Secret Games. Jeanie London
“We need some sort of game plan, Sam.”
Maggie’s words tumbled from her lips in a nervous rush. “Some strategy to find what I’m looking for.”
“I know exactly what I’m looking for.” His voice husky and sure, Sam crowded her against the wall.
His touch was so warm, so startling, she could only stand there motionless. He hooked his thumbs beneath her chin and nudged her face upward. She caught the slight smile curving his mouth as his face lowered, pressing soft kisses along her neck. His breath lingered around her ear, doing crazy things to her insides.
This couldn’t be happening. This was Sam. Her best friend, Sam.
Sam who was suddenly trailing a path of fire down her jaw with his warm velvet mouth. Sam who was suddenly kissing her. Sam whose mouth was hot, sweet…intense. And demanding.
“We’re not going to pretend to be a couple,” he whispered, that delectable mouth just a hairbreadth away. “We’re going to be a real couple…sex and all.” He brushed her lips with his. “And it’s going to be incredible. Trust me.”
Dear Reader,
Somehow it always works out that my family and friends jet-set around the globe while I remain at home, waiting to “ooh” and “aah” over the photographs of their trips. Just this thing happened—yet again!—when my cousin Marietta returned from Niagara Falls. I “oohed” over the magic of the falls—which even one-dimensional was pretty awesome—and “aahed” over her journey into the mist wearing a raincoat, and understood why so many lovers visit there. I wanted to visit, too.
Enter Maggie and Sam. Maggie’s a woman who’s not afraid to follow her instincts, no matter where they may lead—even if she winds up in Niagara Falls observing the effects of sensual games on lovers. Sam’s a man who knows exactly what he wants, and observing sensual games isn’t on his wish list. Not when he could be playing them with Maggie.
Blaze is the place to explore red-hot romance, and I’m excited to join the ranks of wonderful Harlequin authors who share their inspired journeys to happily ever after. I hope Secret Games brings you there, too. Let me know. Drop me a line in care of Harlequin Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada. Or visit my Web site at www.jeanielondon.com.
Very truly yours,
Jeanie London
P.S. Check out the special Blaze Web site at www.tryblaze.com!
Secret Games
Jeanie London
For my very own romance hero, Rick—always.
And a special thanks to Brenda Chin
for believing in my story, and me ;-)
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
Epilogue
1
SEX HAD CURED THEM?
The question played over and over again in Maggie James’s mind as she left her office. She nodded at a passing colleague, plastered a smile on her face even though she knew the blush scorching her cheeks spoiled the effect.
Sex had really cured them?
Blushing was not a normal state of affairs for Maggie. First off, it was prickly, uncomfortable business. Second, she was a relationship counselor. As such, she spent her days listening to the most intimate details of her patients’ lives and had long ago learned to school her reactions to unexpected revelations. This, coupled with her own rather…expansive relationship history, meant Maggie didn’t blush easily.
But she was blushing now. No, not because she was embarrassed. She wasn’t. Astonished, maybe. Perplexed, definitely. She’d thought the Weatherbys’ relationship suffered from the result of too much stress, but apparently they’d been suffering from a lull in their sex life, instead.
How could she have misdiagnosed such an obvious problem?
Maggie didn’t have a handy answer. She’d spent her three years in practice establishing herself as a competent therapist; in fact, her more experienced colleagues often consulted her about family counseling—dealing with blended families, divorce, children and the like.
Fanning her face with the brochure she clutched tightly in her fist, Maggie swept down the empty hallway, chanting, “Maintain, maintain, maintain.”
Just because the Weatherbys had spent their abbreviated therapy session answering her questions while groping each other like two unsupervised teens was no reason to come unglued.
Maybe not, but Maggie sure felt the aftereffects of witnessing their passion at such close range.
The switchboard droned behind her, and the buzz of voices from the reception area suggested a busy night. With so many people working long hours nowadays, she and the other counselors who made up Baltimore Healthcare adjusted their schedules accordingly.
Thankfully, she wasn’t pulling a late night. She honestly didn’t know if she could regroup sufficiently to see patients right now.
A sharp rap on the door marked Lyn Milhausser, Ph.D., earned her a quick invitation inside, and Maggie found her friend and mentor seated behind the desk, poring over the contents of several manila file folders.
Lyn was intimately acquainted with the details of all Maggie’s cases, not only because she’d been Baltimore Healthcare’s program coordinator for well over a decade, but also because she’d supervised Maggie’s college internship.
They’d grown close, becoming self-proclaimed sisters by love, if not by blood. Lyn had hired Maggie before the ink had dried on her diploma, and if anyone could help her sort through this mess, it was Lyn, whose years of counseling experience had always steered Maggie in the right direction.
“Sex cured them,” Maggie said, and the explanation sounded absurd, even in the unbiased quiet of Lyn’s office.
“Excuse me?” Lyn glanced up, but her welcoming smile quickly faded. “You look ruffled. Is everything all right?”
Maggie considered the question, then sank into the winged armchair before the desk. “No. Everything’s not all right. I just finished my last session with the Weatherbys.”
“They’ve resolved their issues, then. How wonderful.”
“Not exactly.”
“Not exactly?”
Meeting Lyn’s confused stare, Maggie elaborated. “What was supposed to have been a normal session turned into a ten-minute explanation of why they no longer needed relationship counseling. Judging by how neither of them could keep their hands off each other for even that short time, I didn’t bother trying to convince them otherwise.”
“They claim sex is responsible for their recovery?”
“Not just