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She cocked her head to the side, contemplating him. “You’re actually quite the gentleman.”
If she was referring to the other night, she didn’t know how much it took for him to use such restraint. Normally he would’ve jumped her. Hell, he would’ve had his hand up her skirt and his fingers beneath the front of her panties by the time the cab stopped at their destination.
“I’m trying to walk the straight and narrow,” he said, his voice tight, his jaw aching from gritting his teeth.
“Really?” She tsked and shook her head. “Well, isn’t that a shame?”
Gabriella turned on her heel and entered the hotel, not once looking back.
And leaving Rhett in the dust.
He’ll be any man she wants—except himself.
Big Boy
© 2013 Ruthie Knox
A Strangers on a Train Story
Meet me at the train museum after dark. Dress for 1957.
When Mandy joins an online dating service, she keeps her expectations low. All she wants is a distraction from the drudgery of single parenthood and full-time work. But the invitation she receives from a handsome man who won’t share his real name promises an adventure—and a chance to pretend she’s someone else for a few hours.
She doesn’t want romance to complicate her life, but Mandy’s monthly role-playing dates with her stranger on a train—each to a different time period—become the erotic escape she desperately needs. And a soul connection she never expected.
Yet when she tries to draw her lover out of the shadows, Mandy has a fight on her hands…to convince him there’s a place for their fantasy love in the light of day.
Warning: Contains sexy role-playing, theatrical application of coal dust, and a hero who can rock a pair of brown polyester pants.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Big Boy:
He always meets me at the gate. The chain link swings open, and I pull my car through at a crawl. I don’t look to the left where he’s standing. I don’t want to know who he is yet.
Until I step onto the train, he’s nobody special.
“Are my seams straight?” I ask, pausing in my walk so I can tip the arch of my foot toward the floor of the train car and point my toe. I glance over my shoulder, the epitome of coy.
I’m Marilyn Monroe from Some Like It Hot tonight. I coaxed Lisa into sewing the black satin dress for me, adding fringe from a flapper costume I found at Goodwill. Lisa says that in this dress, my ass looks like two puppies fighting under a blanket.
The banked fire in his eyes tells me that’s a good thing.
He wears a leather jacket and a newsboy cap. He carries my luggage. When we get to my berth, I’ll tip him, and he’ll smirk at me the way he does.
Rocky is his name. I asked when I handed him my hatbox.
He’s five or six inches taller than me, his body lean and sculpted by hard work. I bet he looks grand with his clothes off.
I toss him a smile, another form of gratuity. “Well? Are they?”
He shakes his head as if I’m doing something to him, and it’s painful, and he’d like me to stop. But all he says is “They’re straight, ma’am.”
I’m ma’am tonight. I like that.
I think it means I’ll get to be in charge, but I’m wrong.
As soon as we pass through the narrow doorway of the berth, he’s on me, his hands spanning my waist, sliding over the curve of my hips. His skin catches the slick material of my dress. He puts his lips on the pulse at my throat and lingers there. I hear him draw in a deep breath, reverent.
I missed you too.
