 
Inspire

Me

Morgan Rayne

Copyright 2015 by Morgan Rayne

Smashwords Edition

This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events described in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Dedication

To my "therapist" Erin. Thank you for keeping me sane, for being that voice of reason I often need, and for taking time out of your busy days to read my stories and help me with new ideas. And last but not least, thank you for making me laugh so hard my sides hurts, while trying to find me 'the One'. Without you, my life wouldn't be nearly as bright.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Prologue

Willow spun through the revolving door of Harem House Publishing, the bleak gray sky and frigid winter air swallowing her sorrowful sigh, as she walked to the curb and lifted a hand. She watched the heavy midday traffic zip by in a blur, heard brakes squeal from sudden stops, horns blare impatiently, and stepped back as one of the many wildly driven cabs swung into the empty lane before her.

"Maximum Security on South Wacker Drive," she relayed to the driver when he asked for her destination, settling in for the short ride with her head against the back of the seat; her eyes closed. Trying, rather unsuccessfully, to stop the residual nerves leftover from her meeting with her publisher from twisting and turning her stomach into knots.

"Mold this lump of crap you've just given me into a bestseller by next month's deadline or, come April, you'll find yourself without a renewed contract. It's shit. You know it, as well as I do, so get it done."

Willow was used to her publisher's abrasive nature, had dealt with Gerald for the last seven years since her first romance novel, "Wasted Love"––a story about a divorced couple that find their way back to one another––was picked up by the publishing house. Where, much to everyone's amazement, it sky rocketed to number four on the New York Times Bestseller's List the second week of its release.

The whole experience had been incredible. Exhilarating. Willow didn't sleep for days; calling her friends, her family, telling all of them the wonderful news about how her hard work and determination had paid off, earning her a contract for at least four more books over the following two years.

Willow never would have admitted it at the time, but she'd been terrified. Duplicating success like that seemed such a daunting task, but she'd done it. Cranking out one bestseller after another, doing book tours, signings with fans. It was all such a dream come true.

Now, with twelve bestsellers under her belt, Willow's initial fears had somehow come to fruition. In the last year, her writing had slowed to a crawl––with a lot of typing and even more erasing––until a couple of months ago, when, for whatever reason, the muse that fueled her creativity all these years, up and disappeared completely.

A bolt of panic and fear hit her when she thought of what losing her contract with Harem could mean for her career. Sure, there were other publishing houses out there, other games in town. And surely her fans wouldn't be so quick to jump ship the way her publisher seemed to be. But without new work to show prospective companies––something fresh and innovative––Willow would become just another former great, with dwindling royalty checks trickling in, until her shining star faded completely, leaving her books to end up in bargain bins the world over.

Then what would she do?

Writing was always the life––the dream–– she'd envisioned for herself, even since before graduating high school. And it was a dream that had carried her through college, and right into a full-blown career a few years later. Her skills outside of her craft were somewhat limited, and in a sea of young, eager faces, Willow and her free spirit would more than likely struggle to find their new place in the world.

Her eyes popped open when the cab jerked to a stop, and Willow instinctively threw her hands out in front of her to avoid taking a header into the partition.

She shook out her mass of curly brown hair––the bane of her existence––and paid the driver. But as she got out, she wondered if she should get back in and head home. Max would understand. He was her best friend, after all, and a former workaholic himself before he met his fiancée, Amy. Then Willow felt a stab of guilt from just thinking about not attending his wedding, and continued on through the doors of the sleek, modern building in front of her; riding the elevator up to the tenth floor.

"Morning, Willow." Leslie, Mason's perky secretary, smiled warmly as she approached. "Mason is almost ready. He just has to go over a few last minute details with Harrison, for the third time. Go figure."

"Mason, huh?" Willow asked, mockingly astonished, as she made herself at home on the corner of Leslie's desk, legs swinging. "You mean Mr. By-the-Book let's you call him by his first name? Not Sir or Master? What, did he finally have the stick removed from his ass and I forgot to send get well soon flowers?"

She grinned playfully, and Leslie laughed, shaking her head as she went back to stuffing letters into envelopes, wisely choosing not to comment on anything to do with her boss's uptight derrière.

"Actually, I prefer cash to flowers," Mason said dryly, dropping another pile of papers on Leslie's desk. "But it wouldn't have been necessary; the procedure was relatively minor. Your concern is touching, though."

Where the hell had he come from? Willow was almost positive dark, ominous music was supposed to precede all unexpected entrances by villains?

But unlike red-faced Leslie, who did her best to hide behind the new mountain of work her boss had given her, Willow didn't bat an eye at the gruff, humorless businessman looming over her.

"I see while they were in there they forgot to fix your broken sense of humor. Maybe next time, huh?" She smiled, while Mason glared down at her as though she were an annoying rock stuck in the tread of his shoe.

"I need to go down to the garage. We'll leave in ten minutes."

"Aye yi, Captain." She saluted, and then stuck her tongue out, as the always stone-faced Mason walked away grumbling.

What would it take to bring that man to life? Willow wondered then chuckled to herself, the answer clear: Lobotomy!

It was strange. She loved the rest of the Cranston family to pieces, and four of Max's siblings were some of her closest friends, but Mason, now he was a different story entirely.

While the rest of the Cranston's were all about laughter and having fun, living life to the fullest, Mason was a brooding, moody, pain in the ass. He and Willow had never really gotten along in all the years Max had lived next door to her. Probably because she was one of the only people who would dare call him out on his bullshit, holier-than-thou attitude. Making the four-hour plane ride the two of them were about to share to Key West feel like some sort of twisted game of Chicken.

Maybe she'd get lucky and Mason would sleep the whole time. God knows the man needed it.

When Willow stopped by to drop off her bags earlier before her meeting, she had very nearly asked if the airline would consider the ones under his eyes carry-on. He looked like hell; like Tom Hanks in Castaway after the first week, only with darker hair and a deeper scowl. Any minute she expected to hear him yelling "Wilsoooooonnnnn!" through the office halls.

But, then Willow figured poking the bear when he was already cranky about his little brother's upcoming nuptials to a woman he'd known less than two months wouldn't make her flight experience any better, and managed to keep her mouth shut. Not an easy feat for a woman like her––someone who was used to speaking her mind––but she'd done just that.

And as long as Mason didn't make any cracks about her or her 'hippie ways', as he liked to call her affinity for billowy skirts and bangles and all things funky, between now and take off, they could both enjoy the flight with a blissful cone of silence hanging between them.

One can hope, she thought, crossing her fingers.

With Leslie hard at work, Willow hopped off the desk and found herself wandering into Mason's office, her thoughts and musings turning inward, as she looked out over the city.

Thinking about her writing and how easy it used to be, naturally made Willow think about the reason it wasn't now. Which was exactly the kind of thing she didn't want, or need, to be thinking about before going to such a happy event, like weddings tended to be, and why she'd avoided letting Luke––the weasel––invade her thoughts for so long.

Because although Willow refused to let her breakup with Luke, or his nasty, hurtful words about how she should learn to satisfy a man in reality instead of just with words, affect her emotionally, she never thought all those unresolved issues and feelings would manifest themselves in other parts of her life.

Unfortunately, though, it seemed the day Luke came to pack up what few things of his still remained at her house, he'd also taken with him something that wasn't his to take––the very source she used to believe in the happily ever after's and true loves she wrote about.

Yet, as Luke rode away on his Harley without a backward glance for the woman he'd claimed to love for more than two years, it appeared Willow's muse had been strapped to the back, as well. Riding off into the sunset with her asshat of an ex at the helm.

Willow felt defeated, washed up, and pathetic.

She steeled her shoulders and declared "No more" to the empty, and quite honestly, sad, sterile office.

I mean would it kill the man to add some color? It's like he's the Scrooge of all things not the color of death.

Willow reined in her snarky, wayward comments about her temporary travel companion, focusing on herself, on the fresh start this weekend afforded her, and she couldn't help but smile. Because no matter what Luke said, Willow knew the fault for their sex life becoming as equally sad and sterile as Mason's office those last few months hadn't fallen solely on her shoulders, and this weekend she was bound and determined to prove that a vivacious vixen still lived inside her.

Images of being oiled up by a sexy cabana boy on the beach sent a warm and tingly quiver through her body and lit a fire deep in her belly.

She eyed her reflection in the window, nodding decisively.

Willow Delaney, it's about damn time you got your groove back.

Chapter One

Key West, Florida

White sand, smooth as silk, tickled between her toes, burying Willow's bare feet. The setting sun, a giant ball of brilliant red-orange slowly wilting toward the horizon, seemed to pause, then hold; encircling the platform, and the couple that occupied it, like a perfectly choreographed end scene from a romantic, Hollywood movie.

Willow unashamedly wiped away tears as her best friend––his own tears threatening, smile wobbly but happier than she'd ever seen––made promises of love and devotion to his bride. Amy, her tousled, low hanging chignon hairstyle and simple candy pink strapless wedding gown, was the picture of beauty and elegance as she recited her own vows; promises of forever floating off into infinite sky.

The tears that bathed her lashes when the couple moved together in their first kiss as husband and wife were that of joyfulness, with a small dash of hope that one day she would find someone to love her as wholly as Max did Amy.

Applause, more tears, and congratulatory words of love from family and friends, then it was back to the vans, back to the hotel, where an informal reception was planned.

Since the couple wanted only the ones closest to them in attendance for the ceremony itself, a much larger get-together would be organized back in the couple's hometown of Chicago once Amy and Max returned from their honeymoon next month.

Willow garnished her plate with fresh fruit and salad from the silver trays of the buffet line at the back of the cordoned off dining room and took a seat at the table where Max's sister, Gia, was locked in a heated argument with none other than Mr. Ray of Sunshine himself.

"I don't give a shit what you think. He's our brother, our family, and being family means supporting each other no matter what. So unless you want me to have Shane and Brody kick your ass, something I know they've wanted to do for years, I suggest you keep any and all opinions you have about Max's marriage to yourself for the rest of the weekend. Got it!"

Mason crossed his arms over his chest and cocked an eyebrow at his sister, but Willow knew his arrogance this time, unlike most days, was merely for show. Because although she was the youngest of the two Cranston sisters and the middle child, at twenty-nine Gia Cranston was a force not to be reckoned with, if her brothers knew what was good for them.

And most of the time, they did.

"Look, all I'm saying is..." Mason began, his tone one of reasoning this time, but Gia was having none of it and pointed one expertly polished French tip in his direction, giving Willow a glimpse into how she must look when cross-examining a hostile witness on the stand.

"All you're saying is a bunch of unnecessary bullshit, and I'm sick of it," she snapped, then took on an air of calm as she settled back into her seat. "So now that I've said what I need to say, I would very much like to get back to celebrating our brother and his new wife, so you and your bad attitude may leave."

Mason's jaw dropped, and Willow buried the laughter threatening to break free from behind her lips at his shocked expression in a glass of champagne.

"You can't kick me out!" Mason said, outraged.

"I can and I am," Gia responded, smile deadly sweet. "But if you're a good boy and go quietly, after giving Mom, Gigi, and everyone else a believable explanation for your early exit, you can rejoin the rest of us for the sendoff breakfast in the morning."

And this time when Gia dismissed him, Willow didn't even try to hide her delight as Mason, rugged features pinched, eyes narrowed in her direction, sulked away without another word for his baby sister, before exiting the dining room minutes later. After, of course, he'd kissed his mother and grandmother goodnight.

"Oh. My. God." Willow looked from the door Mason left through back to Gia. "No wonder you made junior partner before thirty. That was incredible."

