Her passion smolders. Will it ignite?
When art student Melissa Hopkins finally unpacks the two boxes her Aunt Phoebe left for her and sees Phoebe’s black and white photos, it’s like opening Pandora’s Box. A simple quest to find a new job morphs into an about face—not just in her art, but in her career and personal life. Short on funds now that her graduate stipend is ending, she applies to work where Aunt Phoebe once worked: a center for sexuality and sex studies.
Sworn off women after a disastrous relationship, Center Director Harry Gage ignores the danger signals and hires the striking young woman who reminds him of his former lover. Her air of innocence will captivate center viewers, so he’s sure she’ll be a hit on camera. What he’s not prepared for is how she pierces his heart.
When the sparks flare up, is it love or just sex—and what must each of them risk to find out?
Harry chuckled and shook his head. “You think I don’t know Claire had you in the screening room that afternoon?”
“It won’t happen again,” Melissa squeaked.
“I know that, too. You’re hardly Claire’s type—at least for the long haul.”
“So,” Melissa said quietly, feeling her cheeks warm. “Am I your type, Harry?”
Harry smiled and got to his feet. He reached out his hand for her. “Stand up, woman, and let me show you.”
She stood, and he gathered her in his arms. His strong hands cupped her rump, her breasts crushed against his chest, and their lips met in a midair tango. She smiled against his. Yes, she must be his type. He sure was her type.
Holding hands, he guided her to the tall window overlooking Central Park. Rain continued to pelt the window, but it was refreshing to lean against Harry’s frame and imagine the park before them.
He nibbled on her ear and laved at her neck.
Melissa craned her neck, basking in the feel of his tongue. She experienced a sudden pang of guilt for getting him to talk about Aunt Phoebe without sharing her own story. Maybe she should’ve simply blurted it out.
His tongue scraped across the roof of her mouth. She no longer had a pressing need to talk about her aunt. “Mmm,” she moaned, “that’s lovely. I love rainy Monet mornings like this.”
“Me, too. Particularly when I can share them with you.” He snickered. “Though I would’ve expected you to prefer bright sunshiny days with pristine blue skies.”
“I like those, too. But don’t forget, I’m an artist. I have many moods. I also enjoy the first snowfall, and certainly spring flowers.”
“I bet you like to jump in leaf piles, too.”
“How did you know?” she said, squeezing his butt.
“A lucky guess.” His nose rubbed back and forth across her neck. His busy hands slipped inside her robe to cup a breast each.
She took a long breath as he played with her nipples. “So cozy,” she murmured, lowering her eyelids.
Her eyes popped open when she realized he was tugging at the sash of her robe. “Harry,” she scolded, “we’re standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling window. Someone may see us.”
“Nonsense,” he whispered into her ear. “Can you see anything through the raindrops?”
She shook her head and did nothing to stop his fingers, already playing at her mound.
“Besides,” Harry continued, “you know New Yorkers. They never look up
Adriana Kraft is the pen name for a married pair of retired professors writing erotic romance and erotic romantic suspense together. We like to think we’ve broken the mold for staid, fusty academics, and we hope lots of former profs are enjoying life as much as we are. Having lived in many states across the Midwest, we now make our home in southern Arizona, where we enjoy hiking, golf, and travel, especially to the many Arizona Native American historical sites. Together we have published more than fifty romance novels and novellas to outstanding reviews. Whether readers open our romantic suspense or our erotic romance, they can expect characters they care about, hot sex scenes, and a compelling story.