The world is waiting for her...and he's waited long enough.
Meg Snow is having hot and wild sex with Cory Traven...in her dreams.
Four years ago he had his chance for a relationship with her. Instead, he joined the military, leaving her to endure Milcott, South Dakota on her own. Now it's her turn for adventure and a chance to banish those erotic Cory fantasies once and for all--on a singles cruise to Jamaica.
Cory has come home for what he'd denied himself four years before. Meg. But she's made it clear she wants anyone except him. There's only one way to show her that what she wants and what she needs are two different things. How? Storm the beaches of Jamaica. Infiltrate his way into her bed. Breach the walls of her heart.
And show her that paradise is not in the Caribbean, but in his arms.
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May 04, 2009
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Excerpt from Wanderlust by KyAnn Waters
Warm lips caressed the swell of her breast then drifted lower with exquisite feather-light movements to firmly suckle her turgid nipple. Live electrical current sparked between the erect, sensitive tip and the wet, swollen center of her sex.
Silken hair against her skin was as soft as the downy sheets draped between her legs. Radiant heat pooled like molten lava in her honeyed core and flutters filled her stomach.
Anticipation built. She spread her lithe thighs wide to welcome his heavy, masculine weight. A sigh escaped her parted lips. Back arched, pelvis tilted, she awaited the first fierce thrust.
Thick, hot and hard, his erection nudged her opening and then parted her soaked inner folds.
She needed him to stretch then fill her full. "I can't wait." Did she say it or think it? Either way, he understood her anguished hunger because he pressed deep and then ground his center firmly against hers.
"Oh yes," Meg moaned in satisfaction. Wrapping her palms over her knees, she pulled them up, spreading herself wider. "Ah." He thrust hard and fast inflaming her sensitive tissues. Again and again. Almost there. Almost. His arms braced his weight and his body hovered above her. Her heart rate escalated into a rampant beat.
No...not the phone. He continued to bang against the top of her channel, plunging deep and hard, giving her a rigorous f***ing.
Was it the insistent buzz from the smoke detector? No. Please, just one more minute.
Damn. Not again.
Meg Snow cracked open her eyes. Her heart pounded. Heavy breaths racked her body. Oh god, she'd woken from another dream. She glanced at the alarm clock and groaned. Fuzzy, red numbers blinked with the pulsing noise. It couldn't be morning because she felt as if she'd barely closed her heavy eyelids. But oh...what a dream.
Stretching her sleep-numbed arms, she reached over and hit the snooze button. Unrealized orgasmic energy still thrummed with unfilled promise. Sheets twisted around her legs. A sheen of sweat covered her naked body. Perhaps if she didn't sleep in the nude her neighbor would stop invading her bed during the night.
Meg inhaled deeply in an attempt to settle the intense sexual frustration tightening her muscles. She sniffed again because of the pleasing aroma wafting on the air.
Scrambled eggs and sausage?
The Culinary Casanova was at it again. No way would she go next door for breakfast no matter how tempting the fare. And damn, but Cory Traven surpassed enticing.
Beyond good-looking, he was far too sexy first thing in the morning. She didn't have the strength to face him after she'd been fucking him all night--in her dreams--and had been every night for the past three weeks. Quite a disturbing notion considering she'd known Cory since, well, birth.
After stretching her arms over her head, she combed her fingers through snarled locks of hair.
Another Saturday morning and she had nothing to do, except Cory. And that was not happening. She also had nothing in the fridge. The faint scent of cinnamon finally convinced her rumbling stomach. She fished a Harvard sweatshirt out of the laundry scattered on the bedroom floor. After slipping on a clean pair of panties, she pulled on a pair of sweatpants with a hole in one knee.
Hmmm, would he notice she was braless? The big capital H printed on the sweatshirt just above where her nipple poked would have to be camouflage enough.
Perfume bottles, earrings, store receipts and general crap cluttered the top of the dresser. She pillaged through the pile until she found her favorite hair scrunchy. With her hair pulled up, and fuzzy lime green slippers on her feet, she left her side of the duplex and padded next door.
The sun had just started to burn through the spring morning mist. Bright colored tulips, purple crocuses and bearded irises bloomed in the front flowerbeds edging the walkway. Yellow pollen clung to the shrubs and the trees sprouted tender new leaves. Up and down the street, a sentinel of plum trees exploded with pink blossoms. The rhythmic click, click, click of the neighbor's sprinkler harmonized with the birds chirping their morning song.
Meg gave a snort. She lived in perfectly boring middle America. The only escapades she'd been on were in her dreams. Not like Cory. He'd already seen the world.
She knocked once on his door, and tested the knob. "Hey, it's just me," she called and let herself in.
Momma Traven had taught her son how to clean. He kept his side of the duplex immaculate with clutter free, wide-open spaces. How much mess could he make when he worked ten-hour days at Stoady's Automotive? He was seldom home. A neatly folded afghan draped the back of his grandma's old sofa, and remote controls for the television, cable and stereo all lay in a straight row on the old, polished coffee table.