"That was a self–serving act of tough love is what that was." Gia sighed, picking up her own glass of champagne. "I love my brother to death, but God, he can be a real prick sometimes. Maybe this will make him think before he speaks from now on."

Then she smiled deviously, a turning up of the lips that held a great deal of pleasure for successfully putting her big brother in his place with a mere wave from her skinny finger. "Besides, a few of us are going to a dance club later, and having one less brother to watch over me like a hawk will make finding a sexy piece of man candy to dirty dance with that much easier." She paused, glass half way to her lips. "You're coming, aren't you? The place we're going to is the spot in the Keys, and we've already got a limo and VIP space reserved. It's going to be a blast."

"Well..." Willow knew she should decline, the deadline she was up against nagging at her as it had been all week. Not to mention, dancing in any form really wasn't her forte. But then she remembered the vow she'd made to herself in Mason's office, and she found herself nodding instead. "Okay. Count me in."

"Awesome!" Gia clapped her hands. "Limo will be here at ten. We're all meeting in the lobby about five till."

Limo? VIP?

Willow glanced down at her bohemian skirt, thought through what she'd packed, and imagined the murmurs that would echo through the club when she showed up with Gia and Amy and whatever tight dresses they decided to wear. Then there was Brody Cranston, the lead singer of the rock band Renegades Law, and the rest of the sexy crew, and suddenly Willow felt like the ugly sixth wheel.

She reached for Gia's arm. "I can't go."

"What? Why not?" Gia asked, clearly not happy with Willow's sudden change of heart.

"I don't have anything to wear. Everything I packed looks like this." She gestured to the BoHo Chic outfit she wore.

Of course, Gia just flicked her hand through the air, dismissing Willow's concerns. "I packed more outfits than I know what to do with. Come to my room around nine and we'll find one that's perfect for you."

"Really?" Willow wasn't so sure, and wished she possessed even a tenth of the supreme confidence the woman to her right did. Willow doubted Gia ever went through a slump: romantic or professional. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. We're practically the same size," Gia said, a sassy grin playing on her lips as she let her gaze fall to the front of Willow's fitted top. "Practically. You are, however, quite a bit more gifted than me in the cleavage department, so it may take some... maneuvering."

Willow let loose a self-deprecating laugh. Most days she considered her ample bosom an inconvenience, a curse Mother Nature imposed on her and her petite frame at the ripe young age of twelve. But the thought of squeezing into one of Gia's dresses and showing off her body, being a sex kitten–– even if for one night––like the ones she wrote about in her books, gave Willow the push she needed to accept her friends generous offer.

"If you're sure, I'd really appreciate it, but can we make it closer to eight?" Willow asked, realizing that if she had any hope of getting her 'groove' back, so to speak, a revealing dress was only the beginning of what she would need.

"Eight works," Gia said, carefully. "But you know I was mostly kidding about the maneuvering? You look great no matter what you wear."

Willow nodded, unashamed to admit, "Thank you, but that's not the issue. It's the rest of me that needs help." When Gia just stared at her dubiously, Willow blew out a breath. "I want you to help me look...different.

"Different?" Gia repeated, clearly confused.

"Yes." Willow sighed. "I need a change. Something sexy, without being over the top, that will hopefully help get me out of this rut I seem to be stuck in."

"Hmm. Sexy not sleazy?"

"Exactly. My whole life I've played it safe, stuck to a certain set of rules where sex and relationships were concerned, while encouraging everyone else to follow their heart and throw caution to the wind, and where has that gotten me? Nowhere, that's where." Willow answered her own question, finally realizing just how much she needed this. "Just once I'd like to say screw the rules, maybe meet a guy and bring him back to my place for a night of sin without feeling guilty or ashamed the next day. And I can't think of a better time or place to do that than right here, in one of the sexiest places on the planet."

Gia's eyes became serious. "You listen to me, Miss Thing. You could sleep with a different man every night of the week or wait until you were married, and it would still be nobody else's business but your own. It's your life, live it however you want. But if it's different you want, then it's different you shall get." She tapped her finger to her chin, the wheels already spinning as she studied Willow intently.

Then, like a kid on Christmas morning, her entire face lit up. "I know the perfect dress!" She leaned forward, ran her fingers through Willow's curls, parting and scrunching, until she pronounced, "Yes! All of it. Brilliant. It's going to be brilliant. The men at Cameo won't know what hit 'em."

"Why do I feel like I've just volunteered to be Dr. Frankenstein's next project?"

Gia smirked. "Because when I get done, only the hottest of the hot will dare approach you. Oooo, this is going to be so much fun."

Slightly terrified, yet excited about what Gia could possibly have in mind, Willow bypassed the fruit and other food still sitting on her plate, and instead, went straight for the champagne. Praying that whatever 'brilliant' idea Gia had didn't end with Willow's face being splashed all over the tabloids as Brock Mercury's, a.k.a. Brody Cranston's, new flavor of the week.

Several hours later, Willow was no longer concerned about being deemed Brody's latest anything as the stranger in the mirror blinked back at her.

"Wow!"

She licked her ruby red lips, turned to the side to get a better view of her back. "Wow!" she said again, still not quite recognizing her own reflection.

"Is that a good 'wow' or an 'I'm gonna kill Gia' wow?" her friend asked through the bathroom door, clearly anxious to hear what Willow thought of her transformation from bohemian author to buxom bombshell. "Because, I swear, everything I did is only temporary."

Willow took another look in the mirror and had to place a hand over her stomach to calm the butterflies doing barrel rolls there. Did she really think she could pull this off?

Trying not to think too much about it, she took one final deep breath and opened the door. Gia, her own hair and make-up flawless as always, was leaning against the dresser near the doorway; brush in hand, lip held nervously between her teeth.

"So? What do you think? Is it different enough?"

Willow smoothed a hand down her very soft, very straight, hair, trying to come up with the right words to describe how she felt about the new look. But she couldn't.

Instead, she threw her arms around her friend, hugging her tight. "Thank you!"

Gia let loose a sigh that felt like it came all the way from her toes. "Oh, thank God," she said, relieved. "You had me worried there for a second. I couldn't tell if you were going to cry or punch me. So you're saying you like?"

"Like?" Willow cried, pulling back with a laugh. "I freakin' LOVE it. My own mother wouldn't recognize me. It's like my head went into the witness protection program. I've never seen myself without all those curls. You're like the Mother Teresa of hair care, a miracle worker. How can I ever thank you?"

"No thanks required. Just forget everything except how great you feel right now, and have a good time tonight and we will call it even."

"Done." Willow walked to where the red dress Gia had picked out for her lay on the bed. She was no longer apprehensive or afraid of wearing the sexy scrap of silk, because tonight, in this dress, with this hair and make-up, all bets were off.

One last bright smile and the sassy lawyer disappeared into the bathroom to finish getting ready herself, while Willow changed out of the yoga pants and cami she wore, letting the red silk glide down her body, the cinched bodice and mid-thigh length hem leaving very little to the imagination, while a pair of red fuck-me heels represented the final piece of her sexy new look.

Willow walked over to the full-length mirror that hung on the back of the hotel room door and smiled impishly.

"Look out, boys, I'm coming for you."

Chapter Two

Elias Rodriguez had always contributed more than just money to his investments. Unlike most CEOs, he dedicated his time and energy to as many of his business ventures as he could, the hard work and dedication keeping him grounded, so he was sure to remember his humble Cuban beginnings and ignore the millions sitting in the bank. And one of his absolute favorite places to put in a good, solid night of hard work was Cameo, the nightclub he'd opened a little over two years ago with his business partner and childhood friend, Juan.

Located on the edge of Mallory Square, a plaza in the heart of Old Town Key West, Florida, Cameo was just one in a long line of clubs and restaurants the two owned together all across the southeastern seaboard, but it was undoubtedly the one that gave Elias the most satisfaction.

Every drink, every song, every intricately designed Cuban floor tile took him back to a time and place he could never visit again, except, maybe, in his mind.

"Hey, Boss." His club manager, Ramon, filled the storeroom doorway, derailing his thoughts of days past. "Brock and the rest of his party have arrived."

Elias turned his attention from the crates of liquor he'd been counting to face his friend. "How many are in the party?"

"Best guess, I would say about ten, give or take a groupie or two, but I'm sure that number will grow throughout the night. I've got Javier stationed at the velvet rope, but didn't know if you wanted me to send Will up, as well?""

"Not just yet." He examined the checklist in his hand to gage how much longer he'd be. "I'm almost finished in here. Why don't you go see if they have everything they need, and let them know I'll be up as soon as I've made the rounds?"

Ramon's black eyes lit with mischief. "I'm sure Gia will be happy to hear that. The luscious lawyer is looking muy, muy caliente tonight, mi hermano! You planning on closing that deal anytime soon, or am I free to make a move? Maybe lay some of the Ramon charm on her."

Elias grunted, and shook his head. "Gia is my lawyer, nothing more, so feel free to lay whatever you want on her. Just don't piss her off. She's the one suit I actually like, and if she quits, you'll be looking for a new job."

Ramon nodded with a smirk and left. He knew it was an idle threat. Elias would never actually fire him, but that didn't mean he wanted Ramon treating Gia with anything less than the respect she deserved. Aside from being his lawyer, she was also a friend. One he valued very much.

With clients waiting, Elias hurried through the remaining counts, writing down numbers and making notes for the stock that was getting low. He had managers and other staff that did inventory on a weekly basis, but again, it was his way of chipping in and lightening the load all around.

When he made it to the last row of crates, he heard his phone buzz and grimaced when he saw his ex wife's number on the screen. He quickly silenced the buzzing, setting the phone back on the shelf.

It started again almost immediately.

Elias could only shake his head as he kept right on working; Maria and her persistence was the last thing he was in the mood to deal with tonight.

The ink on the divorce papers had been dry for more than six months, so it wasn't as though Elias had to worry about his ex using his words against him in court, but Brett, his divorce lawyer, advised him it would be better for all involved if he remained silent where Maria was concerned, and Elias had agreed.

And since, up to now, she'd kept her harassment confined to explicit voicemails and strongly worded letters sent from her lawyer to his, Elias would give her another month or so to cool off. But after that, if she didn't stop, or started showing up at any of his investment locations or offices, he was going to be forced to take legal action against her.

Something he really didn't want to do.

Because although their marriage had been a sham––on her part, anyway––from the beginning, he no longer harbored any ill will toward his ex for the multiple affairs he now knew she'd had during their four year marriage. Even though some nights, when his mood turned melancholy and he thought of the day his marriage ended, Elias could still see her in vivid detail; stripped naked, lying bare beneath, as cliché as it still seemed to him today, the gardener for their Casa Caselles home, in the bed the two of them had shared.

Oh, he'd gotten angry that day, the gardener barely making it out of the bedroom with his skin, let alone his dirt stained clothes. But as far as Elias was concerned, that part of his life was over, so why let it continue to affect him? He wanted nothing more than to let go of all the hurt, all the anger, and find someone that could appreciate and understand all that he did. And he hoped, in time, Maria would get her mind right and do the same.

A few more vibrations and the phone fell silent, once again. Elias waited, cautiously optimistic, and when it stayed quiet, he counted the last stack of boxes, sent a silent prayer of thanks to the big man upstairs, and went to his office to pull on a clean shirt from the stash he kept in the coat closet there.

A fresh shirt and a couple of splashes of cologne later, and Elias walked down the short hallway; pushing open the hidden door located behind the bar.

