No touching allowed …
After serving her country, Georgia Trulane craves adventure—and sex. She's set her sights on her brother's best friend—now her boss, since she took a temporary job as his nephew's live-in nanny. Only problem? Eric refuses to touch her. That doesn't stop Georgia from seducing him. But an earth-shattering encounter leaves her fully exposed, body and soul.
Eric has a long list of reasons to steer clear of the woman he has wanted for as long as he can remember. For one, he refuses to be her next thrill ride. When he claims her, it will be for good. But the attraction is undeniable, and the more they fight it, the stronger it pulls. But will it be enough to conquer their obstacles?
But this wasn’t about him.
Eric leaned across the table, keeping his voice low even though he’d demanded a table in a quiet corner of the restaurant, just in case having others around them set off warning bells in her head. “I dare you to tell me your fantasies.”
Georgia’s eyes widened. “A dare is supposed to be an action.”
He sat back in his seat and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Feel free to demonstrate.”
She raised an eyebrow, and he wondered if she planned to take him up on his offer. If her fantasies were anything like his, a little show-and-tell would draw unwanted attention. And it might get them arrested.
She cocked her head as if debating which path to choose. Part of him screamed demonstrate. He could afford the bail.
“Are you done with your chowder?” she asked.
“Get the check,” she said. “I’ll tell you while we walk along the beach. Your condo isn’t far from here, right?”
“Five minutes on foot.” Eric withdrew his wallet and dropped a pile of bills on the table, more than enough to cover the meal and tip. “Let’s go.”
Watching her slide from the booth and head for the exit, knowing where this was headed when they reached the shore, the last shreds of his self-restraint snapped. It was as if he was waiting for her towel to drop again, unwilling to look away.
Eric followed her out the door and down the old wooden steps to the beach. Silently, they walked side by side. He couldn’t touch her. Not yet. This wasn’t a sweet stroll by the shore, hand in hand. One touch would set him on fire. He had a feeling it would do the same for her.
The sun was inching lower and lower in the sky, but it was still too bright. And even when it fell below the horizon, the lights from the condo buildings and hotels lining the shore would cast a soft glow over the beach, bright enough to illuminate two people stripping down in the sand.
Twenty paces from the Clam Shack, alone on the shore except for a man tossing a tennis ball for his dog, Eric leaned over, careful not to touch his lips to her ear. “Start talking, Georgia.”
He nodded. “Tell me. I dare you.”
She shoved her hands in the front pockets of her jeans, and her eyes focused on the sand in front of her, as if she were doing her best not to step on shells or debris. In the dimming light, he couldn’t read her expression.
“You’re my fantasy,” she said.
Eric stopped short, her words hitting him in the gut. He’d been waiting for her to describe something kinky and wild. “Georgia—”
After several years on the other side of the publishing industry, Sara Jane Stone bid goodbye to her sales career to pursue her dream—writing romance novels. Sara Jane currently resides in Brooklyn, New York with her very supportive real-life hero, two lively young children and a lazy Burmese cat. Visit her online at www.sarajanestone.com or find her on Facebook at Sara Jane Stone.