Page 2 of Wicked Fantasies

Julia’s heartsoftened as she recalled his words to her that day. Ross was a good friend. For the past decade, he’d been her main connection to the outside world, which was why she had foolishly agreed to his idea of a change. Rather than suggesting a relaxing cruise, however, his idea of a major change was actually a new genre.

Erotic romance.

According to Ross, the market for hot books was booming. He’d given her a box full of titles, encouraging her to read them and see what she thought.

For the past month, she’d been immersed in capture, bondage, BDSM and ménage-a-trois stories. She learned about domination, submission and the toys—my God, she didn’t know such things existed. Butt plugs, whips, paddles, vibrators, nipple clamps. She didn’t have a clue about any of these things and now Ross wanted her to write about them.

While she had to admit she was intrigued, she also knew no amount of imagination was going to get her out of this mess. Ross had insisted she write erotica and, while still in a sensual haze from her readings and depressed over Duke’s death, she’d foolishly agreed to try.

Granted, she was technically not a virgin, but she couldn’t help but wonder if there was a statute of limitations on virginity.

How long could you consider yourself experienced without actually having sex?

She’d had sex with two, almost three men in her life—her high school beau, her college sweetheart and a nearly disastrous one-night stand. While her high school and college boyfriends had both been very sweet men, the bed play had certainly been nothing to write home about—mainly innocent exploration and vanilla sex.

Her lack of experience was in direct contrast to Ross’s wealth of practice and skill. For all the dates she lacked, Ross Phillips more than made up the difference for both of them. Like Baskin-Robbins, he had a flavor of the month and it was always unique, different and exotic. A steady parade of gorgeous women made their way through his bedroom—so many in fact, Julia teasingly nicknamed him “Hef”, likening him to Hugh Hefner and his Playboy Bunnies.

The sad truth was she hadn’t had sex in nearly a decade, except for that near miss almost five years ago, which had been an unmitigated disaster and the main reason she’d sworn off men and sex forever. She still couldn’t think of that night without blushing regret.

She’d gone to a Christmas party at the home of one of her publishers and gotten a little inebriated. Actually, she’d gotten a lot inebriated. She hated social events and was terrible at small talk. She was supposed to hang out with Ross, but…

Ross had shownup with Bridget, his buxom blonde on-again, off-again girlfriend, or—as Julia liked to refer to her—slutfriend. The woman looked as if she’d come from the catwalks of Paris, in a shimmering silver dress cut so low in the back Julia was sure one quick turn and her entire rear end would be exposed. She was dripping with brilliant blue sapphires hanging from her ears, neck and both wrists, no doubt an early Christmas gift from Ross.

Julia rolled her eyes as the saying “a fool and his money are soon parted” drifted through her mind. The woman was a barracuda. Once she sank her teeth into a man, she didn’t let go until she’d devoured him and his bank account whole. Julia had tried numerous times to convince Ross that Bridget was shallow and money hungry, but he simply teased her about being jealous and continued his unsavory association with the bitch. All Julia could figure was Bridget must be one hell of a lay because two minutes of listening to her imperious demands would make any sane person run for the hills.

Unfortunately, tonight Julia had been counting on having Ross to hang out with, to ease the awkwardness of being there alone, but apparently Bridget, who supposedly wasn’t going to be able to attend because of a photo shoot in L.A., must have managed to swing a late flight back to the city.

Much to her relief, Scott Jenkins, one of the company’s new accountants, struck up a conversation and Julia, glad to not have Ross see her standing alone looking like a wallflower, was happy to participate. She and Scott spent the night ensconced on one of the couches in the living room laughing and talking and drinking. For once, she felt desirable, even pretty.

Not that she thought she was ugly. The fact was Julia considered herself to be extremely ordinary. Medium height, medium weight, brown hair, brown eyes—boring, boring, boring. She was nothing like the steady stream of supermodels constantly hanging off Ross’s arm.

Not that she was jealous, like he thought.

Well, not too jealous anyway.

From the way Ross kept looking across the room at her, it was obvious he was as surprised as she was that someone was taking an interest in her. Feeling slightly annoyed with him for that, and more than a little tipsy, Julia continued to giggle and flirt, pleased to be able to rub Scott’s interest in Ross’s smug face.

Maybe now he would finally see her as a real woman, not the little-sister type, whom he constantly felt compelled to take care of and lecture to about her shyness, wasted youth and lack of social life.

Shaking herself for her somewhat-continuing obsession with her editor, Julia tried to focus on the man in front of her. While Scott was attractive, she didn’t feel overwhelmed by his appearance as she did with Ross.

Ross Phillips was a natural athlete, who towered over her by at least six inches. It was his chiseled, bearded face that served as the model for nearly all of her romantic heroes, although she would never tell the cocky bastard that. He already had an overinflated opinion of himself and she considered it her calling in life to be the one woman to help him keep his feet firmly planted on the ground by not gushing over his every word and smoldering look. Not, of course, that he ever directed any smoldering looks toward her.

Glancing across the room, she studied him. He wore his jet-black hair longer than he had when they’d first met, and she liked it. In fact, it was this new rugged look of his that had inspired her to write her first pirate novel, which was turning out to be her best-selling book to date.

Shaking herself, Julia stifled a groan at allowing her imagination to continue to dream such an impossible dream. Ross Phillips was her publisher and her best friend. That was it. They had a standing Thursday pizza night because in the world of powerful, wealthy, handsome men like Ross, she was not weekend-date material.

Several hours and glasses of champagne later, Julia found herself in Scott’s arms as he finally worked up the courage to kiss her. She should be embarrassed by this public display of affection, but her head was fuzzy from the alcohol. His kisses were very nice, soft and warm and she was actually anxious for them to continue. It had been ages since someone had kissed her. Scott must have sensed her acquiescence because he helped her stand, and led her up the stairs to one of the house’s beautifully appointed bedrooms.

The rest of the night seemed hazy and slightly unreal as Scott lay across the big four-poster bed with her. She’d missed making out and Scott was certainly reawakening parts of her that had lain dormant for far too long. His lips traveled along her cheek and down the side of her neck.

Alarmed, Julia was slightly embarassed to discover her blouse was unbuttoned. Somewhere along the line Scott had grown a few extra hands and she struggled to keep up with them. He was touching her everywhere and yet, when she closed her eyes, it was Ross she saw touching her, kissing her, making her feel so hot.

A light breeze touched her thighs as she felt her skirt slowly being lifted and she opened her drowsy eyes, somewhat surprised to find Scott—not Ross—shirtless and digging through his wallet.

“I have a condom in here somewhere.” His words hit her like cold water in the face. Guilt suffused her. She’d been fantasizing about Ross the whole time Scott was touching her. He was a very nice man, but she was not the type to succumb to one-night stands. He deserved her whole attention and desire. Unfortunately, she could provide neither.

Reaching down, she attempted to adjust her skirt. “Uh, Scott,” she began, “I think maybe we should slow down.”

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