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Last night, my man-­crazy roommate was giggling over the new guy in three-­eleven north. The previous occupant was a gray-­haired, bowtie-­wearing tax auditor, his luxurious accommodations supplied by Nicolas. The most exciting thing he ever did was drink his tea on the balcony.
According to Cyndi, the new occupant is a delicious piece of man candy—­tattooed, buff, and head-­to-­toe lickable. He was completing armcurls outside, and she enthusiastically counted his reps, oohing and aahing over his bulging biceps, calling to me to take a look.
I resisted that temptation, focusing on making macaroni and cheese for the two of us, the recipe snagged from the diner my mom works in. After we scarfed down dinner, Cyndi licking her plate clean, she left for the club and hasn’t returned.
Three-­eleven north is the mirror condo to ours. I straighten the telescope. That position looks about right, but then, the imitation UGGs I bought in my second year of college looked about right also. The first time I wore the boots in the rain, the sheepskin fell apart, leaving me barefoot in Economics 201.
Unwilling to risk Cyndi’s friendship on “about right,” I gaze through the eyepiece. The view consists of rippling golden planes, almost like . . .
Tanned skin pulled over defined abs.
I blink. It can’t be. I take another look. A perfect pearl of perspiration clings to a puckered scar. The drop elongates more and more, stretching, snapping. It trickles downward, navigating the swells and valleys of a man’s honed torso.
No. I straighten. This is wrong. I shouldn’t watch our sexy neighbor as he stands on his balcony. If anyone catches me . . .
Parts 1 – 6 available now!
An Excerpt from
RETURN TO CLAN SINCLAIR
A Clan Sinclair Novella
by Karen Ranney
When Ceana Sinclair Mead married the youngest son of an Irish duke, she never dreamed that seven years later her beloved Peter would die. Her three brothers-­in-­law think she should be grateful to remain a proper widow. After th
ree years of this, she’s ready to scream. She escapes to Scotland, only to discover she’s so much more than just the Widow Mead.
In Scotland, Ceana crosses paths with Bruce Preston, an American tasked with a dangerous mission by her brother, Macrath. Bruce is too attractive for her peace of mind, but she still finds him fascinating. Their one night together is more wonderful than Ceana could have imagined, and she has never felt more alive.
THE DARKNESS WAS nearly absolute, leaving her no choice but to stretch her hands out on either side of her, fingertips brushing against the stone walls. The incline was steep, further necessitating she take her time. Yet at the back of her mind was the last image she had of Carlton, his bright impish grin turning to horror as he glanced down.
The passage abruptly ended in a mushroom-­shaped cavern. This was the grotto she’d heard so much about, with its flue in the middle and its broad, wide window looking out over the beach and the sea. She raced to the window, hopped up on the sill nature had created over thousands of years and leaned out.
A naked man reached up, grabbed Carlton as he fell. After he lowered the boy to the sand, he turned and smiled at her.
Carlton was racing across the beach, glancing back once or twice to see if he was indeed free. The rope made of sheets was hanging limply from his window.
The naked man was standing there with hands on his hips, staring at her in full frontal glory.
She hadn’t seen many naked men, the last being her husband. The image in front of her now was so startling she couldn’t help but stare. A smile was dawning on the stranger’s full lips, one matched by his intent brown eyes. No, not quite brown, were they? They were like the finest Scottish whiskey touched with sunlight.
Her gaze danced down his strong and corded neck to broad shoulders etched with muscle. His chest was broad and muscled as well, tapering down to a slim waist and hips.
Even semiflaccid, his manhood was quite impressive.
The longer she watched, the more impressive it became.
What on earth was a naked man doing on Macrath’s beach?
To her utter chagrin, the stranger turned and presented his backside to her, glancing over his shoulder to see if she approved of the sight.
She withdrew from the window, cheeks flaming. What on earth had she been doing? Who was she to gawk at a naked man as if she’d never before seen one?
Now that she knew Carlton was going to survive his escape, she should retreat immediately to the library.
“You’d better tell Alistair his brother’s gotten loose again. Are you the new governess?”