Six Hot Single Dads. Lynne Marshall

was certain the man had no idea what had hit him. Marcus knew very well that there was no preparing for Hurricane Ashley—she made things happen and all you could do was hold on for dear life. Ultimately, Oscar had been completely won over by her. One minute, Oscar had been spewing venom, and the next minute, he was declaring Ashley the most charming woman he’d ever met, referring to Chambers No. 9 as “simply sublime” and admonishing himself for not being a more regular viewer of Manhattan Matchmaker. When he parted, Oscar had gone so far as to assure Marcus that the cover story in International Spirits would include one of the most glowing reviews he’d ever written. Ashley had saved Chambers Gin from utter disaster.

      More important, she’d saved Marcus from himself, which meant she’d kept him from gravely disappointing his father. In the process, he couldn’t think of a time he’d been more turned on by a woman. Because of her performance, her mind-numbing dress and the profound relief of having the interview behind him, he wanted only one thing—her, naked, in his bed.

      “I need to get you back to the city, and my apartment, now,” he said, collecting his suit jacket.

      “But your party...” she started, but he held his finger to her lips. That one touch made his blood circulate wildly and warmly.

      “Jo can take care of it. I need to take care of you.” He decisively flipped off the light in the tasting room. “Let’s get out of here.”

      They hurried to the limo after Marcus convinced his sister to take the reins for the rest of the night. He loosened his tie as soon as they were on the road. “You were amazing tonight, Ashley. Absolutely amazing. I’m not sure I could say anything to you that could match the performance you just gave.” He turned and took her hand, his vision drifting over her. She was so beautiful, inside and out, and hell if she didn’t manage to surprise him at every turn.

      “I couldn’t stand out in the hall and let you ruin your interview because of me. I had to do something.”

      He rubbed her fingers with his thumb. “But you heard those things he said about you. How did you keep from flying into a rage?”

      “People have said far worse things about me.”

      “But people love you. They adore you.”

      “Believe me, not everyone loves the Manhattan Matchmaker.”

      “The Manhattan Matchmaker didn’t save me from myself. You did. You walked into the room and faced Oscar’s ugly attitude. You turned everything on its head by being yourself.” The words were right there on the tip of his tongue, begging to burst forth. But would this be too fast for her? Considering her past with her ex, it might be too soon to tell her that he was falling for her, hard. He was falling in love with every last thing about her.

      “I couldn’t let you down,” she said.

      He shook his head. “I can’t imagine you letting me down.” His hand went to her jaw and he kissed her softly.

      “Are you sure you aren’t saying all of that because of the dress?”

      He laughed quietly. “There might not be much defense for that dress, but I’m sure it’s not that.” He placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. She turned into him, wrapping her arm around his waist. She gazed up into his face with those welcoming sable eyes of hers. She made him lose all sense of place when she looked at him like that. He committed every electric flicker in her eyes, every bat of her lashes to memory. Perhaps it was his brain’s way of distracting him from the way her presence resonated in his body, with a tremor and a low hum.

      She’s so incredible. And I’m a goner. His breaths became shallow. There was no way to suck in enough oxygen. Ashley was taking all there was to be had. Staying composed while he had her this close was a titanic task, but he didn’t want to start something salacious in the back of a car. He wanted to take her home, take off that dress and make love to her all night long.

      The lighter traffic at this late hour made it a quicker trip home. They rushed into the building and onto the elevator. The doors slid closed and Ashley practically flattened Marcus against the wall. “The way you were rubbing the fabric of this dress against my skin was killing me. Did you have to do it for the whole car ride?” She kissed him, tugging on his lower lip with her teeth at the end, drawing a guttural groan from the depths of his throat.

      He kissed her back, breathlessly. One hand dragged her dress up the length of her leg, craving the chance to touch her thigh. “Sounds like I’m in trouble.” His other hand was at her rib cage, caressing in circles, desperate for the moment he could take off her gown and have both hands all over her breasts.

      The elevator ding heralded their arrival on the eleventh floor. Even though the moment he’d been waiting for was hurtling at him, getting Ashley into his bed wasn’t happening fast enough. His pants were so tight he wasn’t sure how he was still breathing, let alone still upright. He grabbed Ashley’s hand and took impossibly long strides to get to his door. He hunched over, fiddling with his key. She rose to her tiptoes, chin nearly on his shoulder, breathing hot air against his ear and driving him insane. Finally the key went in.

      He wasted no time sweeping her into his arms, their lips tearing into each other. He turned her in circles, much like he had on the dance floor the night of her party. They twirled through the foyer, into the great room, down the hall as they worked at undressing him first—his tie, jacket and shirt were easily gone, left behind on the floor. He had her dress up around her waist by the time they were in his bedroom. Everything about Ashley had his body primed and hungry. He had to have her, body and soul, now. Heat raged inside him, his erection fierce and insistent.

      She raised her arms and he lifted the dress above her head. It felt as though he was revealing his reward, a prize he wanted all for himself. He gathered her wrists in one hand, her arms high, part of the dress bunched up around her hands, part of it draping down her back. Even in the near-dark of his room, her skin had its usual soft glow. He drank in her magnificently round beauty, all woman, all feminine mystique. He backed her to the bed and laid her down, clutching her wrists above her head.

      “Are you alright?” he asked, stealing a kiss.

      “Perfect,” she replied.

      He cupped one of her breasts, her velvety skin nearly melting into his hands, conforming to his fingers. Her nipples were an inviting rosy pink, pert and tight and sensitive. Every time his fingers got close to them, her skin flooded with warmth.

      He stood. “Don’t move. Keep your hands where they are.”

      She clutched the satin dress in her hands. “Whatever you want.”

      He shucked his pants and boxers, watching her as she watched him.

      “You’re magnificent with no clothes on. You know that, right?” she asked.

      “I’d say the same thing of you, darling.” He’d never craved a woman the way he did her, as if he could spend his lifetime exploring her, unlocking her mysteries, learning and admiring. “Can we keep your shoes on?” He stood with his knees pressed against the side of the bed and lifted her leg, holding her ankle, trailing the back of his other hand along her inner thigh.

      “You do realize they pinch my toes, right?”

      “They do?” he frowned. Damn. Next time. “We can’t have that.” He undid the tiny silver buckle and removed the shoe, placing it on the floor. He did the same with her other foot, then stretched out beside her.

      “I want to touch you,” she said, raising her head and craning her neck as if she was reaching for him with her lips. “Can I move my hands yet?”

      He rubbed her stomach. The parts of him driven by testosterone wanted her hands all over him. But his brain wanted her under his control for a few more minutes. “Not yet.”

      * * *

      Ashley’s heart was in her throat. Marcus was so hot when he was like this—taking charge, even bossing her around a little bit. It was probably why she’d never completely written