Stroke Of Midnight by Ana Aragon

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  • When newly appointed U.S. Attorney Ro Garcia agreed to waitress for her sister's big catering job, she had no idea she would run into the biggest mistake of her life—Jake Anderson.

    The musician from her past is hot, hunky and oh-so-handy, and the current of sexual tension between them hasn't dissipated one megawatt. Newly divorced, she's finally ready to work him out of her system with a weekend of no-holds-barred sex and picks romantic Santa Fe, New Mexico as the perfect, out of the way location for their passionate rendezvous.

    Though ready, willing, and able to burn up the sheets with Ro, Jake has every intention of convincing her he's after more than her luscious body and the hot, passionate sex she's offering. But secrets have a way of getting out, and lies surface that threaten to tear them apart. Is Jake destined to lose the love of his life once again? Or can he convince Ro things are seldom as they seem?

    Rated 2 Roses

    This title contains: explicit language, anal play/sex, menáge (m/f/m, f/m/f), BDSM, light bondage, exhibitionism, voyeurism.

    Miniature Rose (24823 words)



    A slow grin crossed his face as if finally realizing the effect he was having on her. His hand reached overhead, and he braced himself against a shelf to give her space, but that only served to magnify his presence in the small room. "Okay. So I'm making a delivery."

    The atmosphere tingled with electricity, and her pulse beat faster, dampening her skin from head to toe. She wiped the sweat beading on her forehead with the back of her hand and nodded at the bowls on the shelf, waving her fingertips in a sweeping motion toward the closed door. "Done. You can leave now."

    He looked over his shoulder, then back, his gaze sliding down her shirt, her pants, then back to lock with hers. She felt like a marshmallow on the end of a wire coat hanger, a mere inch from red hot coals. Hiss.

    "I have a feeling your sister made my exit quite impossible," he said, his voice soft and deliberate, his gaze firmly fixed on her breasts. "As I recall, the door--"

    "Damn it." She pushed past him, noting the recognizable, masculine and musky scent of an aroused man emanating from his skin. "No way." She pounded on the door and slammed her shoulder into it. It was locked. The reality of them sharing the same small space she'd only recently thought was so expansive had her reserve crumbling like a house of cards.

    "Hey, sweetheart," he whispered, his breath burning against her neck. Her ponytail gave way when he rolled off the elastic from her hair, his fingers snaking through its length, draping it over her shoulders. "God, I've wanted to do this all night." He dropped a kiss on the top of her head, wrapped his arms around her and drew her back against his chest. His fingers locked under breasts. "Tell me you don't want me."


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Stroke Of Midnight

Stroke Of Midnight

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