Naked Ambition

“I know. I—”

“No you don’t,” he repeated. “He’s gone, Susannah. And I don’t want to hurt you or sound mean, but you were breaking up with J.D., anyway. You and your husband had been separated the better part of the year. I know you’re grieving, but it’s not right for you to be alone. Not when so many people care about you. Let me come there now. Or…”

“Or what?”

“I can’t keep waiting, Susannah.”

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” she said. But she was, wasn’t she? He wasn’t trying to pressure her, but he wanted her, and she was so lonely. Definitely, she wasn’t used to not having a man. It had been so long…

“Okay,” she murmured, the brandy thickening her speech. “Come to Bayou Banner now, and we can fly back to New York together in a few days for to the awards ceremony.”

“I’ll be there before you know it,” he said quickly.

Suddenly all her deepest recesses ached. God, how she craved to feel strong arms wrapping tightly around her back, and a man’s rock-hard, hairy chest pressing against her breasts. She yearned to feel the heat of his searing, blistering mouth when it covered her lips. Already she could feel his thighs straining against hers. She deserved relief from all this sadness and grief. She deserved release.

“I’m on my way,” he said. And then, as if afraid she might change her mind, he whispered a quick goodbye and the line went dead.

As the dial tone filled the air, she recradled the receiver and started. Something sounded by the window! Her feet moving of their own accord, she crossed swiftly to the French doors and stared into the darkness. “Nothing,” she whispered. Closing the doors, then the windows, she stared outside and gasped.

There! A white flash between trees. As it vanished, her heart hammered, making the pulse at her neck throb.

“Probably a stray dog,” she murmured. Or all the brandy. “Yes, it’s just my imagination.” Shaking off the uneasy feeling by reminding herself that she’d felt jumpy since the funeral, she glanced at the pile of J.D.’s fan mail and the sympathy cards that had flooded the post office. Some of the letters had been written before J.D. died, and she wasn’t surprised that so many woman claimed to be in love with him. Some offered to leave their husbands, or included risque pictures.

She lifted a sympathy card, addressed to her.

Dear Susannah,

If it wasn’t for your husband’s music, I never could have forgiven my man for his two-timing last year. But your husband’s new record, Songs for Susannah, is so touching. And I knew my husband loved me the way your husband loved you. Now, ever since I let my man come back home, wearing that hangdog expression, he’s stayed as straight as an arrow. Your man sang like an angel, and so many of his songs were about getting a second chance. Because of that, he helped a lot of people, and I just wanted you to know how he saved our marriage. He will be missed by the whole world.

Susannah wasn’t going to get another chance. An unexpected tear splashed down her cheek. “Is this any way to get in the mood for Joe?” she muttered. She had to quit reading these letters and let go of the past.

The second most-sexy man she’d ever met had plans for her…all of which included sex. She needed to forget self-recriminations, as well as past anger that could never be resolved. “For once, enjoy yourself,” she said. It had been a long time since she’d let herself feel good.

“I’ll take a long bath, then make the bed with the silk sheets. I’ll slip into a negligee, too,” she decided. “Then hunt down candles and oils.”

Joe had been wanting her for months, and two weeks ago she’d known it was high time she slept with him. Now, she tried to tell herself, nothing had changed. J.D. was gone, but her sex life wasn’t over.

Knowing Joe, he’d make that plane, too. Which left her just enough time to spruce up. By the time he let himself in with his key, she’d be in bed waiting.

Chapter Four

“WHAT SAY WE MAKE some magic, oh, Susannah?” J.D. whispered. “Maybe a little of our own bayou voodoo?” It was too dark to see him, but in the dream, his voice came from the foot of the bed as he curled his big hands around her feet. Playing musical instruments had strengthened his fingers, and the pads of his thumbs massaged deeply, rubbing dazzling circles. Long fingers dipped between each toe, stroking sensitive skin. Susannah tilted her chin up, her head, into the freshly laundered silk pillows.

Lifting both hands, she gripped the headboard of the brass bed where she and J.D. had made love so many times, then released a heartfelt sigh. “That feels good,” she moaned.

Yes, only J.D.’s touch possessed the uncanny ability to always transport her to faraway places. With just a flick of a finger, he’d made the night vanish—the hooting owls and rustling leaves, and the gurgling creek and tree branches that traced the windowpanes.

The incredible feelings of her beloved touching her, made her crazy for his kisses. Nothing mattered, not when he was shifting his huge, warm, hands to the tops of her ankles, then casually kneading his way upward, palming her calves, smoothing her bare skin, penetrating the muscles.

“Concentrate very hard on what I’m doing, Susannah.” His voice—a slow, sugary drawl that had thrilled millions of women around the world—lowered, becoming barely audible, his tone teasingly seductive. “Are you concentrating?”

Was she awake or sleeping? Did it matter? Jitters of excitement leaped in her belly, feeling like drunken fireflies taking flight; their brilliant wings swept around her, making everything light up. Her senses sharpened and she felt a hitch inside her chest, then weightlessness since she couldn’t quite catch her breath. Her nipples peaked, straining, and a bolt of heat as shattering as lightning shot to her lower belly and exploded. A moment passed, then the fire fizzled, curling up like a purring cat in front of a hearth. “I’m trying to concentrate,” she managed throatily, “but you make it hard.”

“I am hard.”

Her heart stuttered, missing a beat, since she was imagining the thick bulge pressing against the fly of his jeans; she’d witnessed her husband’s growing arousal thousands of times, but every time, she remained amazed by how fast he got turned on. “Well, that’s not my doing,” she said.

“I’m not so sure about that.”

His voice was as sexy as the ministrations of his fingers—all dripping molasses and swirling sugar canes—and she yearned to hear it, right next to her ear. Maybe he’d play songs for her later and sing her to sleep, the way he had so many times before, or maybe he’d murmur sweet nothings until she shivered and she melted like ice on a hot day.

She wanted to feel his mouth ghosting across her lips, her neck, her cheeks. Then she wanted to experience what she’d been so sure she never would again—the cooler dampness of his tongue. She was imagining everything she wanted to feel…the tickle of his soft hair on her face, the burn of his whiskers on her belly, with the tiny, suckling love-bites he would pepper across her breasts. Yes…in a moment, he’d be a stallion champing the bit. Need would take the reins and pent-up passion would be unharnessed so it could run wild.

Moaning, she squeezed her eyes shut. All was sensation because he knew exactly how to touch her. Where and for how long. He liked to take his time, torturing her with enticing circular movements of strong hands.

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