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A complex hero...

Alex 'The Iceman' Winters is a very complex hero. Full of mystery. He served his country - spending time in Iran. In what capacity, I'll let you determine. He's strong. He's protective. He's drop-dead sexy.

Take some time out from your busy Memorial Day weekend activities and enjoy thie excerpt from...DIARY OF A MAD ESCORT.


He never let on where they were. No matter how she tried, he gave away no information as to their location. At night, she’d fall asleep to the gentle rocking of Alex’s boat and each morning, she’d wake to see new sights, different bits of land on the horizon.
But they remained at sea, never going in-land.
A part of Grace wished they never, ever would, for her days with Alex showed her that maybe, just maybe, there was indeed a man who cared about her.
And a human being who cared whether she lived or died.
His pistol was never far away, a grim reminder of her perilous circumstances.
Her memories of Mark, of the last time she saw him, started to fade, replaced by new ones…
The Iceman.
She’d never call him that again.
Had she gone crazy? Falling in love with her captor.
The idea thrilled and frightened her. The future remained uncertain, her trial yet to come, but whatever happened, Grace knew she’d never forget her time aboard the boat with Alex Winters. She wanted to savour each second, each memory, locking it away in her mind so she could recall it when tough times came again.
He put down a plate of fluffy scrambled eggs in front of her that morning…and a small plate of black, round, shiny pearls. She leaned down and sniffed the salty, fishy odour.
“Caviar?” She glanced up at Alex’s lean, bronzed face. His hair had bleached in the sun—the pale white strands a stark contrast to his tanned skin.
“Yes, caviar, my sweet little captive.”
She squirmed in the chair, for his honeyed words washed over. His deep voice had a mesmerising effect on her these last couple of days. Each time he spoke, she felt her blood heat, fierce need building inside her body and always settling in her pleasure zone. Her clit pulsed with the most delicious sensations. Everything around her seemed heightened, more exciting, more intense.
Including Alex.
He continued to massage that cream into her skin, treating her to a different scent each day—the jasmine, yes, but sometimes, the cream had a pleasant, musky odour, and sometimes, it smelled like roses, sweet and heady. He’d bring her to a fever pitch of longing, his hands, always warm and soothing, caressing her skin, removing any trace of tight muscles.
Then he’d stop, knowing exactly what he’d done, a smug grin on his face.
“Caviar contains arginine, an amino acid—it helps with blood flow in the body—and arousal.”
She pushed the plate away. “I don’t like the smell.”
He took a seat next to her. “But you’ll like the feel.”
She angled her head as she took a bite of the scrambled eggs, enjoying their soft peaks and their delicious, eggy flavour. Grace put down her fork for just a second and sipped the drink Alex had prepared—rosewater infused orange juice. The sweet aroma of the rose water, coupled with the invigorating, citrusy scent of the fresh orange aroused her awareness of everything around her, waking her mind and her body to each sound, each thing she saw…
How would she ever bear leaving him? When her “safe time” with him ended, Grace felt a part of her would, too.
“Try the caviar.” He pushed the plate towards her.
She took another bite of egg and dabbed a napkin across her lips, shaking her head no.
He grinned. “You’ll like it Grace. This particular kind of caviar doesn’t taste fishy at all, even though you smell that odour. It fools your senses. Keeps them sharp. What you’ll taste is an explosive, salty, yet pungent flavour as you roll the little eggs against the roof of your mouth.”
Before she could utter another protest, he leaned over and grasped her around the waist, lifting her from her chair. He settled her on his thighs, her silk-clad bottom sliding across his legs. She rested her hands against his bare chest, enjoying the smooth dusting of hair that covered his pecs. His swollen cock nudged her bottom, reminding her of his desire, of his need for her.
“This is Iranian Caviar.” He dipped the tines of a small, silver fork into the dark, shiny mass of precious black eggs. “I made sure to bring some home after my time there.”
She angled her head, enjoying the fact that he intended to feed her. Grace had grown accustomed to it, allowing him to command her palate. “You were in Iran?”
“Briefly,” he replied, his voice clipped. Alex seemed to measure his next words, his face thoughtful, as though remembering something pleasant, yet…not. “While there, I travelled to the Region of Gilan, to the large port on the Caspian Sea where they get the particular sturgeon they use for this caviar.” He placed the fork near her lips. “I saved this caviar, wanting to share it with someone special.”
Her breath hitched.
“Try it, Grace. Just a little.” Her pressed the tines of the fork gently near her lips, coaxing them open.
The salty flavour teased her mouth.
“Roll the eggs around inside your mouth, Grace, and just feel. Let them explode against the roof of your mouth, press them there with your tongue.”
She did. When the tiny eggs burst, their salty essence caressed the front of her tongue. Grace swallowed the little jewels, enjoying the saline flavour. Alex dug the tines of the fork into the shiny mass of eggs again, lifting it to her lips.
Twenty minutes later, she finished the last of the caviar, pillowing her head against Alex’s broad shoulder, enjoying the salty flavour that lingered in her mouth and the slow beat of his heart. She could hear its leisurely lub-dub beat. Placing an arm around her waist, he shifted her closer, hugging her in a tight, warm embrace.
Then he placed a kiss on the top of her head.
Grace felt replete, satisfied, but most of all, renewed and revived. She had eaten caviar before—and never liked it, but with Alex, it became a new, sensual, pleasurable experience.
He patted her bottom, then gave it a gentle squeeze, but he didn’t jostle her or move her from his lap.
She didn’t want to move.
Minutes went by. Grace heard the tick of the clock on the wall behind her, heard Alex’s deep, even breathing, inhaled his unique, minty, yet musky, citrusy scent.
“Time for your massage,” he whispered in her ear, placing a gentle kiss on the thin skin behind her lobe.
She felt her bones melt at his words.
“What scent do you want?” he asked, his voice soft, deep…inviting.
“The jasmine,” she murmured.
He rose from the chair with her cradled in his arms.
As he carried her out to the deck, to the lounger that lay in the warm sun, Grace wasn’t so sure she’d win Alex’s challenge.
Still, deep down, she knew being his captive had set her free.


copyright 2008 by Catherine Chernow

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