Manhandling
“I wanted to strip you naked the first time I saw you,” Mac admitted
Laurel just stared at him, unblinking.
“You want to be a bad girl, Laurel?”
She gasped and said softly, “Yes.”
“How? Tell me.”
But Laurel was silent. Instead, her hands moved reflexively over his bare biceps, along his back to his buttocks.
Removing her ruined blouse, Mac dropped it onto the floor. Seconds later, her bra followed. With a warm wet mouth he suckled one breast, and with his free hand he stroked the other.
When Laurel arched into him, her hands going around his neck, he pulled away, asking raggedly, “Tell me how you want it, Laurel, so I know.” But he already knew. He’d seen her answer in print.
“Hard and rough, Mac. Hard and rough.”
Their eyes connected, and for one brief instant he thought she regretted the words. But in his heart he knew otherwise. So he took her then and didn’t let go till morning.
Dear Reader,
The first bad boy I ever fell in love with was Han Solo. Oh yes, that cocky grin, that elusive “catch me” challenge, those bedroom eyes. Who could resist? Certainly not even tough cookie Princess Leia. That’s because a bad boy is a dreamer, a seducer, a daredevil. He is a man of mystery and a fascinating paradox.
What happens when Laurel Malone falls for Theodore Macallister Tolliver III’s bad-boy deception and discovers that he isn’t the kind of man she wants? Or is he? Join Laurel as she is irresistibly drawn to the man she thinks is her Prince Charming and finds herself in love with the frog instead.
I thank you for taking the time to read my book, and hope it brings you a lot of enjoyment. Let me know. Drop me a line in care of Harlequin Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada or visit www.karenanders.com.
Best!
Karen Anders
Books by Karen Anders
HARLEQUIN BLAZE
22—THE BARE FACTS
43—HOT ON HER TAIL
74—THE DIVA DIARIES
103—HERS TO TAKE*
111—YOURS TO SEDUCE*
119—MINE TO ENTICE*
SILHOUETTE INTIMATE MOMENTS
780—JENNIFER’S OUTLAW
MANHANDLING
Karen Anders
To Vernell Johnson for her steadfast friendship, the definition of the term “Baby Got Back” and the hysterical laughter.
You go, girl!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
1
Pour the honey on him. Let it flow across his chest, down over his washboard abs and pool in his naval. Lap it up with your tongue and taste the golden sweetness. Stroking is an erotic sensation sure to give him slow, muscle-melting pleasure. Honey is the nectar of the gods, the food of love, apply generously and go slooow….
“MISS MALONE, I’m afraid your father is going to be delayed. He apologizes.” Laurel Malone’s father’s secretary, Lucy Sheridan, stood at the large double doors of her father’s office, her lips pinched, and her eyes cold.
Laurel dropped the copy of SPICE magazine into her lap, the article describing the uses of aphrodisiacs to enhance sex forgotten. Chilled by the blunt, unfeeling sound of Lucy’s voice, a voice that could wilt a flower like a killing frost, Laurel shifted. Lucy was just one more unpleasant aspect of her father’s multimillion dollar Wall Street brokerage house, a longtime fixture in upper Manhattan. She hated this place. This empty, dead place where people moved around like automatons.
With an irritable flick of her wrist, she sent the ends of her long black hair over her shoulder.
She closed her eyes to collect her composure. She’d specifically asked her father to lunch, so that she could talk to him about her mother’s memorial and his lack of interest in it.
Anne Wilks Malone had been a driving force behind the large art deco collection that now was on exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. To honor her mother, Laurel had come up with the idea of holding an auction in her mother’s name and donate the proceeds to the Met. It seemed a fitting way to celebrate her mother’s anniversary.
The auction would be held two short weeks from now and they had lost their room at Christie’s. The New York auction house had doubled-booked and so they were out of a place to host their event.
She needed his help and advice, but every time she’d tried to talk to him, he put her off or sidestepped the discussion. He couldn’t possibly be avoiding the subject—no, that couldn’t be it. He’d worshipped her mother and would want an update as to the progress of the preparations for the charity auction of art deco pieces.
With a practiced voice devoid of annoyance, she replied. “That’s fine. I’ll wait.”
Her father’s very efficient personal assistant nodded and closed the heavy oak door to her father’s plush office.
Anticipating her father’s somewhat unpredictable schedule, she’d brought the latest issue of SPICE magazine.
Laurel tried to focus on the words, but decided to wait and read the rest of the article at home later in a more comfortable environment. Contemplating what she could do to a man with honey was best done in private.
The auction and her father’s reluctance to help weren’t the only things on her mind. Annoyance snapped through her like currents of dangerous electricity.
She grabbed up the magazine and turned the pages with short, choppy movements.
Calm, cool, collected, she heard her mother’s soft voice in her head. A lady always acts professional.
But Laurel couldn’t help her anger, even as she slowed her movements and tried to, at least, act calm. She’d only been a senior analyst at Waterford Scott for one month and now Mr. Herman was making noises about taking the Spegelman account away and giving it to Mark Dalton, the once pleasant Mark Dalton who now looked at her like she was a sneaky backstabber.