Starting there, he checked in with the staff, filling with pride as he took in the sight of the packed club, then worked his way around the room, greeting regulars and helping waitresses until, finally, he made it to the side of the room where the stairs that led up to the V.I.P loft were located.

Javier, one of several security guards employed by the club, stood at the base of the stairs, hands crossed in front of his large, suit-clad body, giving his patented no-nonsense stare to a couple of tipsy girls that were trying, rather unsuccessfully, to sneak past him, because, according to what Elias could hear, they were Brock Mercury's biggest fans.

"Good evening, Ladies." The duo jumped, then staggered, forcing him to steady both as he came around to face them. "I'm the owner, Elias Rodriguez. What can I do for you?"

"Owner?" the slightly less drunk of the two women slurred, before indignantly pointing her finger in Javier's general direction, her glassy eyes unfocused. "Well, Mr. Owner, will you please tell Muscles here to let us through? Brock Mercury is expecting us, and he's going to be pissed that we're late."

"Is he now?"

"Yes! We're his special guests."

Even though he didn't move a muscle or react in anyway, Elias saw the corners of Javier's eyes twitch, could practically hear the strain from the eye roll he was holding back. Elias knew, because he was having a hard time controlling one of his own in the presence of such a boldfaced lie.

That was one of the problems with owning a nightclub, especially one frequented by celebrity types. No matter how hard the management worked to keep a safe, fun environment for all involved, every now and then too many drinks mixed with an over-inflated sense of self led to a scene being caused.

Elias prided himself on being able to defuse such a situation before it got to that point, though, and leaned in so both women could hear him over the pulsing Latin beat pouring from the speakers.

It took some doing, but after a few carefully selected words and a promise to give Brock the numbers they slipped into Elias' hand, Drunk One and Drunk Two webble-wobbled their way back to the main dance area, the crowd of bumping and grinding patrons swallowing them up almost immediately.

Elias watched and waited, and once he was sure they were going to stay away, Javier lifted the velvet rope and he moved past with a shake of his head, giving his unyielding employee a pat on the shoulder for all he put up with on a nightly basis. Then he climbed the ten-foot staircase with practiced ease, letting his eyes adjusted to the darkness at the top.

Painted the same crimson red as the main room, with the same dim recessed lighting around the ceiling, the V.I.P loft at Cameo was designed for both privacy and comfort, with black leather couches and chairs casually positioned around the space for comfort, and a private bathroom in the back corner for that extra level of privacy most V.I.Ps required.

Elias knew Gia and her family weren't the high maintenance types, though. They never made special demands and always treated the staff with respect, but he still made a point of checking in to make sure they were being taken care of properly. Plus, with a trip to Chicago scheduled for the end of the month, he needed to discuss his plans with Gia, get her to pull some environmental reports for a location he was considering in the city, so he would be able to make a decision quickly upon his arrival.

But that could wait, and with work on the back burner, for now, Elias stepped around a chair and small table, moving further into the loft. Most of the partiers were standing along the railing, the soft, sultry music moving one couple's bodies in a way that seemed to be better suited for the bedroom––the newlyweds, Elias decided–– while the rest of the group sat around three high top tables at the far end of the space, sipping on cocktails.

He perused the guests' faces, searching for and finding Brody Cranston easily; he and his harem of scantily clad women making good use of the couch most blanketed by shadows.

With Brody, or Brock, depending on who was around, seemingly well in hand, Elias took a moment to take in the rest of the room. He watched the guests, the staff moving around, looking for one person in particular, when his eyes roved over then locked onto a petite female form, one he swore had been sculpted by Michelangelo himself. And after making this wonderfully unexpected discovery, Elias found everything else simply fading away. Everything except the X-rated siren in the figure hugging red dress, with skin the color of porcelain.

An image of his face sipping on the nectar between those supple, tantalizing thighs, being squeezed as she writhed and moaned with pleasure on his bed, his name falling from her insatiable lips, flipped through his mind, the images causing his cock to grow to a rather inconvenient size given his current location.

Elias had never, in his life, been more grateful for dim lighting and dark shadows.

Yet, like a bee being drawn to the most fragrant of flowers, he ignored the potential embarrassment and moved closer; each slow, deliberate step making him harder, as more of her extraordinary body came into view, drowning his senses, and forcing Elias to stop short of his target to take all of her in.

Shoulder length brown hair tickled bare skin and framed a face that made him question how he'd ever found any other woman beautiful when this woman won that prize a thousand times over. Her large, full breasts pushed against, almost spilled over, the top of her dress, just begging to be ravished and bathed with kisses. Marked with small bites of passion. While her slim waist and full hips made his hands yearn to grab her there, causing his brain to almost explode with all the ways they could get lost in one another.

As though she could hear the erotic movie playing in his head, the goddess in red lifted her eyes, finding his. Those plump, rosy lips bowing into a sinful smile, making his heart knock around even harder inside his chest.

Elias, palms sweaty, throat tight, was just starting to give a great deal of thought to the possibility of spontaneous combustion when a pair of slender arms wrapped around him from behind.

"Are you going to go over and introduce yourself, or are you just going to stand here eye-fucking her all night?" Warm breath tickled his ear then his cheek as Gia brushed a friendly kiss there.

Elias reddened. Maybe he should head down to the walk-in freezer and cool down before he completely made a fool of himself. No woman had ever had such an effect on him before, and he wasn't entirely sure he liked how easily it was happening now.

"Good evening, mi amor." He leaned over to return Gia's greeting, his gaze remaining firmly fastened to the goddess, as he whispered, "Am I that obvious?"

Gia laughed. "Only just a lot. But then I've been watching you watch her since you got up here, waiting for you to make a move so I could finally come over and say hi, so maybe that's why I noticed."

But the sympathetic look she gave him told Elias what a lie that was, that he'd probably been caught practically drooling by more than just her, and he cringed.

This time Gia didn't laugh, she simply took his hand in hers and gave it a tug. "Come on, Romeo, let me introduce you to your Juliet."

A buzz of anticipation pulsated through his body as Elias allowed Gia to pull him the rest of the way across the darkened room. And when he was standing no more than a foot away from the woman who was such an enticing mystery to him, Elias noticed a fresh scent of citrus clinging to the air, igniting his fire all over again.

She glanced between the two of them expectantly.

"Willow, this is Elias Rodriguez, a dear friend and client. He also happens to be the owner of this fine establishment and is dying to take you for a spin on the dance floor. Elias, this is Willow Delaney, another dear friend of mine and she accepts your offer."

Gia released Elias' hand, nudging him closer, and winking as she backed away toward where Ramon was waiting near the curtain. "Have fun you two," she said, and then Gia and the smug looking manager were gone, leaving Elias both speechless and mortified.

Here he'd been trying to think of the best way to approach the situation, maybe have something clever or witty to say when he introduced himself, and Gia had blown through like the force of nature she was, handling the dirty work for him, but leaving Elias looking like a loser that couldn't even talk to a woman without help.

A less than ideal first impression given how badly he wanted this woman––Willow, Gia had said. Elias decided the name fit. It was beautiful and unique, just like the person who bore it, and now he needed to salvage what he could from the aftermath of Hurricane Gia.

"You'll have to forgive her. Subtly isn't really Gia's style."

That voice.

He turned, and if Elias had ever heard a voice that velvety or erotic, he couldn't recall and he was sure something like that would have left an everlasting impression.

She smiled sexily, and Elias very nearly swallowed his tongue. "Well," she said inquisitively, "are we going to stand here all night, or are you going to take me for a spin?"

A spin? Was that code for sex? Because if so, he could have his car at the front door and ready to go in two minutes flat.

Then he remembered Gia, her comment about dancing, and Elias held out his hand, delighted by the jolt of electricity that jumped from her palm to his when they touched. "I'm ready when you are, Corazón." He gave an extra roll of the R with his tongue, a smile made for seduction playing on his lips.

He watched as the color rose in her cheeks, saw her eyes grow bigger at his words, and for a fleeting moment, uncertainty lived in the exotic midnight blue depths.

"I've..." she began, nibbling on her full bottom lip, the contradictory innocent action doing him in all over again. "I've never done this kind of thing before." She tilted her head to look up at him through her lashes, lust overriding the uncertainty, "I want you to show me how, Elias"

His cock thickened, pressing hard against his zipper with a resounding yes. "Honey, I will show you whatever you want." He leaned in; voice low, lips delicately brushing against the rapidly beating pulse point of her neck. "And I do mean whatever."

Willow's breath hitched, the fingers of the hand he was still holding tightening around his as she sat her drink on the closest table, pulling him toward the curtain and down the stairs a second later.

Elias kept up easily with her hurried steps, grinning at Javier as the two of them rushed past and––much to Elias' delight––away from the dance floor.

"I thought you wanted to dance," he said teasingly, but inside, he willed her to keep going with this new plan.

Then he heard it, the smile in her voice, the satisfaction as she said, "I think you know exactly what I want to do, and it isn't the Cha Cha."

Coño! Fuck yes!

Elias no longer cared that he was supposed to be working, that he hadn't yet visited with the rest of the V.I.P guests, or that his manager was as distracted as he was by a sexy woman elsewhere in the club. The only thing he cared about was getting Willow alone and letting the desire coursing through his veins wash over and consume both of them in a tidal wave of pleasure.

As they hurried away from the music, from the patrons warming up for what he himself was more than likely about to do, Elias couldn't help but admire the firm, tight butt barely covered by a wisp of fabric. He could feel the precum dripping from his slit, smearing his underwear with arousal as Willow looked down corridors and read signs on the various doors.

He'd had quite a few wet dreams in his life, slept with his fair share of women, but Elias had a feeling every single one of those interactions were going to pale in comparison with the celestial being in front of him. That was, if he could survive the anticipation, which was starting to feel more and more like mission impossible.

And when Willow hit yet another dead end, cursing in frustration, Elias decided he could no longer wait and spun her around, taking what he wanted more than anything.

A taste of sinfully delicious, Willow Delaney.

Chapter Three

Willow was burning up, practically boiling from the inside out; her entire being focused on one thing.

Sex.

But not just your average, run of the mill, vanilla kind of sex. No, the intense images flashing through her mind were that of hot, passionate, toe curling, back scratching, headboard banging sex. The kind of sex that made muscles sore and walking difficult, and that left both partners struggling for every breath while satisfied smiles brightened their already flushed faces.

Elias' tongue swept into her mouth, parrying and moving against hers, claiming her like no man ever had. But when the kiss deepened further, becoming frantic as his hand tracked up her side, mapping every curve, the sensual caresses no longer felt like enough.

She needed more.

Oh God, what was happening to her?

It was the dress. It had to be. Gia's powerful spirit must have melded into every stitch, and was now controlling Willow's actions like some kind of a naughty marionette.

She tried to pull back, to put an end to things before they were well and truly out of hand, but Willow's body betrayed her mind. Where only seconds ago her arms were poised to push Elias away, now they came up to wrap around his neck, one leg hooking over his hip, pulling him that much closer, so that the bulge in his pants was resting perfectly against the heated vee of her thighs.

Gasping, Willow dove back into the kiss with renewed vigor, keeping her body pressed tightly to his. Lust, more potent than the power of a thousand suns, flooded her system, causing her eyes to close and her mouth to open to accommodate the tongue demanding entrance.

Elias tasted of virility, wickedness, and man.

"Let's get out of here," she panted, barely recognizing the wanton woman propositioning this complete stranger she'd met only minutes before.

There was a tinge of desperation in her request, but that, Willow couldn't help. It had been far too long since she'd felt desired, felt the warmth and strength of a man pressed against her. She rolled her hips, increasing the pressure on their groins with a kind of torturous friction.

