Free Reviving Haven by Cory Cyr

accumulated a fortune. Half of what is written is so technical that I have no clue what it means. What I do understand is that Latch McKay has brains to back up his beauty.
    He has been arrested two times—once for battery, and the other for being a public nuisance. Uh huh, I can believe that . It appears Mr. McKay can be a very bad boy. Some of the pages talk about his womanizing; he’s a player, a major player. No mention of girlfriends, just lots of women. Latch McKay is exactly what they quoted him as—a manwhore.
    I decide to click on the images page of him. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of photographs of him, many with beautiful young women. There are also photos of him at different events. Ah, and there it is… photos of Latch McKay and his best friend, Keenan Stone. Many of these photos look like they have been taken recently, but some are clearly of him in his teens. He has been womanizing for many years. Why not? He is young, rich, has killer looks and oral skills that should be documented in the Kama Sutra.
    I stare at his photographs, clicking and then enlarging them. Everything about him screams devastating and sexual. Dark, sensual eyelashes and curved brows frame his eyes; in some photographs, his eyes appear blue, but in others they look almost iridescent. The curve of his jaw line outlines his enticing mouth that I never even got to touch or taste. I find myself tracing his outline on my monitor.
    I feel a yearning deep inside of me. I wish I had kissed him. I need to know how his lips would feel against mine. How does he kiss . . . are his lips warm and supple? Would his tongue tease the corners of my mouth then delve in, exploring, caressing, and consuming every inch? What does his body feel like? I want to run my fingertips down his chest, tracing every muscle, every indentation. Brushing ever so slightly across his “V” where a very dark dusting of hair would direct me to what I imagine is as breathtaking as the rest of him. My body betrays me once again, as a rush of heat floods to my lower half. What the hell am I doing? What am I thinking? I can’t go there; he’s too young. Latch McKay is a walking advertisement for heartbreak and STD’s.
    The front door slams and I hear Weezie’s footsteps coming down the hall towards my room. I quickly close my laptop. I hope I can hide the fact that my cheeks are flushed and I feel warm.
    “What’s happening, chica?” she asks coming into my room.
    “Oh not much, just got home from some wild book cover shoot thing. It was strange—don’t ask. It’s been a bizarre day.” I pick up my water and take a sip.
    “So . . . was it exciting?” She flops down on the bed.
    “No, not really the word I’d use to describe it. Let’s just say that it was interesting,” I reply, looking anywhere but at her.
    “Just models, make-up people, etcetera . . . nothing to write home about.” If she only knew I was being stalked by Latch McKay, wonder boy of video games and Mr. Sex-on-a-stick.
    “Sounds rough,” Weezie laughs, rolling her eyes.
    “You have NO idea,” I respond. I’m holding onto my laptop for dear life, not sure where this conversation will lead. I don’t like keeping secrets, but I know Weezie, and this is something she would want me to pursue.
    “Any hot half-naked guys there?” Weezie asks with a chuckle.
    “Yeah, one of the models was the guy that did all those romance covers a few years back, Keenan something,” I mention dismissively.
    “No shit.” Weezie jumps up. “Keenan fucking Stone?” She is almost screaming and her eyes look crazed.
    “Yeah, that guy. Know him?” I ask, pretending to be oblivious while looking at my nails that need a manicure badly.
    “No, I don’t know him personally, but I would love to. What woman wouldn’t want to know him—and do him? I can’t believe you met Keenan Stone and you’re acting like he was just some random dude, no big deal . . . la la la.” She is almost