Following is the first chapter of my published contemporary erotic romance, Talk to Me. It was named a Top Pick by both Night Owl Reviews and The Romance Reviews. More information about it can be found on my website at http://www.booksbycassandracarr.com. Enjoy!
Drew Milan watched, fascinated, as a leggy woman with unruly dark brown hair that reached halfway down her back twisted herself underneath the producer’s desk. As he continued perusing her body, he noticed her long, slim legs encased in skintight leather boots. Holy shit, are those a sexy pair of boots! Kill me now, and I’ll go with a huge freakin’ smile on my face. He was a leg man, and this angel had been dropped from the sky especially for him. He must’ve done some good deed he couldn’t remember to have had this good fortune bestowed upon him. The question was, what she was doing crawling around under the equipment?
She started to back out, and Drew felt his cock thicken as inch by inch of glorious legs unfolded themselves. Finally managing to pull himself out of his reverie, he cleared his throat. The woman jerked and turned around, revealing a large set of light brown eyes, a small nose set into the middle of a long face with a pointed chin, and an incredible set of full, luscious lips.
“Can I help you?” The woman blushed furiously, her pale skin flushing bright pink.
* * * * *
Knowing instantly that this Adonis of a man was retired hockey player Drew Milan, the host of the show Jamie MacMahon was producing, she silently berated herself for blushing like a schoolgirl as she struggled to her feet and swiped at the dust coating her skirt. If I’d known I was going to be crawling around under the equipment first thing, I would’ve worn jeans.
A quick inspection of his barrel chest and huge biceps, both highlighted nicely by the skintight polo shirt he was wearing, confirmed he still kept himself in shape, even though he’d retired a few years back.
He appraised her openly, his gaze raking up and down her body. Not used to such unconcealed interest on the part of men -- especially those she worked with -- she wasn’t sure how to react. She attempted to ignore his heated stare. “Um, hi, Mr. Milan, I’m Jamie MacMahon.” You’re babbling…
“Jamie?” he repeated.
“Yes, your new producer.”
“Oh!” He looked dumbstruck. “I was under the impression my new producer was a man.”
Great. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Milan. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
He grinned, and his whole face transformed before her eyes. Oh, he still had a strong square jaw and high-slashing cheekbones that highlighted his closely cropped, jet-black hair, but his smile lit up the whole room. Blue-gray eyes the color of the sea during a rainstorm softened to a light aqua. Her breath caught in her throat, and her pulse began to thunder. She covered her heart, and Drew’s gaze followed the movement before returning to her face.
“I’m not disappointed. I’m surprised, but I’m most definitely not disappointed. And call me Drew. Mr. Milan makes me feel like an old man, and I shudder to think a beautiful young thing like you thinks I’m an old man.” His eyes blazed as he stared at her.
My God -- he’s blatantly hitting on me. Maybe he hits on every woman he meets, the same way I imagine what a gorgeous pair of shoes would look like if I were wearing them.
She coughed delicately into her hand. Old? No. Unbelievably hot, yes. And wow, his voice was mesmerizing -- rough yet sensual. Forcing herself to keep her focus on the job, she glanced at the studio behind her. “Well, Drew, the show is about to start. Anything I need to know other than what’s on the show log?”