"Cristo, Belleza!" Elias moaned, the Spanish endearment and the scrape of his callused thumb over her kiss-swollen lips bringing a fresh wave of arousal. "I can't wait much longer to have you. Come home with me, Willow. Please."

"Yes," fell from her lips like a plea.

Then her leg was being lowered, her dress smoothed and straightened, before, like an energizer bunny that had just been taken off the charger, Elias was leading her back the same way from which they'd came; the music growing louder, drowning out the blood pounding in her ears as she struggled to keep up with his long, purposeful strides.

Willow tried to remind herself that this wasn't her. That despite her plan to throw out the rulebook and let loose, she'd never had a one-night stand in her life, never had sex with someone without knowing more than his name and occupation; let alone seduced a man in such a brazen manor. But now that she was being handed everything she thought she wanted, Willow wasn't entirely sure she could follow through and give into temptation.

And a temptation was exactly what Elias was.

He was tall, broad shouldered, his dark hair, deeply tanned skin, and heady accent highlighting his Latino ancestry to perfection. Making Elias the epitome of every Latin Lover she had ever read or wrote about, leaving Willow with very little doubt that she was going to give into the basic, carnal instincts inside her that were begging to be satisfied.

Could she really do this? Could she, Willow Delaney, really have sex for sex's sake? One look at the man trying to set the world record for exiting a crowded nightclub answered that question: Damn right she could! And there wasn't a force on this planet or any other that could stop her.

"Did you leave a bag or anything upstairs?"

"No." Everything she needed––keycard, money, cell–– was outside in the limo, which just so happened to be parked in the same direction they were headed. But then... "Wait." She pulled Elias to a stop, motioned him closer so she would be heard over the music. "I need to find Gia and tell her I'm leaving. Otherwise, she's likely to send out a search party."

"Ramon said he would let her know!" Elias shouted back, holding up his phone. "I just messaged him for the same reason, and so that he'd know I'm going to be gone the rest of the night."

"Who's Ramon?"

"Ramon Salazar, the man Gia ran off with after she made introductions. He also happens to be the club's manager, and a friend. According to his message, he and Gia are still on the dance floor."

"Oh," she replied casually, but he must have picked up on her hesitancy by the way she was worrying her bottom lip, because instead of continuing toward the door at warp speed, Elias turned around and led her to the edge of the dance floor, typing out another message.

A second later, he pointed to where a hand was waving a cell phone above the crowd.

Willow melted with relief, even as her affection for this man grew for his patience and understanding. "Thank you."

Elias winked and placed a reassuring hand on her lower back, keeping her close, where she was more than happy to be, as they waited for Gia and Ramon to join them on the edge of the bumping and grinding masses.

"This place is crazy tonight," Gia said, emerging from the crowd, her hair and body damp with sweat, the man Willow now knew to be Ramon plastered to her back.

Willow felt like an idiot, interrupting her friend and the good time she was obviously having to make inquiries about the man at her side, which was in direct contrast to the plans she'd laid out for the evening.

Never the less, if all it was going to take was one conversation with Gia to save Willow from freaking out later, then she considered the risk of being seen as anything less than the vixen she was portraying worth it.

Willow stepped away from the warmth of Elias' side and hooked her arm through Gia's, moving them both a short distance away so as to not be easily overheard.

"I would ask you what's up, but by the looks of your lipstick, I take it you're not down here to tell me you're turning in early." Gia grinned, further exacerbating Willow's feelings of foolishness.

"I, uh, sort of suggested that he and I get out of here."

"Damn, look at you! When you set your mind to something you really go for it. So where are you going, his place or back to the hotel?"

"His place, I think." Willow couldn't exactly remember if they'd discussed the where, even though she damn well knew what was going to happen whenever they got to their destination. That was, if she could get out of her own head long enough to make it past the front door of the club. "That's sort of what I needed to talk to you about. Tell me, is this insane?"

"Is what insane?"

"This. Me. Going home with a complete stranger all because one kiss from that gorgeous mouth of his nearly brought me to my knees."

Gia threw her head back and laughed. "Willow, you don't need mine or anyone else's permission to let your naughty side out and have some fun. If it feels right, and you're both safe about it, then I say why the hell not. Go back to his place and live a little. What have you got to lose?"

Dignity? Respect? My life?

Okay, so that last one was a bit extreme. Especially since Willow doubted her friend would give her the green light to go off with the man if he were, say, an ax murderer, or something equally sinister.

Willow glanced over to where Elias and Ramon were having their own private pow-wow, and felt her thighs quiver and her nipples ache as one of the lights illuminated his dark features, forcing her to look away before her body could completely betray her. And when she did, she saw understanding bloom in Gia's eyes.

"I met Elias a few years back when he was in Chicago and needed a lawyer to help broker a restaurant deal," she explained, fondly. "Back then he was married, a fact his wife, Maria, made sure to remind me of every time they came into the office. But I'm telling you right now, that woman could have saved her icy breath, because not only am I not that kind of woman––thank you very much––but seeing as Elias is probably one of the most honorable men I know, there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell of anything other than friendship happening between the two of us. Which is why I feel I can say with absolute certainty you have nothing to worry about where Elias is concerned. He's, if nothing else, the last in a dying breed; a bonafide gentleman."

Willow felt the last of her reservations melt away, Gia's assurances reaffirming all of the things her gut was telling her to be true about her would-be lover. But now she found she was curious about something else Gia had said. "You said he was married. Am I to assume that's past tense?"

"Yes," Gia answered with a nod, a hardness darkening her normally bright eyes. "It was finalized last year, but if I were you, I wouldn't bring it up. Maria really did a number on him, which is why him going home with you shocks me more than the reverse. No offense."

"None taken," Willow assured, then smirked. "And don't worry; somehow I don't think talking is what either of us has in mind for this evening's activities."

And yet, as they walked back to where the two men were waiting and Gia hugged them both before disappearing into the crowd with Ramon, once again leaving her alone with Elias on the edge of the dance floor, Willow found her curiosity for this devilishly handsome stranger growing–– expanding––and running deeper than it probably should for what was only to be an incredible, yet very temporary, night of passion.

Elias looked at her, eager, but with endless patience. "Better?"

"Better," she replied, even as her earlier butterflies took flight, once again. Only this time it wasn't nerves or apprehension, but anticipation of what the night, and maybe the wee hours of the morning, would hold.

She reached for his hand. "Let's go."

Chapter Four

Willow sat on the oversized hanging porch swing, listening to the sounds of the ocean in the soft white glow of Fairy lights.

On the short ride from the club to Elias' oceanfront bungalow on Key West's south shore, conversation between the two flowed easily. She discovered that Cameo was just one in a long line of clubs, restaurants, and even a spa or two, Elias owned with various business partners. But more impressive to Willow than his resume had been the humility and humbleness with which he spoke.

Where Luke had always taken any and all opportunities to brag about how well his custom motorcycle shop was doing, or that he was dating the Willow Delaney, Elias downplayed his accomplishments, showing pride, without being an arrogant ass; a quality Willow found to be incredibly sweet and endearing.

Elias closed the door to the house and flipped a switch on the side of the shed, bringing all the lights in and around the in-ground pool flickering to life.

She smiled when he passed her a glass of white wine. "Thank you," she said, enjoying the cool, crispness of the Sauvignon Blanc, but savoring the view of Elias and his long, lean body infinitely more.

Willow licked her lips and finally managed to tear her eyes from Elias' body to meet his gaze. There was lust in his eyes, a simmering heat that matched the need thundering beneath her skin, but there was also curiosity mixed in, with a hint of intrigue. Willow searched her sex-scrambled brain for something intuitive, yet seductive to say, but came up empty. For someone who was used to using words to make imaginary characters fall in love and lust on a regular basis, it struck Willow as ironic that she lacked the ability to verbalize said words when it came to her own life.

"This place is amazing. It's like your own personal paradise. Have you lived here long?"

She didn't know why all the questions she wanted to ask were personal; especially when they both knew personal wasn't what this night was about. At least, that's not what it had started out to be, anyway. Now that they'd talked and gotten to know one another on a marginally deeper level, Willow found her interest in Elias growing beyond just the physical.

Oh, she still wanted him fiercely; there was no doubt about that. Just like there was no doubt in Willow's mind that her night wasn't going to end before Elias had made every single one of her sexual fantasies come to life.

But if Elias minded the detour from passion to personal, he didn't show it. In fact, he looked almost pleased by the diversion.

"I've lived in Key West, or the general vicinity, most of my life, but I bought this particular house about a year ago," he said, staring out to where the ocean lapped against the shore. For a moment, there was a rigidity to his features, before whatever it was seemed to leave just as quickly, and he smiled warmly back at her. "What about you?"

Willow took another fortifying sip of wine, deciding that since Elias had been doing the majority of the talking thus far, it was only fair she wade into the personal pool a little herself. "I've lived in Chicago for going on seven years now, I guess it is. Before that, home was a small town in Upstate New York. Most of my family still lives there, actually." She took another drink, pushing through the lingering feelings of guilt that always came attached to talking about her family. "The move was pretty hard on them, especially my mom, but the publishing house that bought the rights to my first book was based out of Chicago, and after giving it a lot of thought and consideration, moving seemed like the right thing to do, career wise."

"So that's what you do, you write books?"

Willow nodded, dreading the follow up question she knew was coming.

"Wow, I'm impressed. I don't think I've ever met an author before. What do you write? No, wait, let me guess," he considered her, a rueful smile crinkling his eyes, "children's books?"

She snorted so hard wine burned the inside of her nose. "Hardly," she choked out, wiping away the sweet liquid.

The only time Willow hated talking about work was with men, because once she told them the kind of content her books contained, they became like those dogs that fall for the imaginary ball being thrown; full of expectations that would never be filled.

Willow sighed, deciding that since the night was already full of expectations she still wasn't quite sure she would be able to satisfy, she might as well go ahead and fess up. "I write mostly romance, with some of my books stretching the boundaries into erotica." Not so much as a raised eyebrow at the word 'erotica'. Elias was already way ahead of the curve. At this rate, the bell for his 'Pretty Perfect' meter would be ringing by morning. "Although," she said, feeling infinitely more comfortable, "lately I haven't been writing much of anything."

"Oh yeah, why's that?" he asked, and she could tell he was genuinely interested in the why and not the what she was or wasn't writing.

But what could she say? "Well, you see, this asshole I was dating pretty much told me I was a talentless, sexually repressed wench, who couldn't write her way out of an act in a play, and I was stupid enough to believe him. Now, I'm up against an incredibly stressful deadline that, if I don't make, could possibly cost me my publishing contract. Not to mention, I haven't had sex in months, and could really use a heavy dose of inspiration right about now. Think you're up for the task?"

"I've found that my imagination and life don't always like to play nice together," she said instead, because that pretty much summed up the last six months of her life, in a nutshell.

She thought about the laptop sitting in her bag back at the hotel, the blank pages waiting to be filled, and for the first time in weeks, there was a spark of something that felt a hell of a lot like inspiration.

Willow could barely contain her excitement, her fingers practically coming to life at the thought of creating, manipulating, and molding new words into a brand-new masterpiece. And she knew exactly whom she had to thank for this surge in her creative juices.

She finished off what remained of her wine––a little liquid courage to settle any lingering nerves–– then rose from the swing, crossing the porch to relieve Elias of his glass and set it on the railing.

Everything in Willow ached for this man. For all the back and forth that had gone on in her mind, the small stab of pain she'd felt whilst remembering Luke's parting words, it all became irrelevant with one touch of her hand to his stubble-darkened cheek.

