All Through the Night Read online

  Stranger in Her Bed

  Once on the cutting edge of her profession, software designer Kerry Houston is now a recluse, terrified of the outside world. She works from home, and one day encounters the man of her fantasies—in a video game! What will she do when her sexy dream man knocks on her locked door?

  No Mercy

  Seven years after her spontaneous marriage spontaneously combusted, Regan Torrance is a little older, a little wiser, and a lot smarter about what she wants—and doesn’t want. So when her ex-husband, Bobby, comes sauntering back into her life, as a dangerous and sexy as ever, she’s not about to bet burned again. But that doesn’t mean Regan doesn’t like to play with fire —and this time, she’s really going to turn up he heat …

  Satisfy Me

  When a sophisticated sex shop opens in their small town, Asia Michaels and her friends find themselves fascinated by its sensual possibilities. And now it’s time for Truth and Dare… Asia is about to meet the man who holds the key to her fantasies—and to desires she never even knew she had …

  Something Wild

  It started out as a not-so-innocent flirtation, but Annie Simon can’t resist the powerful man on the motorcycle… or his tantalizing erotic promises. Long-haired and leather-clad, Jacob Kerr is strong, sexy, and determined to give her the ultimate lesson in pleasure, if she’s willing. And all she can say is yes…

  * * *

  All Through the Night

  Suzanne Forster

  &

  Thea Devine

  &

  Lori Foster

  &

  Shannon McKenna

  Bad Boys Book 1

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  * * *

  Brava

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  BRAVA books are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  850 Third Avenue

  New York, NY 10022

  Copyright © 2001 by Kensington Publishing Corp.

  “Stranger in Her Bed” copyright © 2001 by Suzanne Forster

  “No Mercy” copyright © 2001 by Thea Devine

  “Satisfy Me” copyright © 2001 by Lori Foster

  “Something Wild” copyright © 2001 by Shannon McKenna

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  All Kensington titles, imprints and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fund-raising, educational or institutional use.

  Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Special Sales Manager: Kensington Publishing Corp., 850 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10022. Attn. Special Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

  Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  Brava and the B logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.

  ISBN: 1-57566-869-6

  First Kensington Trade Paperback Printing: October 2001

  10 987654321

  Printed in the United States of America

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  Contents

  Stranger in Her Bed

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  No Mercy

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Satisfy Me

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Epilogue

  Something Wild

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  * * *

  * * *

  Stranger in Her Bed

  by

  Suzanne Forster

  Prologue

  Contents - Next

  “Admit it, Kerry. You’d love to have your toes sucked.”

  “Admit I’d love wha—? I don’t remember saying I’d love that—them—sucked. My toes, I mean.”

  “Just for the sake of discussion, let’s say you would. How do you think it would feel?”

  Kerry Houston took a quick, furtive sip of her wine. They’d been building toward a moment like this all evening, and it had been all she could do to fight the seductive pull of his voice, especially when it dropped to those sexy lower registers and got all fuzzy and intimate. He’d been given unfair advantage, she decided. He’d been blessed with an instrument that could give a woman the shivering fits and send her running in search of her vibrator.

  Only Kerry didn’t have a vibrator.

  She shifted in the chair, tugging at her silk kimono. Her town house was drafty and normally she went to bed in three sets of flannel. But before they started this little adventure of his, he’d casually suggested a dark candlelit room, loose, comfortable clothing and a glass of wine to relax her. Now she knew why.

  How would it feel? Wet, warm, slippery, strange…

  “Squishy?” she ventured.

  “Squishy… works.” He didn’t sound too sure. “Would your toes prefer a man or a woman?”

  “They’d prefer a podiatrist.”

  Kerry got no reaction to her diversionary tactics. No reaction at all. This guy was hard to fluster, and even harder to sidetrack. He seemed as bent on finding her soft spots— literally—as a grand master chess player was on winning a tournament, but a grand master didn’t have this guy’s focus.

  “And would you like this fantasy man to remove your shoes and stockings?” he asked. “Perhaps massage your feet and individually stimulate each toe? Using a decadent chocolate ganache syrup, of course.”

  “Did we ever establish that I wanted my toes sucked?”

  “Shhhhh… can you hear that, Kerry? Can you hear how hard your heart is beating?”

  All she could hear was a faint beeping noise that sounded like her cordless phone when it was low on batteries.

  “Did you answer my question?” she persisted.

  “If not your toes, then something else? Fingers, earlobes, elbows, kneecaps, pipkin?”

  “Pipkin? Isn’t that an apple?”

  “Kerry,” he admonished gently, “the more open and receptive you are, the better this will be. Breathe and let yourself go; imagine that you’re floating on a warm water bed and that your every whim and caprice is being indulged. Anything you wish is yours. Whatever you secretly desire in life has already imprinted itself on you. All you have to do is recognize its existence.”

