Power Play. Nancy Warren

      

      “Your bed or mine?” Emily asked

      Her eyes were big and glistening with passion.

      “Both,” Jonah promised her.

      And just like that the game ended. Slowly she slipped her nightie off her shoulders, leaving her exposed in all her beauty.

      Leaning forward, he decided it was well time he joined in this seduction. He explored her mouth, teasing her lips, making her sigh. He let his mouth go all the places it wanted to go—the swell of her breasts, her nipples, which tasted like heaven.

      When he nuzzled her belly, she giggled. “You should have shaved.”

      “Next time I will….”

      She sighed and Jonah felt the quiver of her skin beneath his lips. “I can’t believe you didn’t jump me the second we got into the room.”

      “You have no idea how much I wanted to,” he murmured into her belly button. “How much I still do…”

      Dear Reader,

      Some things you just can’t make up! This book came about after an extremely memorable writing retreat in the Pacific Northwest. My friends and I booked in to a charming lodge to write. One of our rooms had bedbugs and we all had to move. They took away all our clothes and cases to be treated and, since the lodge was full, we got rooms they normally don’t rent out. The room that Emily ends up with is pretty much the room I had. Since I couldn’t sleep, I played the writer’s favorite game. What if?

      I’m grateful to all my zany writing friends, especially the Duetters, who can always be counted on for laughter and support. A special thanks to Candy Halliday, who helped with the orthodontist background, and to Holly and A.J., who helped in many ways.

      As far as I know, there is no Elk Crossing Lodge in Idaho, and if there is I have never been there. The location was entirely fictitious.

      Hope you enjoy Power Play, my unique contribution to the FORBIDDEN FANTASIES promotion. As always, come visit me on the Web at www.nancywarren.net.

      Happy reading,

      Nancy Warren

      Power Play

      Nancy Warren

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      USA TODAY bestselling author Nancy Warren lives in the Pacific Northwest where her hobbies include walking her border collie in the rain, antiques and sports. She’s the author of more than thirty novels and novellas for Harlequin Books and has won numerous awards. Visit her at www.nancywarren.net.

      To Bobby and Kathleen,

       dear friends and fellow bedbug refugees.

       Thanks for all the laughter and good times—

       and for the picture of all of us

       in our lost and found bin fashions!

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      1

      THE SCREAMS WOKE EMILY Saunders. Horror movie worthy shrieks of terror that had her jerking up in bed and panicking for a moment when she didn’t immediately recognize her surroundings.

      She flicked on the bedside lamp, noting fuzzily that it was 5:07 a.m. The bed and the rest of the hotel room furniture came into focus along with her thoughts. Right. She was back in Elk Crossing, Idaho, in her room at the Elk Crossing Lodge.

      For a second she wondered if the screams had been part of a nightmare. Her gaze drifted to the pumpkin-colored bridesmaid dress hanging in the unfortunately see-through bag. No wonder she was having nightmares. When her cousin Leanne had asked her to be a bridesmaid, Emily had said, “Yes, of course.” She always said yes.

      But she really thought she might have plucked up the courage to turn down the honor of being a bridesmaid had she known about the dresses. Pumpkin—the color—was bad enough, but did the shape of the dress have to resemble the vegetable? Emily had worn some hideous bridesmaid gowns in her time, but this one really took the trick-or-treat candy.

      She was about to flick off the light and try to get back to sleep when she heard more screaming. And it seemed to be coming from right outside her door.

      Shoving her feet into her blue terry-towel slippers and grabbing the matching robe off the end of the bed, she picked up her room key and ran to the door. Touch it first, she reminded herself, wishing she’d bothered, for once, to read that “in case of fire” map taped to the back of the door. She didn’t feel heat, or smell smoke, but the commotion continued out there in the hallway.

      Amid the screams she heard some soothing tones, and nobody seemed to be rushing for exits. Also, no fire alarm rang.

      Curiosity had her cautiously opening her door.

      The sight that met her eyes was—unusual.

      A plump young woman, well-endowed and naturally not wearing a bra in the middle of the night, was jumping up and down as though the carpet of the hotel was a trampoline. She was the one doing the screaming.

      “I saw them. Crawling everywhere. They’re on me. Eww. Eww,” she bellowed.

      A much skinnier woman with long arms and legs, wearing a pink baby doll and nothing else, shrieked, “I felt something. I think they’re in my hair.”

      And the pair of them were off, screaming, shaking their heads and bouncing like crazed groupies at a Jonas Brothers concert.

      Emily stepped forward, wondering if they were on drugs of some kind.

      A young guy in a hotel uniform was trying, with absolutely no success, to calm the women down. “Please, ladies, you’re waking the other guests.” He looked too young to wear a uniform and a sheen of sweat covered his upper lip.

      An older, gray-haired couple who’d put overcoats and outdoor shoes on, stared, as stunned as she. They spoke to each other in soft voices. The woman caught Emily’s eye and shrugged in a “what do you do?” kind of way.

      While Emily tried to recall what she knew of drug and alcohol poisoning, another door opened across the hall and a big, muscular, hairier-than-necessary man stepped out wearing nothing but boxer shorts with some brand of beer stamped on them. He was in his early thirties, she’d guess, with dark hair that stuck up on one side where he’d slept on it. His gaze took in the scene at once then snagged momentarily on the bouncing breasts.

      “They’re crawling on me, they’re crawling on me,” the girl screamed again.

      Emily