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Book two in the Wives R Us series

Margo Allen never expected to meet a hot guy in this staid neighbourhood and didn’t dream she’d fall in love with a younger man.

But she never knew what hot sex was until she met Brit Hunter, or how much fun they’d have breaking the rules. Deceived by former partners, each has to learn trust, but making love and making up are fun to do.

Frequency, location, performance, and love…Brit teaches Margo things she never knew.


“What do you think you’re doing?” A strong hand gripped Margo’s shoulder.

Margo was in no mood for harassment. After three hours trudging the aisles of World Foods looking for items to satisfy Wives-R-Us’ pickiest client, she was pricklier than a porcupine, and some stranger was about to fall victim to her quills.

She was only shielding her eyes from the sun, studying the shade of blue paint going on her house. An innocent pursuit. So she took her time giving the painter a nod of approval, hoping to annoy the man behind her. “It’s fine,” she said.

“It isn’t fine. You can’t use that colour.”

His voice was deep and sexy and the scent of Polo, her favourite male cologne, wrapped itself around her. But Margo didn’t like bossy men and didn’t enjoy being told what to do.

Shaking loose from his grip, she whirled on him. “What do you think you’re doing, manhandling me? And who do you think you are, telling me what I can and can’t do?”

He took a step back and held up a hand as if to ward her off. “I’m Britain Hunter and I live in the corner house over there.”

He pointed to the other side of the street but she couldn’t tear her eyes off him. Britain was tall, dark and drop-dead handsome, and if that was cliché, it was true but an understatement. Gazing into hot, whiskey brown eyes set in a chiselled face, she struggled to maintain her composure. If ever a guy had bedroom eyes, this one did. Picturing him straddling her, his face close, his breath hot on her face, his lips parted… Her pulse raced and the heat built in her loins. This man was her neighbour, yet she’d never seen him before, and now she longed to see every inch of him.

Turning away at last, she took a glance and saw a house identical to hers. Even the colour would be the same when hers was finished. Britain was much more pleasant to look at. His full lips appeared totally kissable and the slight stubble of beard that shadowed his face invited her touch. Wishing she could caress his cheek and run her fingers down over his chin to his neck where a tiny patch of chest hair peeked over the top of his shirt, Margo felt herself grow moist.

“That colour is no longer available.” He stood with his feet wide apart, arms folded.

It was a shame he was so disagreeable. His firm tone and stance reminded her of a school principal who’d given her detention for spraying her hair purple. She folded her arms. “There was plenty left at the paint store and if it’s all gone now, that’s not my problem. I bought what I need and it’s going on my house now.”

“Don’t you see…?” He pointed at his house again.

“Of course I do.” Margo shrugged. “If you don’t want them the same colour, why not paint yours a different one? I’ve already bought the paint and I love that shade.”

“Be reasonable.” He sighed heavily. “The house where I live is completely painted. My grandparents had two coats put on when the renovation began. Yours is barely started and you can return the unopened cans for a refund.”

Did he live with his grandparents or had they formerly resided there? He’d have a hard time bringing dates home with them in the house. With his looks he’d have no trouble attracting women. She was drawn to him like a bee to honey and she’d like a taste of what he had to offer. Maybe he rented from them and lived there alone. Odd she hadn’t noticed him around.

He stepped close and, towering over her, kept his arms folded. If he was trying to intimidate her it wasn’t working, but his male presence at close proximity did make her hot. Beads of perspiration popped out on her upper lip and rivulets ran down over her tingling nipples. If his sexual parts measured up to the rest of what she saw… Damn, she had to stop this line of thinking before she jumped the guy.

“You do know the homeowners in Wainwright Place are attempting to restore this neighbourhood and these houses to their original beauty, don’t you?”

“I’m not an idiot. Of course I know it. Would you like to see the floors I’ve refinished? Or all my cancelled checks for repairs and restoration?”

“I’m sorry, Mrs.—?”

“I’m not ‘Mrs.’ Anyone. It’s Ms. and I’m Margo Allen.”

“Ms…” he began but she eyed him sharply. “Geez. What do you want me to say? Margo?”

“Why not? As neighbours arguing, I think a first name basis is acceptable.”

“This isn’t really an argument. It’s an informative discussion.”


“You don’t want to be informed, you want to argue, but I’m a peace-loving guy.” He must have heard her say ‘ha’ under her breath again because he smiled. He was even more devastating wearing a grin. “Do you try to make something out of nothing every time?”

She assumed what she hoped was an innocent expression and he shrugged.

