“An erotic, emotional adventure of discovery you don’t want to miss.” Lora Leigh, New York Times bestselling author
“A totally hot and extremely sexy sequel to The Fortune Hunter.” Fresh Fiction
When passion explodes, she’ll let herself get carried away…
Trinity Green has everything, beauty, money, a gorgeous husband, the perfect life. At least it seems perfect until she walks in on her husband of six months with another woman. It’s the wakeup call Trinity has needed for more years than she can count. In order to maintain that perfect life and perfect appearance, Trinity has denied herself every sensual pleasure, from food to passion. And what did it get her? A cheating husband. Well, no more. Now it’s her turn. And she’s going to let herself loose…
Enter Scott Sinclair. Handsome, sexy, and anonymous. He doesn’t know her name, where she lives, where she comes from. And suddenly Trinity is free to experience all the passion she’s kept locked away inside. Everything is truly perfect this time around. Until Scott decides he wants more from his mystery woman…
Juggling his briefcase, suit hanger, and PC, Scott Sinclair exited the elevator alone on the eighteenth floor. He had a hellaciously early Monday morning flight in order to make the nine o’clock investor meeting in Phoenix. Rather than drive over the hill from Santa Cruz, he’d opted to spend the night at a hotel and take their shuttle to the airport. Plus he could leave his car in the lot without the hassle of long-term parking.
The doors were set even and odd in small alcoves, and he found his room number halfway down the hall. Dropping his suit carrier to the carpet, he rummaged in his briefcase pocket where he’d stashed the card key.
From beneath the opposite door in his alcove, a woman’s voice drifted up. Barely more than a whisper of sound. Or...Scott cocked his head...a moan? He chuckled, hoping to hell she wasn’t a screamer. He had to get up at the crack of dawn.
Once inside, he tossed his bag on the bed and carried his briefcase and PC to the desk. He wanted to do a last-minute check on his presentation before he turned in.
A murmur wafted up from the socket above the bedside table. He moved closer, then sat down on the edge of the bed. Without a plug in the electrical socket, it was a pass-through from one room to the other. And that was definitely a woman’s voice.
No, not a voice, just a gentle feminine moan. The couple next door was about to give him a show without the picture. Ha. Any minute now, he expected the wall to start banging. Yet there was only that low, breathy sound of pleasure. Damn, it was erotic in a kinky, voyeuristic way.
He couldn’t help himself. What red-blooded male could? Scott laid back, moving closer to the wall socket to listen. Maybe it was because he hadn’t been with a woman in a couple of months, but he could feel her voice like a stroke along his cock.
Lying on the bed, listening to her, his hands stacked beneath his head, he hardened in his jeans. The intensity of her moans rose. He no longer had to strain to hear. She panted, faster, the thread of her voice running through her breath. Yet the wall behind his head still didn’t shake.
Jesus, her partner must be going down on her. And she was loving it.
So was Scott. He rubbed his cock through his pants. She had the most seductive moan he’d ever heard. Not a wail or screech or even a scream, but a soft, throaty pant that fed blood to his cock. He closed his eyes, her voice filling his head as his fingers worked open the button fly of his jeans, then he delved inside his briefs until he was stroking himself to her rhythm. Her voice rose in a crescendo. As she cried out, he felt the throes of her orgasm as if her body milked his erection.
He almost came with her.
It was like jerking off to a porn movie. Except that her voice spoke of balmy Caribbean nights, curtains blowing in a gentle breeze, and the scent of the ocean washing over him.
He figured the wall-banging would start pronto. Yet there was silence. Maybe her partner was getting his condom. He couldn’t wait for their next act.
He had to laugh. He was such a freaking perv, but hell, he wouldn’t deny how much he’d enjoyed listening. There was something indefinable about her voice that called to him. Maybe it was the circumstance, the unexpectedness, the fact she was a total stranger, faceless, just a voice.
He’d been married for twenty-two years. Since the divorce had become final a year ago, he’d had two brief relationships, both of which had skirted the edge of kinky, a few toys, a blindfold, scarves for ropes. But he’d felt no connection, and neither woman had fulfilled the craving in him. The passion he’d felt in his youth, the passion he’d showered on his wife Katy.
The passion that had died through the job changes, raising children, climbing the corporate ladder, the fights about money, kids, sex, then the silences that drove him crazy. He’d thought when both the girls went off to college, he and Katy could start over, have time for each other, rekindle what they’d lost. He’d wanted that with every fiber of his being.
Instead, two weeks after Lexa, his youngest, went off for her freshman year, Katy asked for a divorce.
Scott swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. None of that mattered much now. His life had turned on a dime, but he wasn’t one to wish for things he couldn’t have. He had Lexa and Brooke, and he adored his girls.
He’d hoped, though, that he’d rediscover the passion of his youth, that he’d find a woman with whom he could share himself. That might be expecting too much at the age of forty-five. Maybe it came once in a lifetime, and all that was left was good sex.
Which is what the lady next door seemed to be getting tonight. He was envious of her partner. Yet they were taking their sweet time getting to the wall-banging. He was pervert enough to want to listen.
Finally, she started to moan again. His cock twitched as if her particular sweet pitch had a direct line to his libido. Oh man, he wouldn’t make it through the next orgasm without coming.
He wasn’t sure how you could want a voice, but he did. Christ, if he were next door, he’d have her screaming. The head of his cock rose out of his briefs, a drop of come leaking from the tip without even a touch.
“Come on, baby,” he whispered.
She moaned louder. Higher. A touch more desperate.
He wrapped his thumb and forefinger around his crown and pumped, just that tight circle, as if he delved with short sharp bursts inside her.
On the other side of the wall, she went crazy. Panting again, moaning. He could almost feel her writhing beneath him on the mattress, and he pretended she was all his, imagining his cock sliding in her, her taste on his tongue. As if she could read his mind through the wall, she cried out with that same musical, breathy quality that made him a little nuts. He wanted that sound, he wanted his name on her lips.
She drove Scott to the edge with her voice, and still her lover was quiet as a mouse. Damn if he wasn’t glad. He didn’t think he’d enjoy hearing a man’s grunts and groans anywhere near as much as listening to her by herself. Her voice enthralled him, made him actually feel she was there for him alone. Alone.
Scott started to get it. She was alone. The lover in her bed was her own hand. Or her vibrator. Christ, he almost exploded then. Perhaps because he couldn’t see, the wall a solid barrier, her voice, her soft cries, evoked the most erotic images he’d ever known. Gorgeous legs spread, fingers buried, silky hair fanned across her pillow. His cock swelled, and he pumped faster. God, he wanted to do her. Worse, he simply wanted to watch her. A complete stranger. Learning who she was by the way she caressed herself. Her touch teaching him what she craved. His head back, he groaned deep in his gut.
And he knew if he didn’t give in to this once-in-a-lifetime impulse, if he didn’t beg her to let him watch, he’d regret it the rest of his days.
He made the move before he could actually contemplate that she might call the cops and get him arrested for being a pervert.