gazed sideways at her in turn.

  “Yeah.” His rougher cheek moved against her smoother one as he spoke, he was so close. “I surely do, Soph.” Closer still he pressed.

  So close it was addling her thoughts, making her nipples hard, and she might have to change her panties if they got any damper. Cripes, what was wrong with her?

  Refusing to let him know how he was affecting her, knowing he’d enjoy that for sure, she managed to reply coolly, “What?”

  Was it her imagination or had he just flexed his hips against her? Was that something on the utility belt of his uniform that was prodding the crease of her bottom? Her pulse leaped, her cheeks grew hot.

  But not once did she stop looking sideways at him.

  His sideways gaze didn’t break either, but a slow smile crinkled his eyes at the corner. “Something soft and sweet. And naughty.”

  God God. The hot flush just about flooded her. That certainly qualified as a panty changer. “Really?”

  “Oh yeah.” Something firm was pressed against her bottom, all right. “Got anything for me like that?”

  “I doubt it.” Good grief, was that husky voice hers?

  “Oh, you have. You’ve got just what I want. And I’m going to have it.”

  Her knees went weak.

  Chapter 3

  Turning his head, Alan pressed a sudden smacking kiss to her cheek at the same time his hand dove into the bag. Her mouth was still gaping when he stepped back, and she looked over her shoulder to find him yanking open the lid of the doughnut container. Taking one out, he bit into it and chewed, his eyes closed as he moaned in ecstasy.

  Oh, so that was the soft, sweet and naughty thing he wanted. Of course. Sophie tried to ignore the disappointment that filled her.

  “Oh baby,” Alan moaned, “What you do to me.”

  “Enjoying yourself?” she asked.

  “You have no idea.” Taking another bite, he chewed enthusiastically, still with his eyes closed. “Oh God, that sweetness on my tongue, that powdered sugar. Oh honey!”

  “Do you need some privacy?” She almost snatched the container out of his hands.

  “Not for this.”

  “What about protection?”

  He cracked open one eyelid to contemplate her. “It’d taste like shit through rubbers, Soph.”

  “Might protect your heart.”

  “Sweetness doesn’t hurt the heart.”

  “The punch it packs might.”

  “What punch?”

  She was tempted to show him but commonsense prevailed. She was no school girl punching the class clown. Damn it. “Sometimes being a grown up sucks lemons.” She dumped the container down on the table.

  “Nah,” Alan said. “Being a grown up is fun.”

  She looked sourly at him.

  “Oh, sweetie.” The smile left his face, but his eyes twinkled. “Tell ol’ Alan all about it.”

  “Not in a flying fit.”

  “I’m hurt.” He moved back to the table, his gaze dropping to the doughnut container. “I need something to lift my spirits.”

  Sighing, Sophie picked up the container and handed it back to him.

  Grinning, he took another doughnut and chewed on a bite, resting his hips back against the table to watch her unpack the groceries. “So what’s all this?”

  Moving between the table, cupboards and ‘fridge, Sophie continued packing away the food and other sundries. “Paying my way.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I don’t bum off people.”

  He eyed the bunch of silver beet she held. “That’s not health shit, is it?”

  “Got a problem with it?”

  “Yeah. Tastes like shit.”

  She almost burst out laughing at his petulant expression. “Oh, diddums. Does Daddy Sam make you eat all your veggies and nasty stuff?”

  “Daddy Sam would only try on risk of getting his arse kicked.”

  “Do you know what Daddy Sam would do to you if you did that?”

  “Break me in half?” Lifting one arm, Alan flexed his bicep which, she had to admit, was pretty impressive. “I’d give him a run for his money.”

  Alan might be well-built, but Sam was taller and carried a lot more muscle. Sophie snorted.

  Alan’s eyes narrowed.

  Smirking, she tossed him the tea towel. “Here, sugar lips, wipe your mouth.”

  Gaze still intent on her, he swiped the powdered sugar from his mouth and gave the tea towel a snap through the air. Straightening, he snapped it again and then strode toward her.