Elias' breathing changed, coming in short, staccato pants now, and Willow decided she was done waiting. This time, she kissed him, picking up where they left off in the hallway back at the club. There was no shyness or questioning this time, only passion, as their tongues danced together, bodies going up in flames.

Willow had never felt so alive, so in control of not only her pleasure but someone else's, and she found that particular brand of dominance to be very intoxicating.

Spellbound and drunk with newfound power, Willow stepped back from the burning heat of Elias' hold, and reached for the single clasp holding her dress in place at the back of her neck, separating the hook from the eye. A moan rumbled deep in her throat, as the silk glided over already sensitized flesh.

"Dios mío!" Elias' eyes drank her in as she stepped free of the dress puddled around her feet, like he was trying to memorize every shape, every curve of her body as it glowed beneath the light of the full moon.

Having that much intense and undivided attention focused on her body should have brought out a whole laundry list of insecurities, but it was quite the opposite. When Elias looked at her, Willow felt beautiful and sensual, like there was a beast inside of her just waiting to be unleashed; a beast only he could set free.

Her confidence growing with every second that his eyes burned into her, searing straight through to her core, Willow licked her lips and slid her fingers into the sides of her panties, removing the final barrier with as much grace as her racing heart would allow.

"Fuck, I was right; you are a work of art. My very own Venus de Milo brought to life; flesh and blood and beauty." His voice filled with reverence, leaving her breathless.

"Touch me," she said, but he was already there, taking her into his arms, his mouth warm and persuasive, branding her with his kiss, but it still wasn't enough.

"Not enough," she cried, putting voice to her thoughts, yanking at the opening of his shirt, sending buttons skittering to the wooden deck below. She brought his bare chest to hers, whimpering when his chest hair teased her nipples into even harder peaks, while the heat of his skin whipped the rest of her body into an excited frenzy.

Elias' hands moved to the small of her back then lower until he was cupping her butt, squeezing it, the tips of his long, thick fingers flirting with her slickened folds.

She didn't know how long they stood there kissing, Elias in nothing but his half torn shirt and black dress pants, and Willow in, well, nothing at all.

Finally, their surroundings registered in her hormone infused brain, but instead of being ashamed or embarrassed, Willow let a delightfully wicked idea come to form.

"Ever had sex in a pool?" she asked, reaching for his pants and loosening his belt, popping the top button. Then she unzipped him, letting the black material fall to the deck with a thunk, and when she reached the front of his underwear, Willow felt, more than heard, Elias' sharp intake of breath, as she wrapped her fingers around the hard ridge she found there.

"Holy hell, you're so big!"

He huffed out a laugh that quickly gave way to a moan when she began to stroke him through the cotton briefs. "You're go-od for my ego."

"Oh, I'm good for a lot more than that." She lowered his underwear and forgot to be embarrassed by her uncensored slip of the tongue, as eight inches of hard, thick male jutted out to greet her, tempting her into stealing a taste.

Willow bent at the waist, taking half his bare length in, before she was forced to back off. His flavor burst on her tongue, salty yet sweet, with a hint of something that was purely Elias, and her entire body thrummed with restless pleasure.

"Keep that up and I'll be coming before we ever make it––Jesus," he groaned, as she stretched her jaw to accommodate more of his length, which, to Willow's amazement, grew even larger when it hit the back of her throat.

"Willow...Sweetheart...gonna..." he wheezed, but there was no way she was backing off now.

Willow used her free hand to squeeze his taut thigh, letting him know it was okay to let go, and half a dozen thrusts later, his cock pulsed in her mouth.

Within minutes, the rest of his clothes were off and they were in the pool, doing their best to devour one another, the warm water the perfect conductor for the electricity sparking and crackling between them.

Rumblings from a boat engine echoed in the distance, making Willow wonder briefly if maybe they should finish their naughty adventure inside, but then his lips were on her breasts, suckling her nipple, and she left all rational thought behind.

When he finally came up for air, allowing both of them to catch their breath, Elias found himself trapped in a battle, caught between the urge to plunge his cock into her wet, smoldering heat, or lay her out on the edge of the pool and lick her like the last available ice cream cone on a hot summer's day.

He loved the way Willow felt against him, the way her body responded to the slightest touch, and then the need to know if she would be that responsive to his touch everywhere consumed him. And just like that, the battle ended.

Seconds later, he was lifting her up and out of the pool, Willow's back and bottom uniting with the smooth Roman slate border that surrounded the pool, putting her at just the right height for what he had in mind. And then his head was between her thighs and Elias knew he'd found true paradise, and it wasn't a house on the beach or a great view. No, true paradise was Willow Delaney, the feel of her inner muscles squeezing and pulling his fingers in deeper, while her juices coated his tongue with the sweetest honey.

He'd never been with someone like her before, someone so unashamed of her sexuality, unafraid to bare it all out in the open like they were now. It surprised him how much he himself was turned on by the display, since he'd never been much of an exhibitionist with lovers in the past, but with Willow, he found everything felt new. New and exciting and undeniably better than anything he'd ever experienced before.

With the aftershocks of Willow's pleasure still shuddering through them both, Elias managed to snag his pants and roll on a condom without ever leaving the water. And then he was lowering her back into the pool, entering her one torturous inch at a time until he was sure she'd adjusted to having all of him deep inside her, and then it was a blur. He thrust into her, rough and fast, hot and hard, merging in a hurried, frantic sprint to the finish line.

There was no way he was going to last much longer, but he'd be damned if he was going to fall over that edge even one second before Willow found her pleasure for the second time in as many minutes.

She bit down on her lip, and he reached up to release the plump, kiss-swollen flesh. "Don't get shy on me now. Let me hear you. Come for me, sweetheart." And she did. Her sweet wetness smothering his cock with so much extraordinary heat that Elias careened over the edge, coming so hard the sparkling sapphires in the sky above weren't the only stars he was seeing when he got them to the tanning ledge.

And later, as they lay in bed, Elias wrapped around Willow from behind, tired, sated body to tired, sated body, he wondered how in the world he was ever going to give her up come morning. Even if they had a million nights like the one they'd just shared, Elias didn't think it would be enough, and now he was in danger of losing her come first light.

Here, he'd finally found a woman that made him feel everything he thought he'd felt for Maria, tried to feel for Maria, and she was leaving. Getting on a plane and flying back to Chicago in only ten short hours.

Elias sighed, cursing the sliver of orange flirting with the horizon outside his window, as he pulled her closer.

Life really was an evil bitch sometimes.

Chapter Five

Willow opened her eyes and the hazy light of early dawn seeped into the room, enough that she could see every stark line, every hard angle of Elias' lean, sculpted body on the bed beside her. His arm was draped across her hip, their heads sharing the same pillow, like he couldn't get close enough. And that was perfectly okay with her, because that was exactly how she felt. She never wanted to stop touching, caressing, making love with Elias. He was by far the most incredible lover she'd ever had, and she couldn't believe they'd done all the things they had on the deck and in the pool.

And yet, she was laying there, the proof evident in every wonderfully sore muscle, in the tenderness of her lips.

Compulsorily, she drew in a breath; delighted as she caught a hint of the same light and elegant scent from the night before, that aquatic, satinwood, amber cologne that clung to Elias' skin and brought to life something basic, yet sensuous inside her.

Easing her way from beneath his arm carefully, Willow made her way into the bathroom and braved a look in the mirror.

Oh God! It was worse than she'd expected. Much, much worse. She looked like Medusa––hair kinked and tangled, with wayward curls sprouting in every direction––while, ironically, radiating with the pleasure of Aphrodite. Which was precisely the deity Willow chose to embrace, as she tamed her hair into what passed as order when it came to her mahogany locks, and slipped into a t-shirt that was hanging on the back of the bathroom door. Gia's red dress was still lying in a puddle outside on the deck, but Willow found she liked the feel of Elias' t-shirt against her naked flesh even better than the finest of silks.

She stepped back into the bedroom and stood in the doorway, just watching as Elias slept. She wondered with all those businesses he had to run when exactly he found the time to sleep, and decided that since it couldn't be more than an hour past sunrise, she would leave him to rest.

She, on the other hand, felt far too amped to crawl back into bed. Gently closing the door behind her, Willow walked through the house, peeking into open doorways, seeing everything she hadn't the night before, until she came to the first room off the kitchen, its large window overlooking the deck and ocean beyond.

It was an office, with walls painted a burnt orange color, a large oak desk, and a shiny black laptop, sitting open, practically begging to be the vessel with which Willow wrote the bits and pieces of storyline that had been conjuring in her mind since Elias walked into the V.I.P loft back at Cameo, knocking the breath right out of her.

She walked further into the room, pausing on a picture of a young Elias standing next to a woman, who she assumed was his mother because of the way their eyes were perfect mirrored images of one another. They stood in front of what could only be described as a hovel, clothes dirty and torn, so far removed from the sharply dressed millionaire he was today. Willow swallowed back unexpected tears, her heart breaking for what the young boy in that picture must have gone through, what he must have seen. She was so enraptured by the photograph that she didn't hear him approach.

"That's one of the few photos I have of me and mi Madre. It was taken on her thirty-second birthday, in a shanty town near Pinar del Rio, Cuba, where we lived for a while."

Willow turned at the sound of Elias' deep, sleep-roughened voice, his sudden appearance and how utterly edible he looked in low hung pajama bottoms making her bobble the frame, just managing to nab it before it could clatter to the floor.

"I'm so sorry. I couldn't sleep, and I thought maybe I'd use your computer to get a bit of writing done," Willow said, in way of explanation for why he'd caught her nosing through his office.

She placed the frame back on the shelf, taking extra care as she did so, mortified that she'd nearly ruined something so special to him. "Your mother is beautiful. How old were you here?"

"Ten." He sounded so sad, and Willow wondered if he was recalling the nightmare of living in such poverty. But then she honed in on what he'd said about the picture itself, and her heart broke for not only the little boy in the picture, but the man in front of her, as well. "When did she pass away?"

Elias lowered his head, becoming seemingly fascinated with the tiled floor. "A couple months after that picture was taken. I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle, and then we came to the States not much longer after that."

"And your father?"

"Died when I was two."

"I'm so sorry, Elias," Willow said, hands held over her heart. "No child should have to deal with that much pain and loss."

He lifted his gaze from the floor. "It was a long time ago, and my memories of them are fond. Her strength and kindness made me who, and what, I am today."

"Then she must have truly been an amazing woman, because you are an amazing man."

She joined him on the other side of the room, rising on her toes to bring her lips to meet his for a too short kiss.

Suddenly feeling shy, Willow bit her lip nervously. "Good morning."

He looked down into her eyes; hunger pushing away the sadness, loosening her nerves. "It could have been even better." A salacious smile lifted the corners of his mouth, and she knew exactly how much better their morning could have been if only she'd stayed where she'd slept. Then his smile gave way to what looked like relief. "I was afraid you'd left when I woke and you were no longer beside me. I'm glad that wasn't the case."

Never had Willow wanted to kiss a man so badly. So she did. This time incorporating her hands and tongue into the equation, until both of their breathing was coming in hard pants.

"Now why would I have left when I had a kiss like that to look forward to?" she asked, and was answered with a dubious grin from Elias.

"You wouldn't have, and I'm a stupid, stupid man for ever thinking otherwise." He lifted her hand, kissing the soft skin of her palm. "You said something about wanting to write?"

She did? It was kind of hard to remember much of anything when he was near her, touching her like she was some sort of precious gift to be treasured.