“Okay, Margo, if you’ll call me Brit. Britain was my mother’s maiden name and I wish I’d had an older brother so he’d have gotten stuck with it. Even a sister. But no such luck.

“Margo, if you don’t mind me asking, did you read your covenant?”

His smile was boyish and appealing but she was smart enough to know he was trying to soften her up. “Covenant, shovenant. I’m not a churchgoer. And I am not familiar with covenants that have to do with painting your house the same shade as your neighbour’s.”

Britain chuckled but she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of asking what was so funny. He was tanned so he must spend a lot of time outdoors, and she wondered if he made it a habit to police the neighbourhood for errant homeowners. With longish brown hair and thick eyelashes, he was sexy as hell. Too bad he was set on aggravating her.

“The covenant I’m talking about is with WPHA. Wainwright Place Homeowners’ Association. Everyone who buys here has to sign an agreement to follow certain regulations.”

“I wouldn’t have signed anything so binding I couldn’t paint my own home the colour I want.” She tossed her head and the curls she’d been letting grow tickled her bare shoulders. She’d donned a yellow knit sundress after work at Wives-R-Us, making the most of the bright, hot days of late summer. Before long, autumn would cast its shadow over the Indianapolis suburbs.

Brit seemed to be taking advantage of the lingering warmth too. He wore khaki shorts that revealed strong leg muscles. His blue short-sleeve shirt pulled tight across his chest while displaying magnificent biceps, causing her to wonder what kind of work he did. Living in this neighbourhood he could be independently wealthy, but it would have to be old money. He was too young to have amassed his own fortune.

He had the nerve to laugh again. “You didn’t read it, did you? You signed the papers for a million dollar house without reading the fine print.” He threw up his hands and she seethed. “The architecture is basically identical in Wainwright Place, and using different colours gives them individuality, the covenant maintains. And I can’t argue. How about you?”

Hands on hips, she looked up and down the block and saw no two homes were painted the same shade. Even the gingerbread trim differed. She should have noticed. She decorated home interiors, for hell’s sake. Whether it was his looks and appeal…okay, sex appeal…or his manner, she kept flubbing up in front of him. She’d moved here for the house and no other reason. Most of the residents were senior citizens and had lived here a long time so they knew one another. Margo hadn’t socialised, but looking at Brit, realised she should have been more observant. The last thing she’d expected to find in Wainwright Place was a hot guy. Why had he moved here? Why am I so curious about this troublemaker?

Feeling the heat rise to her cheeks, she spoke quickly, hoping to end this embarrassing encounter. “Well, the powers-that-be should have given me a better colour. Look at this.” She slapped a hand against the exterior wall next to her front door. “Putrid tan. Puce, I think it’s called. Or maybe it’s puke. I didn’t choose it and I don’t like it.”

“Puce is dark red and this is yellow ochre.”

Damn, she’d done it again. Messed up in the vocabulary department. She wasn’t stupid, but she certainly was coming across that way. “It looks like baby poop. How the hell do you know so much about colours?”

“I’m in construction and that’s one of the things I had to learn. I don’t know what happened to painting houses white or colours with simple names but…” Brit shrugged. “There’s an approved list to choose from, one colour to a resident and Colony Blue is mine.”

He gave her what she supposed was meant to be a consoling smile, but she wasn’t consoled. What the hell colour was she supposed to use?

“If you want to learn more about the guidelines for owning here, there’s a WPHA meeting tomorrow night at six…” He broke off, chuckling. “In the aquamarine meeting house on Town Square.”

He walked off without a backward glance and she should know because she watched him all the way to his front door. Lean with broad shoulders and a narrow waist and hips, he was damned impressive. Margo’s heart fluttered, and wondering how he was in bed, she felt the heat build in her loins. ‘Aquamarine’. She smiled Brit’s stress of the fancy colour name proved he also had a sense of humour.

Book one in the Uniform Behaviour Series

Two strangers are set up to meet in a bordello by a mutual friend; neither one knows the other is a cop.

Cathy Sullivan is a cop. Ian Murphy is too, but neither of them knows about their occupational similarities. Both have been anonymously set up set up by a mutual friend. Just imagine them meeting, for the very first time, in a bordello.

Cathy thinks she's there to be serviced by a perfect stranger; just to enjoy a night of lurid passion and relieve some stress in her life. Ian thinks he's there as a favour to a friend. Through some of the hottest sex either has ever experienced, both find they've got more in common than just a day of erotic pleasure.

After using every piece of furniture and their food as intimate toys, both come to terms with the fact that they simply can't leave each other alone. Even after the fantasy role-playing and the exotic sex is over, one night just won't be enough.