  All amusement had left his face, his expression grim, and coming towards her like that she had a sudden insight into how he must look on the job when things turned serious.

  Laughing, teasing Alan was buried beneath the stern cop, and the determination in his dark eyes was making her nervous.

  Deliciously so.

  Oh geez, she really was kinky, it wasn’t just in her writing.

  Part of her wanted to run, to have the thrill of a chase, but another part argued that having him see her fat arse bouncing in front of him would probably make him run the other way. No sooner had that thought surfaced cruelly than she watched his jaw tighten and knew that if she did run, he’d be after her.

  That threat was in every firm step, every deliberate way he studied her, his gaze sliding from her face to drop to her breasts, her hips and back up again.

  Jesus, his eyes were…hot.

  Her heart rate shot up, her blood pounded, and she’d cry in Heaven if she died right now from a heart attack, because she sure as hell wanted to remember this feeling to write down later.

  Write? Butterflies started to swoop low in her belly and her breath caught. Bugger jotting this down, she wanted to remember it for herself. The delicious combination of alarm, attraction, threat and heat.

  “Oh Soph.” His voice was low, hard, as hard as his jaw as he stalked around the bench and continued coming towards her. “You don’t think I’m a threat, do you?”

  She refused to back away. Hell, she didn’t want to back away, even as alarm bells tolled in her ears. What, exactly, was he going to do with that tea towel? Her imagination just about went into over-drive.

  His arm moved back, her fascinated gaze followed the movement, and then with a snap one end of the tea towel went behind her, coming flush along her bottom, and his arms came each side of her, his hands catching and gripping the tea towel so that it held her captive for him as he stood right up against her.

  His chin just grazed her forehead, making her need to tilt her head back to stare up at him. The breadth of his shoulders were wider than hers, the muscles in his arms flexing as he caged her against him, the only thing keeping her there the tea towel around her hips and bottom, his arms each side of her, his hands - oh sweet baby Jesus, his fisted hands were resting on the back of her hips where he held the ends of the tea towel.

  His eyes were hard as he gazed down at her, his jaw hard, his muscles hard, his belt against her abdomen hard - everything was hard. And was it her imagination or was something else hard, something that was pressing between her-

  “So, Soph, you think I’m no threat, don’t you?”

  Right now she thought he was the biggest threat to her sanity but she could only shake her head.

  “You think I’m easy.”

  Okay, titillating position or not, that just begged for a comeback. “You do sleep around.”

  His nostrils flared slightly. “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “I mean.” His voice grew dangerously soft. “Not like that. You think I’m easy, you can laugh at me, make fun of me. Mock me.”

  Now where the hell was this coming from? Indignation burned away
some of that delicious fascination. “What?”

  “You think I can’t take on Sam, Soph? You think I can’t take on a bigger man?”

  The alarm now wasn’t delicious. What was wrong with him? “Alan, I didn’t-”

  “I’m a cop and a damned good one.” His voice was as hard and unyielding as the rest of him. “Do you doubt it?”

  “No, I-”

  “You think I’m stupid, Soph?”

  “Alan, I didn’t-”

  “Because I’m sane, Soph, I’m not stupid. I’m not an easy target.”

  “Alan, I never thought-”

  “Why the hell do you think I drive around with The Incredible Hulk?”

  Sophie blinked. “What?”

  The grin spread across Alan’s face, his teeth flashing white, his eyes laughing down at her. “Mike is my secret weapon. When there’s dangerous shit happening, I hide behind him. Jesus, I’m not easy. It’s hard being an easy target when you’re out with King Kong.”

  For several stunned seconds she gaped up at him, then realising that he’d been leading her on the whole time, she shoved at him. “You arse!”

  Shaking with laughter, he grabbed her and hauled her against him, one hand against the back of her head pressing her face lightly into his shoulder as she swore and struggled. “Shhh. You’ll wake Sam.”

