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THE MAMMOTH BOOK OF HOT ROMANCE

Please be aware that this excerpt contains sensual content that is only suitable for adult readers who are comfortable with frank language and descriptions of erotic scenarios

Edited by Sonia Florens

Mammoth Book of Hot RomanceA collection of erotic romance stories by well known authors including Susan Sizemore, Louisa Burton, Rebecca York, Anna Windsor, Lilith Saintcrow, Justine Elyot, Victoria Janssen, Saskia Walker, Madelynne Ellis, Bonnie Edwards, Delilah Devlin, Sasha White, Charlene Teglia, Charlotte Stein and Portia Da Costa.

Publisher: Robinson (21 July 2011)
Language English

Available in from Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com

This collection contains:

FIRE AND ICE - Portia Da Costa

Excerpt

It's Christmas Eve, and I'm home alone, wrapped in my fleecy throw, and tucked up in front of the television with a lovely bottle of wine. Not for me the purgatory of fractious family shindigs that turn into Armageddon over the mince pies. I'm just happy on my own, doing my own thing, chilling out but toasty.

Of course, there is someone with whom, I'd like to spend Christmas with. Someone I'd gladly share my blanket and my wine with… but if he was here, you can forget about the television.

Innes McKenzie is my boss, my unbelievably gorgeous boss, and the one I can thank for the yummy wine. He's just the sort of guy to remember a casual conversation from months ago, and take note of my favourite tipple for future reference. He's like that, thoughtful and inventive.

The African Queen is on the box now, another Christmas favourite. I try to imagine Innes on a riverboat covered in grease like Bogart, but it's a reach. My boss is cool and immaculate and as beautiful as an angel. A very manly angel, naturally, and needless to say, I'm head over heels in love with him.

I can't help but wonder about his Christmas? I picture his apartment as a place as immaculate and elegant as he is, maybe done out in white with monochrome silver decorations. He and some groomed, smart sexy woman are eating a gourmet Christmas dinner, and later, they'll retire to his wide, expensively sheeted bed for some intense, gourmet sex.

Mm, my mouth waters… Innes a la carte…

His rich fruity wine is slipping down a treat now, and in my mind it's me in that snowy bed with him, writhing and grappling with my hot, elegant boss. I've never seen Innes with his clothes off, of course, but imagining him is a pastime I often indulge in.

Inside my fleecy cocoon, I shimmy and wriggle, pretending that a naked and perfect Innes McKenzie is touching me… here… there… everywhere. His skin is warm, his blue eyes are as brilliant as lasers… and his rampant cock is as magnificent as the rest of him.

I open my legs, sliding in my own hand in lieu of his.

At work, he always moves in a very neat, spare, precise fashion, and I suspect that in bed he's just the same. No action wasted or over-done, everything efficient, full of meaning, accurate and fiery.

I'm wet now, thinking about him and mellowed by the wine. I start to moan, and Bogey and Hepburn are forgotten as my arousal circles around the imaginary totem of Innes McKenzie.

He likes me, I know that. But relationships in the same office are frowned on at work. For the hundredth time, I consider a transfer, but then I wouldn't see Innes every day.

'Innes… Innes…' I moan, my pleasure rising as dark desire burns in those blue, imagined eyes. They glitter in my mind and I'm moments from the brink; almost there, with him, in my dream world.

Then my mobile phone rings and snatches the orgasm from my grasp.

'Bugger, hell and damnation!'

Who can it be? I've told my family I'll visit at New Year, and everyone else that I'm having quiet, opt-out Christmas. But clearly somebody didn't get the message or thinks I'll change my mind. Maybe it's my Mum, checking up to see if I've finally got the boyfriend she so wants for me.

My phone shrills again and I snatch it up. I wrinkle my nose because my fingers smell of me.

'Cally Hobbes.' I try and inject a bit of peace and goodwill to all men into my voice, rather than sound like a young female Scrooge.

'Hello, Cally,' croaks a voice I've never heard before.

I say I've never heard it before, but I have actually. Every working day. But I've never heard it sound quite like this. It's my Innes, but his vocal chords seem to have been recently sand blasted.

'Hi, boss. Are you all right? You sound a bit husky…' He sounds more than husky. He sounds absolutely terrible.

'I'm okay,' he lies, in a gravelly near whisper so unlike his crisp, sexy tones. To me, he still sounds sexy in a backwards about ways. 'Thanks,' he adds, in afterthought. He must be ill. His manners are usually unshakeable. 'I was wondering if you could do me a gigantic favour, Cally? As I'm at home, I thought I'd do a bit of work on the Simpson merger, but I don't have my files here. Is there any way you could possibly pick them up and bring them round? You can just slide them into my letter box and I'll come down and get them. I've got a mild lurgi of some kind and I'd hate you to catch it too.'

It's no mild lurgi. It's a forty eight hour flu bug that's going round the company. I had it a fortnight ago, when Innes was at an overseas conference.

'It's okay, boss. It sounds like the flu… and I've had it. I'll collect the papers and bring them round. Is there anything I can get you? Aspirin? Cough mixture?'

'Don't worry, I'm fine, Cally… really I am.' I detect a spark of life in his voice. 'But are you really sure I'm not keeping you from anything? It is Christmas Eve. Shouldn't you be with your friends or family?' He pauses, and weirdly, it almost seems as if he's tentative… something that's totally unlike my super-confident boss. 'Or your boyfriend…'

'Nope, I'm footloose and fancy free at the moment, boss. And I'm visiting my family next week.' My turn to pause… 'So until then, I'm completely and utterly yours.'

I wish.

'I can't thank you enough, Cally.' He breaks off for a coughing fit, while I try to fool myself there are nuances of meaning in his shattered voice that have nothing to do with gratitude. 'You're an angel,' he gasps when the cataclysm is over, 'A true Christmas angel. I don't know what I'd do without you.'

And I know what I'd like to do with you, boss man.

When he gives me his address and rings off, I leap out of my fleecy burrow, thanking a Fairy Godmother I never knew I had.

This has got to be the best Christmas present ever and Cinders shall go to the ball!

Available in from Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com


2010 Portia Da Costa & Running Press

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