UNTIL I'M YOURS Excerpts!

Excerpt #1 – The first night Sofie Baston and Trevor Bishop meet!

Why am I seeking out Sofie? What is this about? So she’s the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen in real life. Looks count for something with me like most men, but not for everything, and from what I’ve heard, she probably doesn’t have much else to offer. But there’s this gulf between what I’ve heard and the woman I met tonight. Maybe the gulf is filled with my preconceived notions.

I see her slumped against the wall as soon as I round the corner, shoes kicked off and wiggling her bare toes. Even witnessing her posture less than perfectly straight, perfectly erect feels like a violation of her privacy. She looks up, squinting into the semi-dark passageway. I can see her much better than she can see me.

“Rip?” She straightens from the wall, her expression becoming annoyed when she realizes it’s not the quarterback. “You’ve got to be kidding me. How many more people have to come through here? What is this? A parade?”

“Oh, I’m sorry for stumbling into your private boudoir.” I lean one shoulder against the wall beside her, stepping close enough to smell the fresh scent she’s been tantalizing me with all night. “I thought these were public bathrooms.”

She holds my gaze in the dim light for a few seconds, not even blinking. Then her lips twitch and spread over the smile people pay to see. From a billboard, that smile hits you like a gut punch. This close, the impact is practically atomic.

“Boudoir?” A husky chuckle suffuses the space separating us. “Did you seriously just break out ‘boudoir’?”

She props her butt against the wall and bends at the waist, slipping on one shoe and then the other. Even the high arch of this woman’s foot is sexy. Every detail I uncover makes me want to go deeper until I’ve discovered them all.

“I like a woman who can laugh at herself.”

My eyes follow the impossibly long line of her legs over the subtle curve of her hips and the surprising lushness of her breasts until I finally reach her waiting gaze, which asks if I’ve looked my fill.

“I wasn’t laughing at myself.” She grins again and inclines her head toward me. “I was laughing at you.”

“I’ll settle for that. Long as you’re laughing.”

She’s not anymore, the humor falling away as quickly as it came. She looks back down the passageway, sleek brows knitting together.

“Did Walsh tell Rip to come?”

“Rip saw a college buddy and stepped away. I’m sure he’ll be down as soon as he gets back to the table and they tell him you’re ready to leave.”

She moves over to a padded leather bench against the opposite wall, seating herself and crossing one leg over the other. She shifts her eyes from me to the men’s room and back again.

“I thought you needed that public restroom.” She gives a regal nod of her head toward the bathroom. “It’s right there.”

“I don’t actually have to use the bathroom.”

I leave it there, waiting for her to ask the obvious question, but I get the feeling Sofie Baston never does the obvious. She leans her back into the wall and narrows her eyes, waiting for me to go on.

“I came to find you.”

She tilts her head and raises both brows, conducting a wordless conversation using only her patrician features.

“Can I ask you a question?”

She nods, confirming that I still haven’t earned words yet.

“Why are you with Rip?”

She sinks deeper into the wall, sliding a few inches down and stretching her legs in front of her to cross them at the ankles

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she finally asks. “Haven’t you read the papers? We’re the perfect couple.”

“He bores you out of your mind.”

“No, he fucks me out of my mind.”

If she was going for shock value, that did it. Only our eyes lock and I realize she’s not trying to shock me. She’s just telling the truth. Her gaze is frank and honest.

“That’s all you want in a relationship?” I hazard a step closer before dropping to the other end of her bench and leaning my back against her wall.

That husky laugh permeates the air in the passageway again.

“Look, Dr. Phil, I’m not one of those sweet girls looking for some man to sweep me off my feet and put a ring on it.” She crosses both arms over her flat stomach, a cynical twist corrupting the beautiful curve of her mouth. “At least not anymore.”

“Kissed too many frogs?”

“Make no mistake about it. Those frogs and I did more than kiss.” Her smile exudes a sexual confidence I’m unused to from the women in my circles, but that I find by the second I more than like. “It’s not so much that I can’t find my prince, as that I’m no princess.”

Excerpt #2 – Hot in the Kitchen!

As soon as I step into my apartment, I know something’s off. The air feels charged somehow, not like the desolate box I left this morning that only I’ve been inside of for the last few days. And the smell permeating the apartment – heavenly. I would assume I’d left something in the oven, except I don’t cook – ever. Should I call what’s his name back?

Fool that I am, instead of fleeing the scene of a potential homicide – my own – I walk as quietly as I can down the hall toward the kitchen. It’s bright in there for an ax murderer, and most psychopaths in my limited experience don’t hum Benny And the Jets while sautéing dinner. As soon as I enter the kitchen, a well-muscled back and broad shoulders block whatever is cooking on the stovetop. Even though my potential perpetrator faces away from me, I’d know that burnished hair, the wide, hard slope of those shoulders, andthat ass anywhere.

“Bishop?” I’m scared to say his name aloud in case he’s some fevered hallucination the sound of my voice would dispel.

But he turns, a wide smile on those full lips, and opens his arms for me. That’s the only invitation I need. I drop my purse and am across the kitchen practically before it hits the floor. His arms are the sanctuary I’ve needed. Standing here in this circle of comfort, completely enclosed by his scent and his warmth, I feel safe for the first time since he boarded that plane last week.

“You’re here.” I whisper into his neck. “I thought…you aren’t due back for another few days.”

“This is true.” The deep timber of his voice rolls through me like a tremor. He pulls back to cup my face in his hands, and search my eyes. “I wrapped things up early.”

Whatever. Couldn’t care less. He could tell me South Africa floated into the wild blue yonder and he paddled all the way to New York on a piece of driftwood. I wouldn’t ask any questions. All that matters is that he’s here. My fingers wind into his hair, pulling him down and close enough to kiss. We skip slow, sweet kisses and cannon straight to desperate, our groans and panting the only sounds in the kitchen while we devour each other. I can’t stretch my mouth wide enough. Can’t touch enough of him at one time. I need more hands, more nerve endings to absorb this thrill, these sensations.

Trevor hoists me up, and my legs wrap around his waist. He reaches behind him to turn off the food and walks down the hall and toward my bedroom. It’s too far. I can’t wait. I’m too empty. I need him to fill me right here, right now.

“Now, Bishop,” I say against his lips. “Fuck me against the wall. I want…please. Right now.”

Wordlessly, he turns me against the wall. I lock my legs around him tighter while he undoes his belt buckle. The sound of his zipper sliding open has me dripping, has my chest heaving with anticipation. He leans in, taking my mouth captive and then sliding his tongue down my neck.

“Your breasts,” he mutters into the silk collar of my blouse “I want to see them.”

I brace one hand against his shoulder while the other scrambles to loosen the buttons on my blouse, baring the almost transparent bra. My nipples are so swollen from the thought of him, they press painfully against the sheer cups. I tug one satiny shell down to expose my breast. His eyes eat at my naked skin, and his hands slip beneath my arms, lifting me until my breasts are right at his mouth. His lips take my nipple, suckling me, the sound wet and erotic in the silent apartment. Every pull and tug churns the want in my belly, from my core, through my heart until every part of me is electrified with need.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” His words singe the delicate skin around my nipple.

I nod my head frantically, so hollow, so aching and empty waiting for him.

He pulls away to look at me, desire zip lining between our eyes.

“Check and make sure.” He glances at the space where our bodies interlock, the juncture of my thighs, and then raises his stare back up to sear me.

My eyes never leaving his, I slide my hand beneath my skirt and into my panties, rubbing my fingers into the wet flesh there.

“Show me,” he says, eyes almost black, his voice a husky rasp.