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Adding Heat -- Cris Anson

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Adding Heat

Encouraged by friends she met at RomantiCon, widowed landscape contractor Giselle Sheridan decides she’s finally ready to take the cougar challenge and find a younger man to have sex with. Except she’s too busy during planting season to go on the prowl.

CPA Conlan Trowbridge is battling the IRS deadline for his clients, but when Giselle saunters into his office with a tax question, all he can think of is sex. She’s all luscious curves and smoldering brown eyes, and he doesn’t care if she’s a dozen years older, she’s a wet dream come true.

Oh yeah, they’re both ready for some hot and heavy sex—in the tub, parking lots, their offices—anywhere and everywhere. But Giselle is afraid her age will bother Con, and her long-time foreman has designs on her, in more ways than one. When Giselle faces some hard decisions, will it all add up to her being able to keep the heat?

reviews

“…a wicked ride of erotic sexiness that is full of touching, tense and provoking delights that the reader will thrill to. The author delights with a charismatic and believable pair of characters that will stay with the reader long after they close the covers.”
— 4 1/2 hearts, Shannon, The Romance Studio

”This book is a hot, fast read. I’ll happily recommend this book to anyone ready for a little cougar challenge.”
— Monica, HEA Reviews

excerpt

By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.

An Excerpt From: Adding Heat

Copyright © CRIS ANSON, 2010
All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

Could he be any more goody-goody than thinking a bicycle ride was an appropriate first date?The dimple in his smile as he waved hello didn’t catch her interest this time. She was angry that she’d been hoodwinked. No, that wasn’t fair. It was her own fault she’d misunderstood.

But oh lord, when he walked to the back of the truck, her eyes popped at the finest, tightest, roundest ass she’d ever seen. Come to think of it, his thighs were more muscular than she’d imagined when she’d seen him in loose-fitting dress pants at the Senior Center.

And his belly. It was concave under the spandex. His clothes looked painted on, and every step showed the flex and flow of his muscles. Not an ounce of fat. Anywhere. She could just imagine the type of woman he probably dated. No way was she in anywhere near the shape of those twenty- and thirty-somethings with hard bodies and unlined skin who rode in biking marathons.

He looked like one of her employees, young and buff and…

“You might get a little warm and sweaty in those jeans,” Con said as he rolled out one of the bikes and leaned it against the porch railing. “And you might want to wear sneakers.”

Was this guy really a nerd? Or was this his way of trying to impress her?

Okay, she’d show him. Without a word she marched back upstairs and a few minutes later walked back out wearing a brand-new outfit she’d bought for wintertime exercise at a health club she never got around to joining—tight, mid-thigh, spandex workout shorts and sports bra that lifted her ample breasts and maximized her cleavage. The get-up showed a fair amount of skin between garments and she was gratified that his mouth actually dropped open as he rolled the second bike to a stop.

“Is this better?” she cooed. And smiled at the instant bulge his molded shorts couldn’t hide.

Instead of turning to hide his erection, as she’d expected a goody-goody to do, his eyes shot lightning bolts and he strode purposefully toward her.

“I‘ve wanted to do this since the moment I laid eyes on you,” he murmured as he cradled her head between his palms. His mouth touched hers and all hell broke loose inside her.

He shifted his stance, bringing her in closer contact with all his bumps and ridges. She found herself responding, not just to the feel of his lips, firm yet featherlight as they teased her mouth, but to the heady sense of being enveloped in a cocoon of testosterone as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Then he spun them around so her back was against the driver’s-side door and he sandwiched her between it and that hard, wiry body whose firm texture took her by surprise.

Oh God, it had been so long since a man had rubbed against her in such a sexual way. Her pussy tightened. Her nipples jumped to attention. Of their own volition, her arms encircled his waist and her hands began stroking that muscled back.

Suddenly it wasn’t enough. Something inside her reared up, something frustrated and hungry and ignored too long. Grabbing fistfuls of the stretchy fabric, she yanked his shirt from his waistband to feel smooth, warm skin, like silicone over iron. She wanted to lick him all over, wanted her naked body rubbing against his. She wanted to see, to taste the cock that was poking into her belly like a shovel handle.

Her mouth captured his tongue, sucked it in like a Popsicle. Her hands moved to map the curvature of his waist then delved upward to follow the ridges of his abs to search for those flat nipples she loved to scratch, like pushing buttons, to make a man jump to her beat.

“Giselle,” he murmured, wrenching his head back. “Stop.”

Somewhere amid all the jumbled emotions, her brain began functioning, then tossed out a bitter thought. He was calling a halt because he was embarrassed. She had to be a dozen years older than him. And yeah, he’d reacted to her blatant display of curves and skin, and she’d been thrilled that he seemed attracted to her, but now he’d come to his senses with a vengeance.

She went rigid against the truck, let her hands drop. Felt him step back and watched as he tucked in his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” she said through clenched teeth. “I didn’t mean to make you—”

“We have company.”

“Uncomfortable—what?”

“Someone’s coming down your driveway. See that plume of dust?”

“Dust?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t want anyone to see you in a compromising position.”

With difficulty, Giselle focused on the approaching vehicle. A truck. A very familiar truck.