She couldn’t understand why he was getting the big account. Mr. Herman’s excuse was that her job needed to be pared down so that she could focus on her other more demanding clients, but it didn’t ring true for Laurel. She was on the fast track to make partner, and she couldn’t see how taking a big client away from her was going to make her a better analyst. It didn’t make sense to her.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Worrying about it now would only give her heartburn. Let it go, she told herself as she looked down at her open magazine. Her sister-in-law Haley, editor of SPICE, sure knew how to pick the men she showcased in her magazine. In advance of the quickly approaching summer, this issue had numerous guys sprawled in the sand, over a surfboard, and one fine example standing underneath an outside shower. Hoo boy!
She’d been working long hours ever since she’d gotten the promotion. It had been too long since she’d felt the wonderful touch of a man’s mouth moving oh-so-slowly across her aching flesh. Too long since she’d felt the exquisite weight and warmth of a hard body covering hers, the sleek stroke and special friction of a man sliding deep in a grinding rhythm. No sex toy could duplicate those wonderful, erotic sensations. She longed for a carnal link with a real-live man.
Another bone of contention with her father. He was very vocal about the kind of men she dated. Even though she was twenty-eight years old, her father continued to try to control her life and, for the most part, Laurel let him. His influence had increased since her mother had died a year ago.
She did val
ue his advice and knew that he had her best interests at heart. So she’d caved when he thought that accounting would suit her. She’d also caved in accepting the lucrative job at Waterford Scott, one of the big five accounting firms in the United States.
She had had her little rebellions, too, such as, the SoHo brownstone when he wanted her in upper Manhattan in one of the posh neighborhoods, and her refusal when he offered to manage her mother’s trust.
Her father wanted her to settle down and get married to a respectable, normal guy. It’s not that Laurel didn’t want that, she did. It was her father’s determination that the guy be someone who worked in this mausoleum—boring, unappealing, and dedicated to fulfilling all her father’s wishes, that irked her. She wanted a man who’d stand up to her father and fulfill all her wishes. Her father’s will was formidable and she suspected she’d end up with exactly the kind of guy her father wanted for her. Then her life would be drab and staid just like his office.
She sighed. She was being overdramatic today and shook off the mood. She continued to flip through the pages until she came across the section that usually showcased the SPICE quiz. A little frisson of excitement sizzled through her.
The title read Who’s Your Hottie? Some women prefer a man in uniform, others a man straddling a Harley. What kind of man turns you on? Take the SPICE quiz and see who lights your fire. Laurel looked at her watch and then down at the quiz. Her father would probably be at least another fifteen minutes, and she wasn’t going to stew about losing an important client until it actually happened. Besides, it would be fun to see who she might enjoy spending some carnal time with.
Hah. What a word. Carnal: knowledge of a physical and especially sexual nature. Carnal desire. But it also meant a worldly or earthly carnality. Neither meaning fit her at all. She had lived her life exactly as she was supposed, perfect daughter, perfect debutante, perfect corporate ladder-climber.
She had always been so darn good.
Maybe it was time to kick up her heels and see just what kind of man could fulfill her carnal desire. She got goose bumps just thinking about it.
Laurel took a deep breath. Okay. Right. That’s it. Whoever she ended up with in this quiz—either the professional, the boy-next-door, the bad boy, or man-in-uniform, she’d seek him out and do with him what she wanted. Eventually, she would end up with a normal, sedate guy. But for now, she was young and free and she wanted to experience something crazy and out of control. Something her father would frown on. And there, the seeds of independence were sown, just a little root-grabbing hold for dear life.
She reached down to her purse and pulled out a pen, ripping the page from the magazine. Excitement tingled in her belly as she set the glossy page on top of the cover, and read the first question. Marking her answers, she moved through the questions quickly. She turned the page over to see who her hottie was and read the information.
Once more the door opened, and Laurel looked up expecting to see her father, but his PA was there once again.
“Don’t tell me. He can’t have lunch.”
“He’s very sorry, but the clients have insisted on taking him out to lunch.”
Yes and the clients come first, she thought to herself as she set down the magazine next to her on the leather couch. Suddenly, tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away. She didn’t understand why he was acting like this. Stuffing the pen and the test haphazardly in her purse, she said to Lucy, “Thanks. I’d better get back to work.”
“He really is sorry, Miss Malone.”
Laurel grabbed up her copy of SPICE, her suit jacket and stopped at the doors. Smiling sweetly, she replied, “Sure. I know that.”
She marched past the desks, her bag bumping her hip as she strode toward the glass doors and the exit.
THEODORE MACALLISTER TOLLIVER III wasn’t easily impressed. But the woman who walked toward him dazzled him. Her soft brown gaze slid over him and away. He didn’t seem to interest her at all. She was dressed conservatively, but the thigh-length form-fitting gray skirt showcased a stunning, eye-popping figure that appealed to him on every level. The V neckline of the woman’s blouse dipped low, revealing her creamy throat, making his fingers ache to touch her smooth skin.
