Heiress April Valenzuela has everything a girl could ask for--except love. But when her memory goes missing, she learns that all the money in her bank account won’t buy it back. Good thing she has hunky guitarist Zach Harris on hand to teach her everything she needs to know about love, from A to Z.
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The spicy aroma of pizza tickled my nose when Zach flipped the box open to hand me a second slice.
“Mmm.” I reached for it greedily. “Thank you.” Pizza was delicious, I decided, as I took a big bite.
The late afternoon sun moved slowly across Zach’s living room, gilding everything in its path with its warm, golden light. We lay on the couch; each of us propped up against one of the sofa’s arms; our legs entwined with one another along the seat. I took another bite and considered my situation. I felt a mass of contradictions at the moment; exhausted yet animated, happy and scared. I was lost. I was found. I was sated and spent. I was starving for more. What I should have been was sleepy--but I was too wound up to sleep.
After we’d finished in the bathroom, Zach had carried me into his bedroom, where he’d laid me on his bed and proceeded to make me scream several more times. By rights, I should have been depressed about that. At this rate, I was never going to make him my love slave.
You were never going to anyway, a tiny voice, way in the back of my mind, sneered at the very thought.
But, I didn’t know that. And, right now. I hoped the voice was wrong. I really hoped that, when I found out who I was, I would learn that I did belong in Zach’s strange world. That I was ‘his kind of woman’. And that I would find a way to make him my slave... at least part of the time.
Because, despite all the weirdness and uncertainty, despite having a lifetime memory that stretched back for all of about ten hours, at this precise instant, what I felt most of all was an underlying contentment. Some inner sense was telling me I hadn’t known too many moments like that in my life.
But I didn’t want to think about that. There was nothing I could do about it right now, anyhow. And, since that same inner sense was also saying this golden moment was not likely to last very long, I was determined to make the most of it while it was here. I took another bite of pizza and let everything else fall away.
Pizza, I thought, had to be the most perfect food ever invented, although, admittedly, my experience, at present, wasn’t all that wide. And pizza and beer together--now that was surely an unbeatable combination.
“What do you call this stuff again?” I asked, picking a small, white blob off the top of my slice and popping it in my mouth. Creamy and warm with a distinct salt tang, I loved the way it melted on my tongue.
Zach smiled. “That’s Feta cheese. You like it?”
“Mmm.” It reminded me of sex. “And the green stuff underneath?”
“Pesto. Basil, garlic, olive oil...I don’t know what else.”
“It’s good.” Pesto tasted earthy and pungent. It reminded me of sex, too.
“Yep,” Zach sighed, sounding pretty content, himself. “Green pizza and red beer. It doesn’t get much better than that.”
Nodding agreement, I leaned down and retrieved my bottle from the floor. After taking a sip I smacked my lips. “Delicious.” But it was better than that; really. It was refreshing in a dark, vibrant, exciting sort of way; like a cool, wet, never-ending kiss...
Come to think of it, everything reminded me of sex just now, even the soft cheese that was layered beneath the pesto. Soft, stretchy, springy; it brought to mind the tender sac that held Zach’s balls.
I moved my foot a little, stretching my leg as far as it would reach, until my sole was pressed against the bulge at Zach’s crotch. I rubbed him with my heel, back and forth in a little semi-circle, testing to see how much of that soft springiness I could feel through the denim of his jeans.
“Hey.” Zach swatted at my foot. “Cut it out. Stop that.”
He looked amused, however, rather than annoyed, so I decided not to take him seriously. I scrunched up my toes and pressed harder. “Stop what?”
Mischief gleaming in his eyes, he swallowed the last bite of his pizza and put down his bottle. “You’re really asking for it, aren’t you?”
Was I? I nibbled at the edge of my own pizza while I considered the matter. Truth was, I was feeling a little tired. “Not just right now, thanks. Maybe later.”
“That’s what you think.” Shifting backwards suddenly, so that he was out of my foot’s reach, Zach swung his legs over mine.
I sucked in a quick breath when his big toe nudged my pussy. I was pinned beneath his legs, naked under the pink robe. A thin layer of satin was all that separated my most sensitive flesh from his marauding foot. Heat spread through me at the thought, along with a faint trace of alarm. “Zach, don’t.”
“Don’t... what?” he mocked, using his other foot to spread my legs apart.
Tears stung my eyes as laughter competed with nerves. I still wasn’t completely sure I could trust him, after all, and with pizza in one hand, beer in the other, what could I use to defend myself if things turned rough? My elbows? Ha. But, even so, desire curled in my belly. My nipples peaked. I felt anxious, vulnerable... and almost more excited than I could stand. “Please...”
“You know I like it when you beg,” Zach murmured as his toe massaged my clit. Then his smile widened. His eyes met mine and breathing became that much harder, I could tell he was feeling the same thing I was: my juices soaking through the satin. “You like it too, don’t you?”
His voice alone made my clit throb, so intense it was almost painful, reminding me I was feeling more than a little sore. I shook my head. “No.”
“No?” All movement stopped. Zach froze, looking startled.
My sex pulsed, mourning the loss of his heat, already missing his toe’s tormenting pressure. Screw the soreness. I rocked my hips, trying to rub myself against his foot.
Laughter rumbled from his throat; low, sexy, triumphant. “Liar.” Still laughing, he lifted his legs from mine and pulled away from me completely.
“Pig,” I muttered, feeling bereft, abandoned, frustrated. My chest heaved and I briefly considered which one to hurl at his head--the pizza or the beer--until Zach solved the problem for me by removing both from my hands and then pulling me down on top of him.
“You are such a nut,” he murmured holding me still so he could kiss me.
“Takes one to know one,” I replied straddling his legs and stretching out on top of him. No question about it, I liked being on top; liked the feel of his body, broad and strong, laid out beneath me; liked the feel of his big hands cupping my head, his fingers tangling in my hair.
His lips were warm. He tasted of beer and pizza and male. Did all guys taste this good, or was it just him? I sank my teeth into his bottom lip, frustrated by the fact that there didn’t seem to be any way to get enough of him.
“Ow.” Zach’s hands closed on my shoulders. “What’d you do that for?” He held me away from him while his tongue snaked out to explore the damage to his lower lip.
“I like the way you taste,” I explained, feeling completely unapologetic as I braced my hands on his chest and gazed down at him. It was his own fault, after all. He didn’t have to taste that good.