  He hesitated, letting her float, letting her float…

  “It’s true, Kerry. Pleasure beyond anything you can imagine awaits you. Beyond anything, if you’re willing…”

  Kerry’s eyelids were starting to flutter, among other things. The effect he had on her was strangely hypnotic. It was like listening to the music of a dark melodic river. Soothing, and yet there was a single grain of sand in it that gently abraded her senses. It kept her mesmerized. And more importantly, he was right. She ought to at least try to answer his questions. That was the point of this exercise.

  “I’ve never thought of my toes as erogenous zones,” she said, absently aware of the soft beeping. It seemed to keep pace
with her heart, her breathing.

  “Well, then, we’ll have to find some that are.”

  “Zones? Erogenous? I don’t think I have any.”

  “Sure you do. The body is one big zone, a veritable playground. There’s the back of the knees, the insides of the wrists, the breasts, and of course, the lips, both sets. Are your lips very sensitive?”

  Both sets? Kerry’s eyes sprang open to a dark, candlelit room. Her stomach was falling through a hole in the earth to New Zealand. “Maybe we should stick to the toes? I think I can feel something tingling.” And for sure it wasn’t her toes.

  “Tingling?” He laughed, and the sound was low-down, steamy sex personified.

  “Tingling is good,” he said. “Just imagine how it would feel to have the soles of your feet massaged with warm, scented lotion and some nice sharp knuckles, gently working out the knots along the ball. Would you like that?”

  She was weakening. Of course she would. Was he crazy?

  “Feel the deep pressure on your arch and the firm palms of my hand, working both sides of your foot, kneading, pleating with my thumbs. How do you like to be touched? In your fantasies, how does it happen—lightly, firmly?”

  “I don’t think I have fantasies.”

  “Of course, you do. Everyone has erogenous zones and fantasies. Let your mind run free, Kerry… Visualize a man who becomes aroused at the mere sight of you, magnificently aroused. And say this man is naked so he can’t hide his burgeoning desire. Maybe he’s a servant and you’re a princess.”

  Kerry rather liked the aroused-at-the-mere-sight-of-her part, but she wasn’t sure what one did with a naked serving man when he wasn’t serving.

  “Hmm, not much reaction there,” he said. “Is your finger properly positioned, Kerry?”

  She blushed and nodded, hoping he couldn’t see her.

  “Was that a yes?” he prompted.

  “Oh, sorry, yes. It was a yes. My finger is… you know.”

  “I do know. Relax now, Kerry, breathe… see yourself flying across a field in a sheer white nightgown… you’re being chased down by a highwayman on a horse, who drops to the ground when he reaches you, rips open his breeches and passionately takes you against a huge tree.”

  Oh .. . my… oh … a ravishment fantasy.

  “Anything?” he asked.

  “Nope,” was all she could manage. If she’d said more, something would have leaped out of her mouth, probably her heart.

  “Then how about this one; how about a man who’s tall, dark and sexier than sin, and he’s right behind you, whispering naughty things in your ear while you’re waiting in line at the bank.”

  Kerry was about to protest when it became apparent that the beeping sounds were not her cordless telephone. They rang out like chimes, and they were keeping time with her heart. Her wild heart.

  Did she want someone to whisper naughty things in her ear?

  “Well, of course, that depends on the man,” she said, feigning aplomb. But naturally, it didn’t work. Nothing worked. The chimes had become a chorus and were in danger of being drowned out by buzzing and pinging noises. What in the world was going on?

  “I think we’ve touched a nerve,” he said softly.

  His irony seemed to generate more sound and fury. Whoops and flashes of light made it look like there was a pinball machine in the room.

  “What does this noise mean?” she asked.

  “It means you do have fantasies, Kerry. Hot ones. That finger glove you’re wearing is registering your vital signs and giving you feedback.”

  The translucent sheath on her index finger was wired into her computer, much like her mouse and audio speakers were, but Kerry had forgotten all about it until he asked. Apparently it was measuring more than her heart rate. Good thing it couldn’t read her mind. The machine would go up in smoke.

  “Fortunately, I can take care of that,” he said.

  “What?” She sat straight up in the chair. “What are you going to take care of?”

  “I’m going to take care of you, Kerry. I’m going to devise the perfect fantasy for you. The one you’ve been waiting for, the one you don’t want anyone to know about. Your deepest secret, your deepest need, your deepest desire. I’m going to give them all to you.”

  The game began to wail like a police siren.

  Kerry made an instant executive decision. “Go to sleep,” she said, pulling off the finger glove and tossing it onto her desk.

  “Kerry, you understand what happens when you voice that command. The game will be over.”