Willow nodded almost reflexively. "I was going to. That's why I couldn't sleep, my brain was flooded with all these new ideas, but since you're awake now it can wait until I get back to the hotel."

Speaking of which...

Willow really needed to call Gia, tell her that depending on what Elias' plans were for the day that she might not make it back for the send off breakfast for Max and Amy, or, if the gods were really smiling down on her, she wouldn't be making the flight home either.

Then Willow realized how far ahead of herself she was getting. Maybe she should find out whether or not her sticking around Key West for a few extra days was something Elias would even be interested in first. For all she knew, last night could have just been another roll in the hay for him.

But somehow she didn't think so. Especially when he said, "Don't be silly. Here." He released her hand, moving to the desk to bring the MacBook Pro whirring to life. "Didn't you say last night writing has been a challenge lately?"

Willow was stunned. He couldn't possibly be serious.

"Yes, I did say that, but..."

"Okay, so sit, write; do whatever you need to do, while I take a shower, and then I'll whip us up some breakfast. Waffles, bacon, and eggs sound good, or would you prefer something lighter, like omelets?"

"Either sounds perfect," she said, watching him closely.

"Great. You write, and I'll come get you when the food's ready. Then we can eat and talk about whether or not you have plans later."

Luke had always complained when she worked, claimed she cared more about her characters than him when she locked herself away for hours, sometimes days, on end. So how was it that Elias already understood exactly what she needed, when she needed it, without making her feel guilty?

And she wasn't just talking about her writing needs either.

Last night quickly came to mind, the way he'd paid attention to making sure her every desire was taken care of before allowing his own to take over, the tenderness he'd shown her before and after.

And he wanted to talk, wanted to know what her plans were for later.

Willow was almost too shocked by all the unexpectedly wonderful things happening to move or even take the chair he was holding out. "Wait, you're serious?" she asked, still not quite sure she hadn't woken up in someone else's body, someone else's fairy tale. "You really don't mind me doing this?"

"Not at all," he replied, genuinely. "Why is that so surprising? I just figured that's how it works. You get ideas and need to get them out as soon as possible before you forget what they are. Or am I completely making an ass of myself, right now, by assuming I know more than I do?"

Willow swallowed back more tears. "No, you're absolutely right. It's just...nobody has ever understood that writing isn't like most jobs. It's not something I can just turn on and off. I basically work when my brain lets me. Sort of like I'm at its mercy."

Elias kissed her. "Then I guess you better get to it, Miss Delaney, while you're still turned on," he said with a wink, and then he was gone; leaving Willow, mouth hung open in surprise at his provocative parting words, but pleased as punch that day two of their one-night stand was starting off on such a promising note.

Elias couldn't help but smile. Seeing Willow standing there in one of his shirts, in the room he used as his own personal escape hatch, knowing she hadn't left, was one of the best feelings he could ever remember having. And if it hadn't been for the torn look in her eyes, the one that said she wanted him desperately, but in fact, needed to be creative just a little bit more, Elias would have taken her, right then and there, up against the wall or on his desk, fast and hard, the way he had the night before.

But he was determined to make what they had about more than just sex. That's why he'd shared what little he had about his mother––a very painful topic for him.

If his marriage to Maria had taught Elias anything, it was that if something felt wrong, it probably was. And vice versa.

Elias had known, or at least suspected, Maria had been unfaithful. But he had been raised to honor his commitments, to cherish his wife, so that was what he'd done. He'd ignored her actions, buried his suspicions, and he'd ended up alone and miserable in a loveless marriage.

But when something as right as the feelings Willow evoked in him came along, only a fool would choose to turn their back and run scared because of what one callous and unfeeling person did in the past.

As Elias made his way back to his room, stripping off his pajamas and switching on the rainfall showerhead before stepping underneath, he couldn't help but wonder if Willow felt it, too. She seemed pleased by his comment about later, and that kiss she laid on him was nothing short of breathtaking. But––and it was a very big but, with a multitude of different outcomes that made the hope in him fade momentarily––was one night of passion enough for her to take such a personal risk herself?

God he hoped so.

She had looked different this morning. Her head full of unruly curls that bounced and swung with the slightest movement, the makeup from last night gone, leaving her barefaced. And she wore his old, ratty, unflattering Florida Gators t-shirt, instead of that figure hugging red dress. And yet, even with the night and day quality to her appearance, Willow remained the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

If he wasn't careful, he'd be telling her he loved her before lunch, and no matter what Willow might or might not be feeling for him, Elias was pretty sure 'I love you' less than twenty-four hours after meeting would send even the most open-minded of people running for the hills.

Convincing himself to take everything one step at a time, he finished up in the shower and got dressed. Curious, he walked quietly back to the office. He found Willow hunched over his laptop, fingers flying, lips moving; her softly spoken words barely audible.

I wonder if she knows she talks when she writes.

For a moment, he just stood there, watching her work. She never looked up, never took her eyes off the screen, and when her internal musings started to grow in volume, revealing what he could only conclude was a pretty personal storyline about a woman wanting to let go, be wild, and discover different parts of herself, Elias decided to give her the privacy she deserved, and slipped away unnoticed.

With Willow engrossed in work, Elias found a small snack, deciding to put the larger, more filling, breakfast on hold, for now, and get some work done of his own.

His office currently occupied, he went upstairs, sliding open the glass patio door, to enjoy his second favorite view from the house.

With his phone, iPad, and a glass of juice in hand, Elias made himself comfortable in one of the three patio chairs; watching from his spot on the second-story balcony as a pod of dolphins splashed, played, and jumped from the water off in the distance.

"Paradise," he breathed.

He enjoyed the view a bit longer, wishing Willow sat with him so he could share his joy of the majestic creatures with her. Then, with a sigh full of longing, he picked up the iPad and began to check his e-mails.

And there it sat––staring up at him from the rectangle screen like a red flag waving in front of a bull's eyes––an email from his divorce lawyer, Brett. Elias read the subject, skimmed the body of the message, and was well on his way to a boiling rage by the time he opened the attachment Brett had included, which turned out to be virtual scans of the latest letters received from Maria's lawyers, demanding yet another raise in her alimony.

Elias snapped.

He didn't care that it was half past eight on a Sunday morning, or that Brett had repeatedly beat it into his head to use him for all forms of communication between Elias and his ex. Hell, Willow being a floor away barely slowed the frenzied tapping on his phone screen as he dialed. Enough was enough.

"Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to stop hiding behind his lawyer?" Maria's voice was filled with condescending triumph. "I take it you got my letter?"

"I did." He kept his answer short, tone level, refusing to let her push his buttons and turn this into a full-blown shouting match.

"And?"

"The answer is no."

"Tacaño!!! Hijo de Puta, Cabron! What do you mean, no?" she screamed. "That's my money, too. You owe me!"

Her audacity was almost laughable.

"What exactly is it you think I owe you, Maria? Because from where I sit, you have a house, a car, and checks that will be coming every month like clockwork for the next two years. All of which my money paid, or will pay for. Now you say you want more, and I say the answer is no."

"I'll take you back to court! I'll make your life a living hell. I was a good wife, and you used that damn pre-nup to hose me in the divorce."

Now Elias did laugh. "A good wife? Lorena Bobbitt was a better wife than you, Maria. At least she had the decency to only touch her husband's dick." He let the jab fly, not caring how childish he sounded right then. "By the way, how is José? Or was it Victor? There were so many over the years, I can't seem to keep them straight."

"Listen to me, you..." she bit off a tirade of curse words, in both English and Spanish, but Elias didn't hear most of them, because he was done listening, done playing her games. In short, he was done with her, and this ludicrous charade he'd been a part of for far too long.

He needed to settle the past and throw out the tarnished pieces if he ever had any hope of building a better, happier life for himself.

"No, Cariño, you listen, and listen good, because this is going to be the last conversation the two of us ever have." He switched the phone to his other ear, lowering his voice as he did. "For four years I worked my ass off, nearly ran myself into the ground so I could give you everything you wanted, while you cheated and spent the money like it grew on trees. Well, guess what, I was right to ask you to sign that pre-nup, and have been more than generous since our split, but now I'm done. One more phone call, one more email, letter, or bad word out of your mouth about me to anyone and I will remove the extra three thousand that wasn't in our original agreement from your alimony payments. Think I'm kidding? Test me and find out. I dare you."

He hung up, tossed the phone on the table, and put his head in his hands. Birds sang happily in the trees below, while Elias sat there feeling wretched, the guilt eating away at him for how harsh he'd been with the woman he once loved.

But he'd tried to do things civilly, hadn't he? Going above and beyond what was legally required of him even, but still she'd tried to sucker more and more money out of him, because she knew he was a nice guy. Well, even nice guys had their limits, and as Maria now knew, she had finally pushed Elias to his.

He thought about calling Brett to prepare him for what might be in store should she ignore his warning, but Elias settled for the easier, and cheaper, form of communication with his lawyer on a Sunday and sent his response and instructions back via email.

Then he sat back and stared out at the Atlantic Ocean for a while, the turquoise water and its shimmering waves better than a shot of the best tequila. Calming him, as thoughts of a future he'd only dared dream about since the divorce filled him with equal parts of apprehension and joy.

Now all Elias had to do was turn his thoughts into reality.

Chapter Six

Zoe found herself in unfamiliar territory. She was on vacation, in a restaurant where everything on the menu was designed to either arouse or seduce, and she was alone, like always. But when she looked up, suddenly a dark and mysterious stranger caught her eye. Her body becoming a beacon whose signal only wanted to be attached to this man's particular brand of ship, while his anchor sinks deeper into her...

"That must be some story."

Willow's heart leapt into her throat before settling back into her chest; Elias had scared the bejesus out of her.

She looked up and found that her own dark and mysterious stranger was standing in the doorway, looking sexy and refreshed; a dishtowel slung over his shoulder.

Willow blushed; weirdly embarrassed by the new direction her story had taken, how far off course it had veered from where it began months before. But, much to her delight and surprise, the words had been flowing like never before. She'd finished two chapters already, and was working on a third when Elias came back in.

"Sorry, I was sort of in the zone there for a minute," she said, and stretched her arms high above her head to loosen the knots. Then she saw the time, and her blush deepened further. "Three hours?" Her hand flew to her mouth. "I didn't realize...why didn't you come get me? Oh God...you must think I'm so awful."

But instead of looking annoyed or pissed, Elias just stood there grinning. "I stopped by after my shower, and then again about an hour ago. Stood here for about ten minutes both times and you didn't notice, so I figured I should just leave you to it."

"What about breakfast? Please tell me you haven't been waiting for me this whole time," she said, feeling terribly guilty.

But he shook his head, easing her remorse. "I had a banana and some yogurt to hold me over, but now I think it's time for you to take a break, get something other than water in you."

At her raised eyebrow, he must have realized his verbal slip, the way it could be misconstrued given their highly sexualized, albeit short, relationship.

"Food. You need to get food in you," he clarified, then winked, "for now, anyway." Then he took her hand and led her to the kitchen, where the smell of bacon greeted them. Elias gave her a quick smooch before moving to the stove.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You're already doing it." He smiled, setting a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice in front of her. "You're sitting there filling up every corner of the room with your radiant beauty, and making me feel like the luckiest man in the world."

She looked at him over the rim of her glass. "And here I thought I was the romance writer. That was a pretty good line. You probably say that to all the girls you make waffles for."

And like the freak snowstorms that sometimes blew threw Chicago, dumping more than a foot of snow on the ground in a matter of hours and dropping temps to dangerous levels, the atmosphere in the kitchen went from Equator to Antarctica in less time than it took Willow to blink.

