Making Him Want It. Renee Luke

      APHRODISIA

      KENSINGTON BOOKS

       http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

      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

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      Chapter 22

      Chapter 23

      Chapter 24

      Chapter 25

      Chapter 26

      Chapter 27

      Chapter 1

      Jamal James sank back into his leather office chair, smoothed both palms over his clean–shaven head, then laced his fingers behind his neck. Staring at the strategic placement of the photos spread across his desk, he tried to decide if he wanted to accept the model as a client.

      While his primary focus was as a literary agent, a few years back he’d started taking on models to go along with the sexy stories his headliner wrote.

      The models and other authors offered him chump change compared to what his super–star brought in. Kat Mason and her skilled way with words had him living in luxury. But it wasn’t only the hefty contracts with five of the largest men’s magazines in the world that made him value Kat as a client.

      Her humble, almost innocent demeanor over their extensive email relationship had left him baffled. Part sexy talker. Part girl–next–door. While never having met in person, thanks to her plentitude of ready excuses, their author–agent bond had progressed to a point where he felt comfortable telling her about the hard–ons he’d get reading her work.

      By the twentieth of each month, he found himself checking his email hourly, so rocked–up to read what she’d sent him. Forgetting the pictures of the man posing nude on his desk, he turned toward his computer, right clicking twice on his internet connection.

      Damn!

      His email was filled with nothing but unsolicited submissions. Nothing from Kat. Sliding a hand from behind his head, he moved to the aroused flesh held in check beneath his expensive trousers. He adjusted himself, making room for the expanded length, and released a low and hungry groan. He’d long since imagined a body and face to go with Kat’s submissions and emails, a fantasy that left him breathing hard and downright horny.

      “You about ready, JJ?” Kent asked, strolling into Jamal’s office. He glanced at his watch, his eyes widening when he caught sight of the sprawled male model photos gracing the surface of the mahogany desk.

      Knowing where this was going, Jamal willed away his erection but the blood didn’t vacate as quickly as it took residence. Following Kent’s eyes, he saw when his colleague dipped his gaze from the desk to his lap, where Jamal’s flagpole was standing.

      Kent roared with laughter.

      Great! Just what I need. Some loudmouth over–sexed player thinking a man’s photos turns me on.

      “You swinging that way now, JJ? No wonder you take on men when no one else in the office does, besides Rebecca.” Kent laughed harder, his mouth opening wide enough that one of his gold fillings reflected the overhead light. “Do you eat Fruit Loops and keep lube in the shower?”

      “Screw you, Kent.”

      “You wish.”

      Jamal tightened his fists. Sometimes the only way to shut up punks like Kent was to smash them in the mouth, giving him a reason for gold caps on his teeth. Kent was a pompous ass who wore three–thousand dollar designer suits daily and went to the barber three times a week to keep his fade lined up. Certainly not worth losing his temper over, despite being irritated.

      Sliding his chair forward, concealing his lap beneath the shadow of the desk, Jamal swept the pictures into a stack and set them aside, ignoring Kent’s continued laughter and barbs.

      “Come on, JJ, you get hard looking at a guy? You sure you’re a man?”

      “More man than you,” Jamal replied, keeping his tone light despite the growing anger.

      Kent lifted his arms to the side and bucked his hips suggestively. “Yeah, I got women beggin’ for this. A different woman every night if I want. Sometimes two.”

      Every man’s fantasy.

      Every man but him. He longed for a woman he’d never seen. Forbidden flesh—his client—Kat Mason. But her passionate words on the computer screen were about as tangible as smoke. You can feel its effects on your body, but you can’t hold it, sink into it, or relieve your aching flesh when you’re gasping for breath.

      “When was the last time you fucked?”

      Kent’s question tugged Jamal from his thoughts. It’d been a while, but there was no way in hell he was admitting it. Not to this fool.

      “I get it when I want it.” Jamal shrugged his shoulders. Sure, pulling in hot women had never been a problem for him, thanks to the gene pool that had made him an image duplicate of his father, “Player of the Century,” as far as Jamal was concerned. His father’s apartment had been like a revolving door, more women going through than turnstiles at Grand Central Station.

      He’d dipped into his fair share of chicks when he was younger, but sex for sex had grown boring and despite what others might think, predictable. He just wasn’t into wham–bam don’t–call–again nights. He’d matured out of it.

      “Come on. This club has the finest female flesh you’ll ever see.” Kent blew air between his teeth. “I mean hot.”

      Not like this punk. Jamal snickered at Kent. Some leopards can’t change their spots. Getting to his feet, he tossed the stack of pictures into the reject bin. The model didn’t have the goods needed to make it in the sex industry, when looks and size were everything.

      “Yeah. Let’s get out of here. It’s hours past shut down time.” Glancing once more at his computer screen, hoping to see a new incoming message from Kat, he rolled his shoulders to ease the mounting tension. Nothing. Hopefully by Monday, she’d give him exactly what he needed.

      He flicked the switch, shutting it down for the weekend. Moving toward the door, he tossed his jacket over his forearm and turned off the overhead fluorescent lighting. Kent tagged along at his heels.

      “What’s the club called?”

      “Night Kitty. You’ll soon see why,” Kent said, rubbing a hand over his chin. “You can get more pussy there than an alley cat.”

      “I’m just going for a couple of beers. I’m not into picking up strangers at bars.” They walked down the dimly lit deserted hallways of the office building. This late on a Friday they’d be lucky to see a janitor still about.

      “You