  Never mind Sam, she’d kill Alan when she got free. He’d been laughing at her the whole time and there she’d been, getting all hot and flustered and then scared.

  Shoving him again, her hands slipped and suddenly she was pressed flush against him. Her breasts weren’t just brushing against his chest, her breasts were mashed up against his chest, making her very aware of every hard swell and sweet mercy, the warmth of his body was almost hot.

  Or maybe it just felt hot to her.

  All she knew was she’d stopped struggling, he’d stopped laughing, and now they were pressed against each other. His hand at the back of her head gentled, fingers brushing lightly down to tickle along her nape, drifting lower while his hand at her waist shifted, long fingers spreading out.

  She felt every finger, every hot, firm length as they shifted, testing lightly along her flesh, kneading at the base of her spine before - her breath caught.

  Oh sweet Jesus, Alan’s hand had slipped lower still, his palm coming to rest right where her lower back started to rise to the swell of her buttocks. A shift of his hand, an absence, a small jerk of his body against hers and she saw the tea towel flicked away, and then once again his hand came to rest on her bottom.

  Yeah, full on her bottom. His hand, in fact, was cupping one buttock, fingers testing again, shifting.

  It was humiliating and breath-taking all at once. One part of her registered that he was feeling her overly generous derrière, while another part of her wanted him to go further, feel more, do more. Oh yes, so much more.

  She’d never been held in a man’s arms before, never felt the intimacy she was feeling now. He was in no hurry, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to stop yet.

  In the far reaches of her mind she assured herself that she was just researching for her books, nothing more, this moment didn’t really mean anything.

  God, could she lie to herself or what?

  “Alan?” Her voice shook.

  “Yeah?”

  Her legs almost gave way when his answer was breathed against her neck, right under her ear. Then she actually had to grab his shoulders when she felt his lips - his firm, oh so very masculine lips - brush across the sensitive skin below her ear.

  “I don’t…I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

  “You’re right. It’s not a good idea. It’s a great idea.” Both of his hands left her back, sliding out and upwards, and she sighed in disappointment, only to catch her breath as those magical hands came to rest on her ribcage, his thumbs just brushing the undersides of her breasts. “Soph-”

  She never knew what he as going to say, for the sound of the front door slamming shut and the yelled “Yoo hoo!” made them spring apart. They looked at one another as another shout went through the house. “Sophie! Where are you?”

  Expression inscrutable, Alan reached out and stroked a lock of hair back behind her ear before his expression lightened, an easy smile crossing his face as he swung around and called out, “In here, Chelsea!”

  Heart pounding, Sophie, coward that she was, ran right out the back door and into the yard. Cheeks flushed, she slid around behind the garage, coming to a stop to lean against the wall and gulp in air.

  Holy cow, had that really happened? Had Alan really held her, his hands on her body, doing things that made her heart race and her breath catch in her throat?

  Hell yes. Her tingling flesh was living testament to that, but right now she had other problems. Her cousin had come in and there was no way she could see Sophie being a gasping, lust-ridden mess.

  Hang on. She paused in the process of straightening her blouse. Lust-ridden? Sensible Sophie Willow, erotic romance writer and man-less spinster, lust ridden? Heaven forbid, if she allowed this to get out of hand her secret would be out and her reputation destroyed. God knew what that would do for her writing career.

  Taking deep breaths, she quickly went through the exercises Ghost had taught her, focussing herself, calming her pulses. Okay, it was meant for facing a crowd but what the hell, this had same panicked feel to it. Mostly. Okay, a little differently, but she still had an audience. In the privacy of her room later tonight she could mull over the happenings but right now she had cousins to face. And Alan.

  Oh God. Alan. Alan! No way. No way could she let him see how he’d affected her. If he ever discovered her secret - oh shit!

  Clenching her teeth, she smoothed her hair down and donned a clam façade. Game face, game face. You are Sophie Willow, erotic author, experienced, cool, calm. Be the goddess. Be in control. I am in control. I am in control.

  “Sophie! Where are you?” Chelsea yelled out the back door.

