Sweet Sexy Scortching Blog Hop Day 4

Talk to Me

Radio producer Jamie MacMahon is in over her head with ex-hockey player-turned host Drew Milan. She’s attracted to the man who earned the nickname “the Beast” during his playing days from the moment they meet, but he’s her boss and she loves her new job. She’s made plenty of mistakes with men and loathes the thought of being yet another plaything for Drew, a man who sleeps with women but doesn’t date them.

Drew doesn’t want to lose a great producer and knows Jamie deserves a real relationship, but can’t stay away from the sizzling chemistry they create every time they’re together. Jamie’s insecurities and the very real prospect of having to leave a great job if this thing doesn’t work out clash hard with Drew’s fears about opening his heart and the possibility of losing his first competent producer. Nothing's going to get resolved if one of them won't say it: "Come on, baby, talk to me."

Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: D/s elements, fetish, spanking, strong language ("dirty" talk).

Excerpt:

Drew Milan watched, fascinated, as a leggy woman with unruly dark brown hair that reached halfway down her back twisted herself underneath the producer’s desk. As he continued perusing her body, he noticed her long, slim legs encased in skintight leather boots. Holy shit, are those a sexy pair of boots! Kill me now, and I’ll go with a huge freakin’ smile on my face. He was a leg man, and this angel had been dropped from the sky especially for him. He must’ve done some good deed he couldn’t remember to have had this good fortune bestowed upon him. The question was, what she was doing crawling around under the equipment?

She started to back out, and Drew felt his cock thicken as inch by inch of glorious legs unfolded themselves. Finally managing to pull himself out of his reverie, he cleared his throat. The woman jerked and turned around, revealing a large set of light brown eyes, a small nose set into the middle of a long face with a pointed chin, and an incredible set of full, luscious lips.

“Can I help you?” The woman blushed furiously, her pale skin flushing bright pink.

* * * * *

Knowing instantly that this Adonis of a man was retired hockey player Drew Milan, the host of the show Jamie MacMahon was producing, she silently berated herself for blushing like a schoolgirl as she struggled to her feet and swiped at the dust coating her skirt. If I’d known I was going to be crawling around under the equipment first thing, I would’ve worn jeans.

A quick inspection of his barrel chest and huge biceps, both highlighted nicely by the skintight polo shirt he was wearing, confirmed he still kept himself in shape, even though he’d retired a few years back.

He appraised her openly, his gaze raking up and down her body. Not used to such unconcealed interest on the part of men -- especially those she worked with -- she wasn’t sure how to react. She attempted to ignore his heated stare. “Um, hi, Mr. Milan, I’m Jamie MacMahon.” You’re babbling…

“Jamie?” he repeated.

“Yes, your new producer.”

“Oh!” He looked dumbstruck. “I was under the impression my new producer was a man.”

Great. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Milan. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

He grinned, and his whole face transformed before her eyes. Oh, he still had a strong square jaw and high-slashing cheekbones that highlighted his closely cropped, jet-black hair, but his smile lit up the whole room. Blue-gray eyes the color of the sea during a rainstorm softened to a light aqua. Her breath caught in her throat, and her pulse began to thunder. She covered her heart, and Drew’s gaze followed the movement before returning to her face.

“I’m not disappointed. I’m surprised, but I’m most definitely not disappointed. And call me Drew. Mr. Milan makes me feel like an old man, and I shudder to think a beautiful young thing like you thinks I’m an old man.” His eyes blazed as he stared at her.

My God -- he’s blatantly hitting on me. Maybe he hits on every woman he meets, the same way I imagine what a gorgeous pair of shoes would look like if I were wearing them.

She coughed delicately into her hand. Old? No. Unbelievably hot, yes. And wow, his voice was mesmerizing -- rough yet sensual. Forcing herself to keep her focus on the job, she glanced at the studio behind her. “Well, Drew, the show is about to start. Anything I need to know other than what’s on the show log?”

He shrugged. “Not really. Gonna be a light show tonight, so keep the calls coming. I don’t like yammering on and on just to fill dead air.”

“Got it.”

“I don’t think I expect a lot from my producers, but apparently the guys upstairs disagree. Anyway, I’ll be gentle, I promise. Well, unless you don’t want me to be.” Throwing her a cheeky wink, he sauntered into the studio, sat, and picked up his headphones.

Jamie considered actually fanning her face, knowing she must be badly blushing. Glancing at the clock, she hurried to sit. They still had about ninety seconds until the syndicated sports show they aired from three to seven p.m. ended. There was a short ad sequence after that, and then they were on. She put the studio in queue so she could speak to him without it going on the air. “Do you need a countdown?”

“Just because I was a hockey player doesn’t mean I can’t count,” he chided her. “I had to read a scoreboard, you know.” He was separated from her by about ten feet and a pane of glass, but she could easily see the taunting smile playing on his lips.

Jamie blushed yet again. Dammit! “That’s not what I was implying.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’ve got it.”

Taking a focusing breath like she’d learned in her yoga class back in Buffalo, Jamie detected a hint of the scent he’d left behind -- something that screamed “male.” It sent her imagination into overdrive, wondering what wonderful things he could do with that maleness. She’d seen his headshot in the main reception area when she’d come in for her interview but had no idea he was this gorgeous up close. She had a feeling he would wreak havoc with her peace of mind, and she wasn’t at all sure she was ready for his undoubtedly overwhelming presence. He had reduced her to a mass of shivering need within minutes.

Just last night she’d read that he’d come by the less than flattering nickname “The Beast” during his playing days in the NHL. Apparently he’d been a tough character on and off the ice, and with his hulking frame, the nickname certainly seemed accurate, but not in an entirely bad way -- more like in a bad-boy way. Jamie shuddered. She was nervous as hell, and the undercurrent of sexual tension wasn’t helping matters.

Drew tested his mic, startling her from her lascivious thoughts, and she automatically adjusted the toggle switch a bit. Next she made sure all the other mics in the studio were off and went about getting everything else prepped, falling into the relative comfort of the routine of her job. The show was set to start, and after the mortifying way things had begun, she prayed she could get through it without screwing up.

She picked up the first call, asking the caller his name and hometown and logging them into the program, along with a brief synopsis of what he wanted to discuss. By the time she switched off the syndicated show and started the feed from the studio, she’d queued three callers and took a minute to peruse the show sheet while Drew did his opening. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she settled back for the remainder of the four hours.

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