Elias' eyes were hard, much like Gia's had been the night before when they were discussing his ex-wife, and Willow had a feeling that whatever it was Maria had done to do such a number on him––as Gia had said––her playful mocking may have hit a little too close to home.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

"No, it's not your fault," he eventually said, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. And when he opened them again some of the hardness and pain had dissipated.

He plated up their food and slid hers across the counter.

And because she didn't want to risk putting her foot in her mouth a second time, Willow picked up her fork and filled it full of food instead.

Elias had fought his entire life. Fought for strength when his mom passed away, fought to fit in to a new country, where kids laughed at and made fun of him. And now he had something truly magnificent worth fighting for in the woman beside him.

He knew there was still a lot they didn't know about each other. He didn't know if she had any brothers or sisters, or if her parents were still alive, what her favorite color was. But he did know the curves of her body, the way her eyes glittered in the moonlight as she came apart in his arms. And he knew without a doubt that he wouldn't be able to survive even one day without Willow's radiant smile or infectious spirit in his life, and those were all reason enough for Elias to take the leap of faith he was about to.

"What do you say we go for a walk on the beach before I take you back to town?" he asked, and was rewarded with another one of those smiles that could light up a room.

"I say, yes," she agreed then frowned, "but I'm going to need to change first."

"Oh, I don't know," he said, alternating between leering suggestively at Willow and glancing down to where her nipples poked against the t-shirt. "I think you look pretty good in what you've got on."

She smacked his arm, laughing. "You would." She hopped down off the bar stool, and Elias couldn't help but notice the extra bit of sway she put in her hips as she walked to put her dishes in the sink.

He jumped up and stalked after her, trapping her between him and the sink, her back to his front. He moved her hair out of the way and peppered the back of her neck with kisses, growling as he nipped the top of her spine. "Or, we could always skip the walk and make love in every room of the house for the next two hours. Personally, I think option B is more beneficial to all involved. How about you?"

Willow turned her head to the side, finding his mouth with hers, and he had his answer.

Elias spun and maneuvered her until they were near the section of the counter with the least amount of clutter, and then he lifted her up, a gasp of surprise escaping her lips as her bottom made contact with the cold granite.

The next thing Elias knew, small deft hands were removing his shirt and unzipping his pants, Willow's lips marking each new section of skin with ravenous kisses.

He smiled and pulled her shirt off, throwing it behind him and adding his lips into the mix. Looked like they weren't making it to bed again. But if all went well when they got back to the hotel, there would be many, many more days and nights like this. Hell, they could never have sex in a bed, ever, and that would still be completely fine with him.

His fingers brushed over her thighs, finding her center, already wet and ready, and the moment his finger slid into her body, Elias' mind turned off and his body went into overdrive, the feel of her on his fingers almost too much for him to bear.

He heard her groan as he added another finger, and his mouth took hers just as possessively as it had every time before. She whimpered and ground herself against his hand, all while devouring his mouth, scratching his back, and pulling him closer. One more twist and stroke of his fingers inside her, a press of his thumb against her clit, and Willow detonated.

Her climax rolled on and on, Elias not stopping until she was shaking all over, lying slumped against him in exhaustion.

"No more," she gasped. "Too much."

Rather than let her catch her breath, Elias scooted her forward so her ass was hanging over the counter's edge, her upper body being supported by her elbows. He held tight to her hips, stepping closer to open her wider, and Willow reached down to roll the condom on him then used her hand to bring him into her body.

"Fuck me! That's good," he moaned, thrusting a couple of times before backing off.

"Why are you stopping?" The wild desperation in her voice almost made him continue, but he had something to say and it just couldn't wait.

"Because I have a question to ask you."

"Now?!"

He bit his lip to keep from laughing at the way her eyes flew to his, wide and full of disbelief that he was choosing this particular moment to get chatty.

He smiled. "Yes, now."

"Then the answer is yes."

"But you don't even know what I'm going to ask."

She groaned again, only this time in frustration, instead of pleasure, when she realized there was no way she was going to be able to take control. "Fine, what is it?"

He brushed his lips to hers. "I don't want you to fly back to Chicago this afternoon. I want you to stay here, in Florida, with me."

She stared at him warily. "That's not a question."

"Maybe not, but I think you know what I'm asking. I want this to be more than just an incredible day. I want it to simply be more."

"More?" she repeated, softly, a slight tremble to her voice. "More, like a week? Two?"

Elias didn't hesitate. He knew exactly what he felt, what he wanted. And he would do whatever it took to convince her of his feelings if that was what it was going to take to get her to agree.

"More, like the you and me forever kind of more." Her eyebrows shot to her hairline, and he hurried on before she could say anything. "Now, I know it hasn't been that long..."

"It's been twelve hours."

"Irrelevant," he said, dismissively, and Elias saw the uncertainty move into her eyes, the same way it had in the loft at Cameo.

"I can't...we can't just...do you know how crazy this sounds?"

"Yes," he admitted, taking it as a somewhat good sign that she was sticking around to at least hear him out. The fact he was still hard and pulsing inside her probably factored in a bit, as well. "From where I stand, every second since the moment I met you has been crazy, and it's worked out pretty damn well for us so far. Why should I think this would be any different?"

"Because amazing sex is one thing, but a relationship like the one you're talking about, with someone you barely know, that takes time and a hell of a lot of thought."

"I've taken the time, I've thought about it, and I choose you, us, what we have and can have together down the road. But if it's time you think you need then I'm more than willing to give it to you. But don't use us not knowing each other as an excuse, because I'm also willing to spend the rest of my life learning everything there is to know about you, and sharing every part of myself with you in return."

"I..." she stammered, the words seeming to die on her tongue, and Elias took the opportunity to cover her mouth with his. Figuring whatever she had to say––whether it be to tell him yes, or that he had lost his mind––could wait until they'd had their fill of one another.

And when Willow's lips went from pursed to pliant beneath his, Elias started to move.

Slow at first, then faster and faster. Pleasure building and climbing, his mouth on her nipples, her neck, anywhere and everywhere, Willow pulling him closer, pulling him tighter against her, until all that was left for either of them to do was give in to what they were feeling, and they came as one. Elias, his legs the equivalent of Jell-O after, collapsed to the floor, Willow's lithe body covering his lap, curling into his chest.

"This floor is really uncomfortable," he said eventually, but made no effort to move or reposition. She felt too good, and he would fully admit to being greedy when it came to all things Willow.

Willow's breath blew across his sweat soaked skin, sending goose bumps skittering across his body from head to toe. "We should probably get up. Check out's in an hour, and I still haven't packed." She maneuvered off his lap, and Elias couldn't help but notice how she hadn't mentioned coming back to his place once she'd packed.

More telling still was the lack of eye contact, as she pulled his t-shirt back on, going outside to retrieve her dress.

He found her in his bedroom a few minutes later, dress on, bag and shoes in hand. "You are going to eventually look at me, aren't you?"

She took a breath and turned, but when he started toward her she visibly withdrew, the action causing him to stop dead in his tracks. Even last night in the club when he'd kissed her for the first time up against the wall, she hadn't backed off, and Elias could feel her slipping away with every second that passed now.

"Elias..."

"Don't," he pleaded.

She looked away. "I'm sorry, but I can't. You want someone I could never be."

"Was I not clear downstairs about how much I want you? Because if not, I can show you again."

"No, you don't," she said, ignoring his attempt to get her back in his arms, in his bed. Her shoulders slumped dejectedly. "You want the sexual dynamo from last night, the vixen in the red dress, and that just isn't me. It was fun for a night, but eventually you'd figure out that I'm nothing like that woman, grow bored, and things would end."

"How can you say that?" he bit out, trying to hold back his anger at her presumption. "This may have started because of the way you looked in that red dress, but you weren't wearing it this morning in my office when you sat behind my desk, adorably talking to yourself as you wrote. Or just a few minutes ago when you were coming apart beneath my touch. Face it, Willow, I fell for you, not the dress, and everything else is just you letting your fear do the talking. Who was he?"

Now she looked at him again, eyes narrowed. "Who was who?"

"The guy, the idiot that hurt you, the one that made you feel guilty for doing what you love? The one you're letting come between us now. Because I'm telling you right now, whoever he is, it damn sure isn't me. So tell me who he was. Please."

"His name was Luke," she said, and Elias could hear the ache in her voice. "He was just one in a not so long line of guys who couldn't deal with my lifestyle, my need to work at all hours, or the fact that I'm not like the women I write about in my books. I'm not this." She gestured to the red dress she once again wore. "I'm just me. I have crazy hair that looks like I stuck my finger in a light socket most days, I wear long skirts and too many bangle bracelets, while listening to weird flute music. And more than one of my exes has called me sexually repressed, and a prude.

"So, while the woman you met this weekend may have been fun, once the clock strikes midnight, she goes back to being the would-be hippie, workaholic, that can't be bothered with sex and other such activities when she has a deadline looming. In short, the woman you fell for doesn't exist. She's fiction. Something I used to be good at writing, and should really be getting back to."

"I disagree," Elias countered, stopping her from leaving, not ready to give up this fight just yet, or ever. "I think she's very much alive and well, and real. She's just been with one too many assholes that made her feel bad for being who she was.

"Lucky for her, unlike those guys, I'm not an idiot. I know how special you are, Willow. I knew before you even opened that sexy mouth of yours back at Cameo. Yes, sex is great––hell, I'd be a lying bastard if I said sex with you was anything less than out of this goddamn world––but it isn't everything. I'm not going to brow beat you if you're in the zone and can't take care of my needs. That's why God gave men hands.

"You forget I work hard, too, and there are days I'm either too tired or stressed to want more than a simple cuddle on the couch. You think you're the only one with a past, but you're wrong. My ex wife was a piece of work. While I was off working to make money for the life I thought we'd build together, she was off sleeping with any man that would have her. I never thought I'd be able to trust a woman again, never thought I'd be able to put myself out there, but I'm doing it, now, with you."

"Why?" she asked, and he could see through the tears filling her eyes that she was yielding, wavering, about to surrender. So Elias started to move in again, and when she didn't pull back this time, he eliminated the remaining distance between them, sweeping her into his arms.

"I thought you'd never ask, Sweetheart, because my answer is simple. I'm fighting for you because I think you, me, us; the whole crazy whirlwind is worth the risk. Even if one day you broke my heart, it would still have been worth it because I would have gotten to be with someone as amazing as you, even if only for a little while."

He continued walking them backward until the backs of Willow's legs hit the edge of the bed, and momentum sent them tumbling to the mattress, and then to the floor, where Willow giggled through the happy tears now cascading down her porcelain cheeks.

She reached up and cupped his face, bringing her lips to his. "Never," she vowed. "I could never break the heart of the man that brought my inspiration back to me, because that would be like breaking my own heart, and I think we've both had enough of that for one lifetime." Willow looked deep into his eyes so that he understood exactly what she was saying. "From here on out, you and me, just love. That's what I want if I stay. Love, laughter, and a whole hell of a lot more inspiration."

And that's exactly what Elias gave her. Right there on the floor, the bed and its soft mattress all but forgotten.

Epilogue

Chicago.

Four weeks later...

Willow spun through the revolving door of Harem House, the bright blue sky and warm spring air magnifying the joy she felt, as she ran to, then launched herself into Elias' waiting arms, which was exactly where she always wanted to be.

"They love it, they love it, they freakin' love it!" she exclaimed, raining kisses all over his face, from forehead to chin and back again. "Gerald said it's the best work I've ever done, and offered me a six book deal for the rest of the "Forever Island" series. He's already talking about book tours and national radio spots. Do you have any idea what this means?"