As she passed, something dropped out of her purse, but Mac was too preoccupied with the one question burning on his brain: “Who is that?” Mac whispered to his personal assistant Sherry Black.
Sherry looked over and narrowed her eyes. “She’s the boss’s daughter, Laurel Malone.” She turned to face him. “You can forget it, buster.”
“Why?”
“I’ve known her since we were kids. She doesn’t date guys like you.”
“Guys like me?”
“Yes, guys just like you. Men who work for her father are not even on her radar. She couldn’t even describe what you look like because, buddy, you’re invisible to her.”
“Why doesn’t she date guys who work for her father?”
“Because he would approve.”
“And that’s bad?”
“Yup.”
“Because stockbrokers are boring?”
“With a capital B.”
“Do you think I’m boring, Sherry?”
“You, Mr. Tolliver? No. You’re a laugh a minute and so very charming.”
“Angling for a raise, are you?”
“And so smart. No one could put one over on you.”
Mac turned to go when he spied a piece of paper on the floor. He bent to pick it up and saw that it was a quiz from one of those women’s magazines. “Who’s Your Hottie?” he read and looked up at Laurel, now in a mouthwatering profile as she spoke to the receptionist at the front desk. He rose and was just about to walk over there. It would be a great way to meet her and get her to look at him. Really look at him. For some reason, he saw it as a dare. He wasn’t invisible. He’d gone to all the right schools and done all the right things. He’d just gotten hired at Malone Financial Services exactly one week ago for double the salary of his last job. He had skills. She would see him if only she’d look.
But he stopped dead halfway there. In his hand was the blueprint of Laurel’s idea of the perfect man. This piece of paper could give him an edge if he had the guts to fit her ideal mold. A sharp dose of adrenaline followed that thought. He could be the someone who made Laurel Malone do a double take. Somehow that made him feel a little bit better about her obvious lack of interest in him.
He looked down at the paper in his hand and back up at Laurel. Could he possibly give up this chance to see just how he measured up to what she desired in a man?
He reversed direction and went into his office instead, closing the door. He sat down behind his desk and studied the questions and how she’d marked them.
On the back were descriptions of four different types of men. They read:
6 or fewer points. The Professional.
This guy’s goal-oriented, decisive and responsible. He goes after what he wants until he has achieved it and you can bet that means you. He’ll use all his seductive, sophisticated powers until you surrender to him. This hottie is sure to light up your life with some red-hot romance.
7 to 14 points. The Boy-Next-Door.
Mom and apple pie are his watchwords. This fresh-faced, sensitive hottie will make you melt into a puddle at his all-American feet. Whether it’s fixing your car or a leaky faucet, this hottie is always ready to help. But don’t underestimate this guy’s passion for you. It is red-hot, white and blue. This hottie knows how to set off fireworks every day of the year.
15 to 21. The Bad Boy.
The leader of the pack never follows the rules. He walks on the edge, calling his own shots and stirring up trouble. His devil-may-care charm will make your inhibitions dissipate for this hottie knows how to let loose and throw caution to the wind. He might be trouble, but oh what fun that could be. This hottie is a rebel who will get your motor running.
21 or more. Man in Uniform.
From the fire statio
n to the police station to the U.S. military, there aren’t many women who don’t sigh over a man in uniform—all those muscles and courage. If you fantasize about being rescued, this is the man for you. This hottie who faces danger with such passion everyday can and will rock your world.
He added up her points and discovered that she had seventeen which meant that her hottie was a bad boy. Mac sighed. That kind of guy Mac couldn’t understand. He wasn’t cool or rebellious. He never stepped outside the barriers of what was good and proper. Why? Simple, he knew the value of hard work and of making his way in the world by playing by the rules. Breaking them was not in his makeup. He couldn’t even steal a cookie from the cookie jar if his mother had told him no. He was much more in the professional mode, but he should have known that Laurel would want a guy as far away from the stockbroker type as she could get.
He wasn’t in her league. Hell. He wasn’t even in the ball park.
“SO LET US GET this straight,” Haley Malone said to Laurel. “You’re going to have a hot fling with the next bad-boy biker you meet.”
“That’s right,” Laurel said giving her sister-in-law a sideways glance. Thursday nights were reserved for her dinner with Haley, Dylan and Margo Grant. Margo was Haley’s best friend and her husband’s business partner. A year ago they’d opened SilverWire Partnership, an up-and-coming advertising firm. It was only after Haley’s marriage to Dylan that Laurel became such good friends with the two women. The timing was perfect for her to talk to them both since she’d just made the decision that day to go after her bad-boy biker.
Laurel sliced into a plump plum tomato for the salad she was in the process of making in Haley and Dylan’s big kitchen located in Westchester County. After marriage, Dylan and Haley had moved out of the city, but they’d kept the Greenwich Village loft for the times they wanted to stay in town. Laurel approved of the big house they’d bought once they were married.