  “Yes, I have to… please, that’s it for tonight.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Go to sleep.” Kerry repeated the command firmly, knowing he wouldn’t obey otherwise. As a backup she positioned the mouse and aimed the arrow at an icon in the upper corner of her computer screen. It had the image of a man snoozing, a vapor trail of Zzzzzzzzs above him and one word below him, SLEEP.

  She clicked the mouse and fell back against the chair, watching the computer screen go dark. “Whew,” she whistled softly. “Now that was some video game! Maybe I shouldn’t have set the Sensuality Level so high.”

  She’d been a game tester for Genesis Software for a few months now, but this was by far the best idea they’d ever sent her for their new adult line. It was an interactive voice recognition game, and it felt like the game guide, otherwise known as Mr. Quick-Where’s-My-Vibrator, was right there in the room with her.

  She grabbed her legal pad and began jotting notes.

  I love this game! It’s like foreplay only more convenient. You can stop whenever you want to and throw in a load of wash.

  Her next tip was crucial.

  There’s just one thing missing. Your game guide needs a face to go with that voice. Maybe a body, too. Oh, my, yes! Let’s give our customers the full experience.

  When Kerry was done making notes, she fell back in the chair and actually giggled. She hadn’t done that in a long time. There had been nothing resembling whimsy in her life for some time now. But, crazy as it seemed, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a new man on the horizon, and that something was about to happen. It felt like the heavens had opened and dropped him into her lap. Of course, that was ridiculous, she told herself. What the heavens had dropped was a compact disk.

  She picked up the silky finger glove and felt a sharp little quiver of anticipation at the mere thought of slipping it on. Or was it foreboding? Whatever it was, she dropped the sheath like a hot potato.

  “For heaven’s sake, girl, get a grip. It’s a game. It’s only a game.”

  * * *

  Chapter One

  Contents - Prev | Next

  Kerry stared at the front door of her house as if it had the power to reach out and grab her. She was bundled up like a linebacker, both for the winter weather and for defensive purposes. She had a mission to accomplish out there in the cold, cold world, but she hadn’t gotten any further than this impasse with her door. No surprise there. She hadn’t been out of her house in days, maybe weeks.

  “The only thing to fear is fear itself,” she intoned, wishing she knew who’d come up with that line. Obviously not someone who lived in her neighborhood.

  She yanked her fur trapper hat down tight, snapped the earflaps under her chin and checked her parka pockets. The pepper spray and police whistle were there, but she wasn’t sure what good they would do her. You needed an armed tank for this neighborhood. Just the thought of venturing out made her so nervous she’d seen a psychologist recently, and the woman had told her it was no surprise she was a little paranoid. She had reason.

  Kerry lived in an area that had once been the pride of south Philly, but lately the neighborhood had been under siege. A pack of young thugs had moved into the “hood” and claimed it as theirs. Kerry herself had been mugged twice, and the attacks had left her feeling terribly vulnerable.

  She should have moved months ago, when the area started going downhill, but her quaint red
-brick town house had been left to her by her grandparents, whom she’d adored. They’d taken her in and raised her when it became clear that her single mom—their only daughter, Paula— wasn’t financially or emotionally able to take care of a child. Freed of that burden, Paula had gone off in search of herself, and Kerry had rarely seen her mother after that. Her grandparents were the only real family she knew.

  A loud rap on the door startled her out of her reflections.

  “Kerry, it’s Malcolm! Are you in there?”

  Kerry struggled to calm her drumming heart. Malcolm lived in the studio above the garage in the back. He was her new tenant, and a sweet guy for the most part, but his mind was a Nintendo game. He actually thought that cell phones and Palm Pilots were part of a government plot to spy on the citizenry. The way he scrutinized Kerry’s computer equipment, she assumed that was suspect, too. She had him pegged for a conspiracy theorist and maybe a technophobe. Of course, she hadn’t figured that out until after she’d rented him the room.

  “Hold on, Malcolm,” she called out. “It may take me a minute.”

  The floor seemed to roll beneath Kerry’s feet as she started for the door. Her face was flushed, and the way her pulse was skittering, she wasn’t at all certain she was going to get there. A little paranoid? She couldn’t seem to walk. Or talk. It felt like something was caught in her throat— probably her heart. And by the time she did get to the door, her palms were so slippery she couldn’t get traction on the knob.

  She lived on a side street, but traffic noise roared in her ears as she opened the door a crack.

  “Are you okay, Kerry?”

  Malcolm’s brow was furrowed with concern. He was wearing his navy pea coat and knit cap, as always, and his luxurious beard reminded her of the fisherman’s in the Gorton’s ad. He had the guy’s great baritone voice, too, except that Malcolm appeared to be at least twenty years younger. His eyes were a surreal delft blue, and there wasn’t a line on his face, despite hair as snowy as the deep drifts outside.