A Sporting Chance
In the outback town of Mount Tully, many a man’s had to squeeze into a frock after backing the wrong derby cane toad on Australia Day.
But Mount Tully’s surliest bartender, Jane Ransom, has her steel-capped boots planted firmly on the ground, so there’s no way she’d risk her independence to accept a saucy bet from the sexy but bossy pub owner, Luka Belov…is there?
You can buy A Sporting Chance as part of the Hot Down Under Bundle Three anthology at Amazon.
Excerpt
Whatever magic DNA spawned his lean, mean heavyweight frame also carried the bossy gene. Forget about the Slavic features that tugged on her libido like a rough hand on a choker-leash, because the bossy ones always thought they could change her, mould her into more of a “lady”. Wrong. And when the romance soured, she’d lose her job. Luka could never be anything more than eye-candy to her.
Speaking of candy…
Pulling the chocolate koala she’d bought at the bar out of her jeans pocket, she caught his disparaging glance. “What?”
“Stuff’s bad for you.”
She gaped at him. This from the man who’d served her microwaved fries? “And I suppose your body’s a temple?”
“Interested in the hours of worship?”
His tone was casual but his eyes held just enough heat to make her blink and stiffen. Unthinkable. He’d openly raised the subject of the hairy, heaving, lustful, elephant in the metaphorical room: sexual attraction.
For a moment she allowed herself the luxury of imagining a strong set of shoulders by her side, a lust-worthy body sharing (or, more likely, hogging) her rumpled sheets in the morning, someone to talk to at the end of the day.
A beautiful dream, but it never worked out that way, not for her. There was always the hurt of not being enough: not girly enough, not nice enough, not whatever enough.
She squared her shoulders, stiffened her resolve and set about repairing the walls between them. “Here’s a bet for you. If Germaine wins, you don’t talk to me for a week.”
An unholy glint lit his eyes. “You’re on. She loses, you wear a dress for a week.”
Not that again. If he loved frocks so much, he should wear one.
“She wins, you wear the dress and don’t talk to me for a week.”
Luka’s bark of laughter deepened her frown.
“You want total warfare, Jane? Fine. She loses, you do exactly what I say for a week, whether that’s dusting my house dressed as Fifi the French maid or giving me a foot massage.”
She froze, the moment amplified by each solid pump of her heart. A week at his bidding? Massage? Her brain froze with lust, refusing to let her move past the image of her hands running over his hard, bare flesh as he lay prone before her with eyes shut, big chest rumbling with satisfaction while she kneaded and stroked.
Impossible. She could never hide her feelings under those conditions, would never be able to rein in her hands to keep them from wandering off his spectacular contours and into more dangerous territory. And with that handsome face of his, he would get anything and everything he wanted from her, which was unlikely to be limited to cleaning duties. Her stomach churned at the very thought of being under his full control, physically, emotionally and sexually. What if he exploited the situation shamelessly? What if she enjoyed it?
But Mount Tully’s surliest bartender, Jane Ransom, has her steel-capped boots planted firmly on the ground, so there’s no way she’d risk her independence to accept a saucy bet from the sexy but bossy pub owner, Luka Belov…is there?
You can buy A Sporting Chance as part of the Hot Down Under Bundle Three anthology at Amazon.
Excerpt
Whatever magic DNA spawned his lean, mean heavyweight frame also carried the bossy gene. Forget about the Slavic features that tugged on her libido like a rough hand on a choker-leash, because the bossy ones always thought they could change her, mould her into more of a “lady”. Wrong. And when the romance soured, she’d lose her job. Luka could never be anything more than eye-candy to her.
Speaking of candy…
Pulling the chocolate koala she’d bought at the bar out of her jeans pocket, she caught his disparaging glance. “What?”
“Stuff’s bad for you.”
She gaped at him. This from the man who’d served her microwaved fries? “And I suppose your body’s a temple?”
“Interested in the hours of worship?”
His tone was casual but his eyes held just enough heat to make her blink and stiffen. Unthinkable. He’d openly raised the subject of the hairy, heaving, lustful, elephant in the metaphorical room: sexual attraction.
For a moment she allowed herself the luxury of imagining a strong set of shoulders by her side, a lust-worthy body sharing (or, more likely, hogging) her rumpled sheets in the morning, someone to talk to at the end of the day.
A beautiful dream, but it never worked out that way, not for her. There was always the hurt of not being enough: not girly enough, not nice enough, not whatever enough.
She squared her shoulders, stiffened her resolve and set about repairing the walls between them. “Here’s a bet for you. If Germaine wins, you don’t talk to me for a week.”
An unholy glint lit his eyes. “You’re on. She loses, you wear a dress for a week.”
Not that again. If he loved frocks so much, he should wear one.
“She wins, you wear the dress and don’t talk to me for a week.”
Luka’s bark of laughter deepened her frown.
“You want total warfare, Jane? Fine. She loses, you do exactly what I say for a week, whether that’s dusting my house dressed as Fifi the French maid or giving me a foot massage.”
She froze, the moment amplified by each solid pump of her heart. A week at his bidding? Massage? Her brain froze with lust, refusing to let her move past the image of her hands running over his hard, bare flesh as he lay prone before her with eyes shut, big chest rumbling with satisfaction while she kneaded and stroked.
Impossible. She could never hide her feelings under those conditions, would never be able to rein in her hands to keep them from wandering off his spectacular contours and into more dangerous territory. And with that handsome face of his, he would get anything and everything he wanted from her, which was unlikely to be limited to cleaning duties. Her stomach churned at the very thought of being under his full control, physically, emotionally and sexually. What if he exploited the situation shamelessly? What if she enjoyed it?
