It's A Wonderfully Sexy Life Read Online Free PDF Page A

side of his neck, she whispered, “Tell me this is real, that I’m not dreaming.”
    “Oh, baby, if you are then I’m dreaming, too, and I definitely don’t want to wake up.” He slid a broad-palmed hand upward from her waist to brush the tip of her breast.
    Oh my God . Arching against him, Mandy wrapped her arms around his neck and held on for dear life as those hands—big, powerful, long-fingered hands that somehow managed the trick of staying warm without gloves—worked their magic on her breasts, knuckles and thumbs teasing her nipples to exquisite awareness, a state that had nothing to do with the cold. Because even though the temperature must be dipping well below twenty, Mandy had never felt so hot, so wet, or so alive in all her years. And if the hard ridge of jeans-clad erection pressing into her was any indication, her “partner in crime” was feeling pretty lively, too.
    Wrenching his mouth away, he pulled back to look at her. “Sorry, but I just had to do that.” Gaze holding hers, he hesitated. “Actually, I’m not really all that sorry.” He took another deep breath and admitted, “Actually, I’m not sorry at all.” The sheepish bad-boy look he sent her had her heart skipping beats and the wetness seeping through the crotch of her silk panties.
    She ran her tongue over her bottom lip, sensitized from the contrast between cold air and hot kisses, and admitted, “I’m not sorry, either.” If she was sorry about anything, it was that they were stopping.
    He lifted her chin on the edge of his hand. Thumb stroking the edge, he said, “Then come home with me. Along with making great coffee, I make amazing cinnamon rolls and a pretty decent spinach-and-feta omelet.”
    Mandy stared up at him, his tousled hair backlit by ambient light, his chiseled features a mask of shadows, and realized she was more tempted to say yes than ever before in her life. She’d never before engaged in casual sex, let alone a one-night stand, but an encounter with a sexy stranger had been figuring into her fantasy life more and more of late. Josh didn’t exactly qualify as a stranger, but she’d only known him a couple of hours. Even so, in many ways she felt more connected to him than she did many of the friends she’d grown up with, which was crazy when she considered she didn’t even know his last name let alone why he’d decided to up and move from Boston to Baltimore. If she took him up on his invitation, she’d likely find out the answer to that question and so much more—what the hard body wrapped around hers looked like beneath his clothes; how and where he liked to be touched, tasted, sucked; what his favorite positions were and how he moved in bed…slow and steady or fast and hard or some combination of the two.
    But tomorrow wasn’t just any day. It was Christmas. She tried to imagine waking up in a stranger’s bed on Christmas morning and then slinking home in the wee hours before her family stirred, sin oozing from her every pore, and somehow she just couldn’t. Yet standing before her was the hands-down best Christmas gift she’d ever gotten even if it—he—didn’t come wrapped in a bow.
    She stepped back from his embrace, her every corpuscle quivering like the Jell-O cubes she’d starved herself on as a teenager. “I like you, Josh. I like you a lot. I like kissing you and well, I’m pretty sure I’d like doing, um…other things with you, too but…” In the wake of his steady-on gaze, her voice trailed off, small and weak and anything but sophisticated and self-assured.
    The corners of his mouth flattened. “But?”
    “Well, tomorrow is Christmas and my folks are…well, kind of traditional.” Talk about an understatement. She might as well say the Pope was kind of Catholic.
    He shook his head, his hair mussed from the wind and her fingers. “You’re right. I was being selfish. Of course you’d have plans.” He looked sad suddenly, and she was reminded that in all likelihood he