  “Shit.” Sam’s voice said tiredly from the direction of his bedroom. “Is that you, Chels?”

  “No, it’s Wonder Woman.”

  “Good, because I couldn’t face my sister right now.”

  “Sophie!” Chelsea yelled again.

  Not only Chelsea would be in the kitchen but soon Sam would be too, along with Alan.

  Alan.

  Game on.

  Straightening her shoulders, Sophie pasted a smile on her face and came around the side of the garage to greet her cousin, who shrieked at the sight of her and came jumping down the steps. “Sophieeeee!”

  “Hi, Chels.”

  ~*~

  Sprawled back in the swing chair on Marty’s back veranda, his bare feet propped up on a chair, Alan turned the page of the book.

  Sitting in a chair opposite, his best friend had his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. At his feet was curled his dinky poodle, Sugar, and on his lap was Cleo the cat. Head resting back, one hand holding a can of Coke, Marty eyed Alan from his slouched position. “I can’t believe you’re reading this stuff.”

  “Not reading,” Alan mumbled. “Studying.”

  “Seriously?” Marty waved the can around. “The most you’ve ever read is a rev-head car magazine.”

  “I read other things.”

  “The comic page in the newspaper doesn’t qualify.”

  Alan was glued to the page he was reading. “Jesus, some of this stuff. I don’t suppose you’ve ever done it?”

  “Depends what ‘it’ is.”

  Alan held the book out to him. Marty took it, read a few lines, grinned and handed it back.

  “You have?” Alan queried.

  “You haven’t?”

  “Don’t avoid the question.”

  Still grinning, Marty closed his eyes. “Sure, I’ve used silk scarves. Don’t tell me you’ve never used your handcuffs for more than restraining criminals.”

  “I’m not denying anything. I have fond memories of my handcuffs. I
’m talking about this other thing.”

  Marty cracked one eyelid open. “What other thing?”

  “Feathers.”

  “I don’t need feathers. I have fingers.”

  “Fruit.”

  “I’m man enough not to need additives to the bedroom.”

  “Huh.” Alan returned his attention to the page. “Cucumbers?”

  “What?” Marty lurched upright.

  Alan smirked. “Just thought I’d throw it out there.”

  “A gherkin, maybe, but a cucumber?” Marty leered. “I have my own, if you know what I mean.”

  “Gherkin?”

  Marty flipped him the bird. “Cucumber, dingbat.”

  Alan flicked the page again.

  “You can’t have read the page that fast,” Marty said.

  “I’m not reading the lovey-dovey stuff. I’m studying the kink.”

  Amused, Marty rubbed the cold can of Coke along his forehead. “I’m getting worried about you. What is this sudden obsession with erotic romance?”

  “It’s not an obsession. I’m trying to figure out what makes her tick.”

  “The heroine?”

  “No, you jerk. Sophie.”

  “Sophie? What are you on about? How is studying her writing going to make you understand what makes her tick?” Marty’s gaze sharpened. “And why?”

  Alan glanced up. “Mate, she slapped my arse.”

  Marty stared at him in silence for several seconds before saying, “Makes a change from slapping your face.”

  “There! See? The chick isn’t normal.” Alan tapped the book in his hand. “And these hold her secrets.”

  Marty glanced at the book cover. “Hot in the Kitchen. Cooking?”

  “No. Sex.”

  “Chilli makes her hot?”

  “I don’t think you’re taking this seriously.”

  “Seriously? Mate, are you kidding me?” Marty looked incredulous. “You’re reading girly porn as a way to see inside this woman’s head! Not cool, man.”

  “It’s not girly porn,” Alan said.

  “It’s definitely not cooking, either. I mean, come on, Hot in the Kitchen? Really?”

  “Not girly porn.” Alan studied the cover. The heroine was wearing an apron that barely covered her naked boobs and bum, and the hero had a chef’s hat in hand which he held strategically over his otherwise bare loins. Alan grinned. “But it sure as shit is hot.”