“Are you sure about this, Lisa?”

“Cathy Sullivan, how many times do I have to tell you? It’s only for one day. From this morning until five o’clock. And nobody at the P.D. is going to find out unless you open your big mouth. You need to get away from work. If I had my way, you’d be gone for a week, not just a day.”

“ matter how this turns out, thanks for buying me the visit. That’s pretty damned decent of you considering the cost.”

Lisa rolled her eyes and pursed her lips to keep from grinning. “Oh, I’ve got a feeling I’m gonna get as much a kick out of this as you are.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cathy asked as she shoved the last garment in to her small zipper bag and adjusted the shoulder strap.

“Nothing. I just want a blow- by-blow description when you get back.”

“That’s very amusing,” Cathy shot back. “You’re not making this any easier.”

“If you’d get over your prudishness and consider this an adventure, you wouldn’t be so wound up.”

“I am not wound up.” Cathy stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets to keep her best friend of ten years from seeing them shake. She ignored the prudish part of her friend’s opinion. “But after that letter you wrote, put my name to, and had sent to your address, I’m not sure what I’ll end up getting myself into. You could’ve at least shown it to me before you stuck it in the mail.”

“If I’d left it up to you, you wouldn’t have written the letter at all. You’re too prim about such things.” Lisa lifted her hands over her friend’s head and formed a halo by joining her index fingers and thumbs.

Cathy sighed in exasperation. “Look. I’m not an angel, and I’m sure as hell not a whore, either. I do my job, and I do it well. I can’t help it if you and the rest of the vice-squad think I’m uptight. Just because I don’t sleep with every guy in the division doesn’t make me a prude. It makes me professional.”

“Don’t start that again. I don’t sleep with every guy in the division.”

“I know you don’t, but...” Cathy would have continued the argument, but a loud horn sounded outside her apartment and interrupted whatever she might have said.

Lisa went to the window and looked down into the street. “Your cab is here. You want me to buzz the driver up?”

“No. I’ll go down. I’ve only got this one small bag.” She looked down at the black leather bag at her feet, and wondered if there were any packing requirements specific to what she was about to do.

Lisa shot her friend what she hoped was a decent leer and rubbed her hands together. “Didn’t pack anything you can’t get out of quickly, did you?”

Cathy ignored the comment, grabbed up her zipper bag and walked to the door. “Be sure to feed George and Martha, but not too much.”

“You’ve shown me how to feed your goldfish twice, already. Will you go?”

Cathy opened the door, gave Lisa what she hoped was an unconcerned smile, then closed her apartment door behind her. In the hallway, she swallowed hard, wiped the palms of her hands against her slacks and descended the stairs. Lisa Portelli had been her friend since they’d graduated police academy ten years ago. While Lisa had gone on to work the vice-squad, she had eventually been assigned to the Mayor’s task force on gang activity. It was a prestigious position, and she was very proud to have been appointed.

But, as often happened in the department, Lisa and her friends from the vice-squad would frequently get together for parties and invite her along. During the course of these shindigs, one or more of the group would get quite bawdy and she always negatively commented on their antics. It wasn’t in her personality to celebrate hard, and she never understood the need to do so. Her stringent control of her behaviour had earned her a reputation for being a stuffed shirt. But the guys and gals from vice still kept inviting her to their gatherings, and she still showed up when the invitations were issued. Deep down, she suspected that they were right. While she wasn’t a virgin at the age of twenty-nine, she wasn’t as worldly as some of them. Maybe she wanted to explore some of the possibilities that could exist sexually between a man and a woman without any commitment. Or maybe she just hadn’t found the right guy. But there was some part of her that must want the day trip to New York’s most exclusive bordello, or she’d never have accepted the gift Lisa offered.

The cab trip only took about fifteen minutes. After an uneventful ride, the white marble columns of the bordello appeared. The cab driver expertly wound his way up the long curved drive, and Cathy felt a rising sense of panic. Her excuses that someone from the department would find out what she was doing were all a sham. Lisa knew that. The department didn’t give a fig about what she did with her free time so long as it was legal and didn’t bring dishonour to the P.D. Okay, some of her friends would rib her about the trip to the bawdy house, but that was the worst of it. No, her real reason for the rising anxiety sticking in her gut was the fact that she was about to have several hours of sex with a complete stranger. Even facing down a dangerous gang member in an unlit alley hadn’t inflicted so much concern. That kind of confrontation she was used to and well trained for. This was totally out of her realm.

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