"That I should be prepared for even more impromptu inspirational sessions in the pool and office when we get back to Florida?"

Willow threw her head back and laughed. "Oh yeah!" She kissed him, soundly, on the lips this time, loving how their passion for one another hadn't waned in the last month, but had grown and flourished into something so much more than she could have ever hoped for. "Although, the balcony upstairs has quickly became a favorite of mine, as well. Who knew wooden railings were so sturdy?" She smirked, and saw Elias' eyes darken, felt the effect her words were having on him against her stomach.

Elias tightened his arms around her waist. "Keep it up, and I'll be inspiring you up against that wall over there, for all of Michigan Avenue and your publisher to see."

Willow pulled him closer and nipped his ear, channeling the vixen she'd discovered she truly was deep down, as she whispered, "What are you waiting for, then? Inspire Me."

KEEP READING FOR AN EXCERPT FROM

THE NEXT CRANSTON SERIES NOVEL BY MORGAN RAYNE

IT WAS ALWAYS YOU

OUT NOW
Prologue

Langridge University, 16 years earlier...

Braya Shaw sat with her back against the trunk of a robust oak, the birds above chirping and serenading, their sweet sounds floating on the same breeze as a few long strands of her hair that had managed to fall free of the ball cap she wore upon her head.

On the ground, a circle of books and notebooks lay, surrounding her like an academic halo, the words and sentences on the pages glowing in yellow neon, beginning to blur.

Braya looked up, shielding her tired eyes against the late afternoon sun, feeling the warmth on her cheeks, as college life moved around her.

To her right, students walked hurriedly to and from classes, some on two wheels, some on four, the clunk of skateboard wheels on the cracks in the sidewalk adding to the already eclectic mirage of sounds filling the mid-afternoon air. Professor Anderson, his patched elbow sleeves and tweed pants in stark contrast to the day's temps, spoke to her left.

And then there was them.

Never ones to be hidden amongst those who actually came to learn and absorb the very expensive knowledge their parents were paying for, off in the distance, beyond the hustle and bustle, on the large expanse of green that spanned the quad, the end of the day Phi Sigma Pi touch football game was just getting underway––shirts optional, as always.

As a second year student, Braya, who sat alone studying for the ever-daunting end of the year finals that were set to begin in a little over a week, was familiar with the archaic ritual.

Out of the nearly eleven thousand students that attended Langridge––of which about sixty percent were female––Braya was sure she was one of the only ones that had never, nor would ever, be lured in by the truly sad tradition.

At least, that's what she told herself.

She tried shifting her focus back to Business 102, to the ins and outs of mergers and acquisitions, but her attention was pulled elsewhere.

To him.

There was no denying that the guys playing in that days game were handsome––their half naked gym bodies shaped and molded like works of art, some worthy of the finest art studios in the world–– but that was where the appeal lost its luster in Braya's eyes. Because, aside from looking good next to her, what else did a guy from Phi Sigma Pi have to offer a girl like her, someone who was more interested in her books and education than what the theme for next week's kegger would be?

The answer, sadly, was nothing; nothing but maybe a drunken tumble between the sheets, followed by a gift only penicillin could rid a few weeks later.

And since losing her virginity in a drunken stupor wasn't exactly the fairy tale act of love Braya had envisioned for herself all these years, she would happily continue to spend her weekends alone in her room imagining herself as one of the heroines in the romance novels she read, waiting for her Prince.

Braya made the mistake of letting her gaze wander a little too far this time, her eyes honing in on the one Adonis who seemed slightly more evolved than the rest, and her solid foundation of morals and abstinence gave a shudder in its footholds.

His sun-lightened shaggy brown hair and rippling muscles jumped and flexed, as he made a quick move and caught the ball, much to his defender's dismay.

A few more long strides from those powerful stilts he called legs and the one person that had managed to distract Braya during her time at Langridge was spiking the football, getting swarmed by the rest of his teammates; high-fives and butt slaps all around.

What I wouldn't give, she mused, sighing almost dreamily, chin in hand, indulging in the fantasy for a few seconds longer than she probably should have before reality beckoned her back with a firm hold. Seeing a dozen, or so, sorority girls that had been standing on the sidelines join the excited group, adding their hands to the mix, grabbing things the men hadn't dared, was enough to extinguish the rising flames in her belly.

Not worth it, she told herself, reaffirming with a shake of her head. She focused back on the textbook in her lap, highlighting more parts she deemed important before moving on to Economics.

And so, there she sat, reading and highlighting, happy the teasing hint of summer warmth had settled over campus, affording her the opportunity to study away from her roommate's love of death metal, and to be out in the fresh, clean Southern Illinois air.

But spring was being fickle that year, unwilling to relinquish its seasonal hold to summer just yet. The light breeze became unruly, bringing with it billowing clouds, the color of steel.

Frantic in her scramble to get all the books and other materials back into her bag before the sky opened up, Braya struggled to heft the now weighty pack onto her shoulders; giving it two solid yanks before the weathered strap gave way, sending her tumbling, landing unceremoniously on her backside.

Mortified by the sound of student laughter that made its way to her reddened ears, and on the verge of tears from where her butt had made contact with the unforgiving earth, Braya folded in on herself, shrinking away as best she could, until a voice coming from behind her halted all movement; even breath.

Her eyes squeezed tightly shut, Braya pleaded for divine intervention; hoping and praying to wake up in a field under a tree, like Alice, after she went to Wonderland; a hysterical rabbit bopping by a more welcomed sight than what she feared she would see. But when she peeked through her lashes, there was no rabbit or Mad Hatter. No evil Queen or Hookah-Smoking caterpillar. There was only him; standing before her, in all his shirtless and sweaty wonder, looking sexier and more intimidating than any one man should.

"Damn!" The appreciative word whispered out before she could pull it back, and humiliation colored her cheeks, her hand flying to her mouth when his eyes widened, his dark brows lifting. "I'm so sorry. I don't know where that came from."

The Adonis chuckled softly, "Oh, I don't know, I think that sort of honest response is refreshing." The joyful sound washed over her like a soothing balm, his hand, large and callused, coming forward. "Come on, up you go."

Braya couldn't look him in the eye, but she did take his hand, allowing him to help her to her feet.

"Yeah, well, I'm sure you're used to it." She said, brushing blades of grass from her faded blue jeans.

"Used to what, exactly?" he asked; big toothy grin widening, eyes full of mirth.

Please, world, open up and swallow me whole. "Nothing, never mind. Forget it." The heat from his hand sunk further beneath her skin, manipulating her pulse into a stampeding gallop—an effect she was sure he was more than aware of.

She gently untangled her small fingers from his much larger ones. "Um, thank you for helping me, but you should probably hurry back before the rain hits."

Eyes downcast, Braya reached for the unbroken strap of her backpack and gave it a yank. It barely moved an inch. Double damn!

"Here, let me."

"Oh no, that's okay, I can––" But the overloaded pack was already slung over his broad, naked shoulder, cutting off Braya's objection. "––get it."

"It's not a problem. I'm always happy to help a pretty girl in need. Which way are you headed?"

More stunned by his use of the word 'pretty' where she was concerned than his offer to help, Braya simply stood, rooted in place, staring back at the man that, up until a few moments ago, she had quietly admired from afar for nearly two years.

"Really, I can manage," Braya tried again, doing her best to keep her voice steady. "I'm sure it's not the same way you're headed."

In fact, she knew it wasn't.

What looked more like a mansion than a house for unruly jocks, Phi Sigma Pi's house sat across campus from the dorms that Braya called home. She knew because she passed it every day on her way to and from work at Mario's, a small pizzeria just off Broad Street.

The sounds coming from that house had caused more than one sleepless night for her, as she wasn't sure if girls were being murdered, tortured, or if it really was possible for a man to give so much pleasure to a woman that she starts shrieking like a cat being thrown from the top of the Empire State building.

Braya shuddered and held out her hand for the bag.

"I've got this," he smiled, making no move to hand over the hefty pack. "You just need to point me in the right direction."

Braya, feeling flustered, pointed over his shoulder, toward Phi Sigma Pi, pulling a deep, belly laugh from her unexpected savior. "Oh, I fully intend on going there..." he started, Braya feeling the tension in her body begin to unwind, until he finished with, "after I make sure both you and this," he lifted the shoulder holding the bag, "are delivered safely to your destination."

Braya dropped her arms in frustration. "Really, that's not necessary. It's not that far, and I'd rather not cause any more embarrassment for me or anyone else today. So if you don't mind?"

She waited, but her hovering hand remained empty.

He tilted his head. "Are you always this hard to help, or is it my help in particular you have an issue with?"

Nervous and slightly manic laughter bubbled quickly in her throat. "Yes! I mean, no, it's not you. You're great." He raised an eyebrow at that, transforming his previously puzzled look into one of intrigue.

Her face flamed. "Um, what I meant to say was, it's not that far and I'm sure you have better things to do than help the campus klutz." She held out her hand once again. And once again, he ignored it, making a show of hiking the strap further on his shoulder.

"As a matter of fact, my study session was cancelled, so I was thinking about heading over to the student union. Which I'm guessing is the same direction you're heading." His dark eyes were soft and warm as he spoke. "So unless you have more objections ready to go in that big brain of yours, lead the way, Braya, before the campus klutz and I get soaked."

Her mouth fell open, her legs remaining locked. "You know my name?"

"Well, I would hope so after two years of sharing the same classes. But just in case," he switched the pack to his other shoulder, offered his hand, "Mason Cranston, Knight in Shining Armor and humble mule."

Braya stood, dumbfounded.

"Um, this is where you would normally tell me your name."

Humiliation once again burned hot and bright on her cheeks.

"Oh, sorry." Shock and shyness flooded her system, but thankfully years of well-engrained manners took over, and she slipped her hand into his. "Braya." She cleared the lump from her throat. "Braya Shaw. Klutzy bookworm and completely mortified."

"Braya." The way he said her name made her heart do a funny little flip-flop inside her chest, almost as much as his touch had. "It's nice to officially meet you, Miss Shaw. Now that we've been formally introduced, shall we go? Because no matter how long I could stand here looking into those beautiful eyes or the way your cheeks go crimson every time I speak, I don't think the clouds are going to hold out much longer."

Instead of being embarrassed by his comments, Mason's carefree and confident demeanor charmed her. And when he looked at her expectantly, Braya finally gave up her campaign to get away from the sexy Adonis as fast as humanly possible and started toward the dorms; Mason and his mountain of a frame falling in step easily beside her...

About the author:

Being an author was always a dream of mine, one that seemed far-reaching and unattainable, and then one day I decided to shoot for the stars and I'm glad I did. I have discovered things about myself during this journey and absolutely love what I do. I get to share my stories and pieces of myself with people around the world, and couldn't be happier. When I'm not writing, you can find me singing, dancing, or yelling at one of my favorite sports teams on TV. That is, when I'm not cooking, chasing after my toddler, or toting my two girls off to one activity or another.

### Discover other titles by Morgan Rayne

### At Smashwords.com:

### Spring Towers Series:

### A Different Kind of Fairy Tale

### Let Me Love You

### Just A Kiss

### Resisting Amy

### Cranston Series:

### Inspire Me

### It Was Always You

### Midnight Memories

### Gia's (Coming Soon)

### Shane's (Coming Soon)

### Lucy's (Coming Soon)

### Connect with me Online:

### Twitter: morganrayne12

### Facebook: Morgan Rayne

