Free Surrender To Sultry by Macy Beckett Page B

town. In fact, we’re
     wrapping up a special feature tonight.” She pointed across the room to a mammoth,
     blue-haired Asian man with a camera perched on his shoulder. “Weezus is about to start
     filming.”
    “Filming what?” Leah asked, instinctively backing up a pace. She didn’t want any part
     of this.
    “Mostly the two of us,” Bobbi said, then gesturing at the crowd, added, “and a few
     shots of our friends and family. You know, to show community support.”
    Leah took another step back. “I can’t be on camera.” The tremor in her voice didn’t
     escape Bobbi’s notice. Those relentless green eyes narrowed in scrutiny while Leah
     scrambled for damage control. “Uh,” Leah added, pointing at her own face, “no makeup!”
    “Uh-huh,” Bobbi said, clearly not buying it.
    With a nervous twitter, Leah pressed one hand over her stomach. “I’m starving. Think
     I’ll grab some of Pru’s famous German potato salad.” She waved while continuing to
     back away from the group. “Great meeting you.”
    Before anyone had a chance to respond, she turned and began picking her way through
     a swarm of bodies. When she reached the hors d’oeuvres table, crowded with simmering
     crock pots and sandwich platters, she decided to continue to the dessert station at
     the far end of the room. No one could film her back there. But just to be on the safe
     side, she faced the wall and pretended to consider the assortment of fruits and candies
     spread out before her.
    As she scanned the melon balls and brownie bites, she wondered how soon she could
     leave the party without appearing rude. She probably shouldn’t have come in the first
     place, but Daddy’s house was starting to feel small, and she needed a break.
    Fifteen more minutes , she decided. Then I’ll —
    All thoughts froze when her gaze landed on a tray of Richman’s éclairs.
    Oh, holy Moses. Richman’s éclairs!
    Like dewy manna from heaven, a thin sheen of condensation made each pastry shimmer
     in the light. Thick layers of fudge icing had softened, oozing down the sides, just
     the way Leah liked it—the chocolaty flavor was so much stronger when it melted on
     her tongue. A faint scent of cocoa lingered in the air, titillating her senses, tempting
     her to surrender to a thousand-calorie devil in disguise.
    With one hand, she pulled back her hair and bent at the waist to inhale a lungful
     of pure, unadulterated sweetness. It smelled so good, she closed her eyes and did
     it again. Her mouth watered in rapture. She simply had to have one.
    When she stood, a new sensation interrupted her confectionary haze. She felt the heat
     of a large body close behind her, the bold scents of shaving cream and soap filling
     her head. More than that, an energy charged the air, a force so signature and electric
     she didn’t need to turn around to identify the man who wielded it.
    “Go ahead, honey,” Colt whispered in her ear. “You know you want it.”
    She closed her eyes again as chills lifted the tiny hairs along the back of her neck.
     The floor seemed to soften and tilt beneath her feet, forcing her to grip the table’s
     edge for support. Just as she opened her eyes to orient herself, Colt eliminated the
     space between them and settled one hand on her hip while he reached past her to grab
     an éclair. In that moment, every inch of her Judas body flashed hot in recognition
     of the touch she hadn’t felt in over a decade. The pulse rushing through her veins
     didn’t seem to care that Colt had ruined her life. Her tightening nipples didn’t give
     a damn either.
    Why couldn’t she crave healthy things, like carrot sticks and accountants?
    She swallowed a mouthful of desire and said, “Actually, I don’t,” then pointed to
     a fruit platter. “I’d rather have fresh strawberries.”
    The hard contours pressed into her back shook with silent laughter. “For a preacher’s
     daughter, you sure lie a lot.”
    Using the table ledge as