Want to get your man talking? Give him booty!
Desperate times call for desperate measures. And Shay LaCosta is pretty desperate. She's wrecked her blissful marriage of five years by demanding she and her husband Dylan
have a baby. What the hell was she thinking? She knows she was wrong and she’s
ready to set things right, if only Dylan will let her. Bet he can’t shun her Booty Camp offer: delicious, white-hot sex in exchange for what’s going on inside his brain.
Dylan may be macho and stubborn, but he really does miss his wife. A little of Shay's pushing gets him past their estrangement and into her web of seduction. She seems to have an erotic week mapped out to perfection, and who is he to complain? Their marriage is meant to be, so they'll fight with each other, and they'll fight for each other.
WARNING: Racy Language, Hot Sex, Seduction
Still Hot for You
Shay heard him take in the salty cool air. She walked up behind him. Wow. Worn leather. Faded denim. Scruffy boots. Five years, and she was still hot for Dylan.
“Hey,” he said, when she appeared next to him.
She shot him a sideways glance and smiled. An ocean breeze tousled, feathered her hair. She ran her hands through her locks, fanning them across her shoulders. “This brings back memories.”
“Of?” He shoved both hands into his back pockets. The unzipped front of his jacket opened, exposing a black tee. Her husband still sported a great body, even though these days he rarely made it to the gym.
“Remember when I thought you were gay?” Shay twisted a section of hair between her fingers and played with it. She felt like that young girl again, the one who knew how to have fun.
He shot her a look. “You didn’t really think I was gay?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “You didn’t kiss me for one whole month.”
“It’s called being respectful. Not gay.”
“Were you always that respectful?”
“No?” She kicked sand on his boot.
“Only with you,” Dylan said, staring at the ground. He shook his steel-toe boot, casting off the powdery sand. Steadying himself on one foot, he swiped the hard tip across his calf.
Shay suppressed a grin. Mr. Meticulous. He liked things neat. Clean. No dirt, not even on his Harley, which he hardly rode anymore. Miracle the bike worked tonight, although for a while there, Shay hadn’t been sure the thing would turn over. Luckily, she’d attached the battery charger while she’d waited for him to come home, otherwise it wouldn’t have started at all.
She loved riding, especially with him. Despite the danger, which made it all the more thrilling, she knew he would never let anything happen to her. From day one, he’d been overprotective. “Why so respectful with me?” She almost kicked more sand on him, but decided against it.
“I don’t know.”
She bumped him on the arm. “Yes you do.”
“Why do you think?”
She loved playing games with him. Dylan always gave it right back. “I think you were afraid of me.”
That made him laugh. “I was not afraid of you.”
“Then why didn’t you kiss me?”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Like I said, a respect thing.”
“We didn’t kiss for thirty whole days.” She always teased him about it. Truth be told, she loved that he had been a true gentleman, a total contradiction to his bad boy image.
“Like they say. Good things come to those who wait.”
Ha! There was the Dylan she loved. “You were always cocky.”
“Not cocky. Convinced.”
“Ooh,” she snorted a laugh.
Dylan bent and picked up a shell. He tossed it across the sandy patch. “I see you’re enjoying this.”
She forced him to look at her. “Aren’t you?”
No response. He stretched his arms above his head and inhaled another deep breath of ocean air. “Feels good out here.”
Uh-uh. We’re not done yet. “I give you a lot of credit. Any other man—”
“I’m not any other man,” he cut her off.
Without thinking, she stroked his face. His skin felt warm, a little rough, just how she liked it. God. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d touched him. “You’re definitely different.”
“But I’m not gay.”
She laughed out loud. “I know. But teasing you is so much fun.”
“Yeah, well, you were always good at that.”