In fact, all the furniture, with the exception of the television had been handed down from family and friends when he'd come home after a four-year adventure in the military.
Even Meg had given him a lamp from her front room. It had been a matching set, but she only needed one. She recalled the look of horror on his face. Okay, so it was beat to shit. Why waste money on stuff when she didn't plan to live in Milcott? More possessions meant more to move. Until Cory rented the unit next door, she had dragged her laundry to her mom's, but thanks to his brother's contribution, she didn't have to anymore.
When she didn't see Cory, she went into the kitchen. "Smells great," she hollered. "Mmmm. Coffee." She took a mug from the dish drainer and poured a cup. Since the pot was full, she assumed he had yet to pour himself one. She grabbed another mug. "Creamer?" she hollered.
"In the fridge."
"Oh, hi." She put her hand to her chest. "There you are." She continued to pour. "You scared me."
"Why?" he asked, coming into the kitchen. "This is my house. I live here and good morning to you too."
It could have been a great morning if the alarm clock had given her another minute. Her cheeks heated with the memory. When he stepped closer, the clean scent of shower and male mingled with the delicious aromas of breakfast.
Suddenly her appetite included more than what was on the menu. A fine ribbon of glistening hair trailed from his nicely sculpted pectoral muscles to disappear below unsnapped jeans riding low on his hips. She could well imagine the impressive prize concealed within. Actually, she had imagined it in explicit, glorious detail.
Damp, dark brown hair curled and clung to the back of his neck. With clean-shaven, hollow cheeks, full, kissable lips and a square jaw, he was ruggedly handsome. Yet Cory's warming smile revealed his humorous side. For Meg, his compelling eyes, startling against his olive complexion, lit a fire in her soul. Pale blue and framed with long, thick, ebony lashes.
Yeah, she'd known women who could spontaneously orgasm with a simple secretive glance. Thankfully that hadn't happened to her...yet. Oh, but she'd come close. It's why she needed to keep her distance. Cory Traven was the last thing she wanted in a boyfriend.
Six months ago, his military enlistment had ended. He'd come home to Milcott, South Dakota, to settle down. On the flipside, she couldn't wait to get the hell out.
"Breakfast smells wonderful. Where are the cinnamon rolls?" She handed him the cup of coffee. Their fingers briefly touched and butterflies swooped in on her tummy. Damn, and breakfast wasn't the only thing that smelled good. The faint scent of his shampoo drifted to her nose.
He chuckled. "I see you've made yourself at home. Don't you knock?"
"The door was open." She winked. "If you want me out, you should lock the door." She stabbed a sizzling sausage link in the frying pan with a fork.
"What if I was sharing my breakfast with a lady? You'd feel pretty stupid about now."
She answered with a snort. "If you are, you should've made enough for three." In a town with a population of less than three thousand, any woman would know Meg breakfasted at Cory's. She bit the sausage in half. "Hmmm. Good. And hot." And not the only thing hot, she thought as sweat trickled between her breasts.
Cory's stare always had the power to make her melt. Some men exuded sexual charm and he happened to be one of them. With a jolt, she realized it was entirely possible that one day another woman would be in the bedroom. Now there was an unpleasant thought for first thing in the morning.
Bringing the fork close to his face, she offered the rest of the sausage to him. "Did you get it from my Uncle Fred? Mom said he was slaughtering one of his pigs."
Her stomach tightened as his lips moved toward her fingers. Warm, moist breath caressed her skin as he blew gently to cool the meat. Amazing how close her dreams were to the actual sensation of having his soft, yet firm lips graze her fingertips.
"It's turkey." He chewed and patted his muscle-corded stomach. "If Fred finds out, I'll know you squealed like one of his pigs."
"My lips are sealed." She knew how to keep a secret. Look how well she'd kept her feelings for the Culinary Casanova to herself.
Cory prided himself on his physique. He didn't spend hours in the gym, but walked everywhere, played football at family barbecues and worked hard repairing and rebuilding cars.
Blessed with the Traven traits, he was tall with broad shoulders, a strong back and powerful thighs. Traits that she appreciated since she liked to rearrange her furniture whenever she cleaned, which probably explained why she didn't clean often. Unless Cory was home to interchange the positions of the loveseat and chair in the living room and flip the mattress in the bedroom, her best effort encompassed speed cleaning.
Speed cleaning occurred when her mother, also known as landlord, called and said she happened to be in the neighborhood and would like to stop for a cup of coffee. Where in Milcott wasn't in the neighborhood? There weren't many apartments available. She had to rent either from her parents or from her Aunt Bess.
Oh and don't get her started on Aunt Bess. The dear heart was a priceless gem. Definitely a one of a kind, and she talked incessantly about the dead.
Aunt Bess considered the obituaries required reading, probably because she knew everyone in Milcott. Secretly, Meg thought Aunt Bess watched for widowers she could drag to the town's greasy spoon, Big Bird's, for lunch...to talk about the dead.
So renting from her mother spared her the morose chats with her blue-haired aunt but required she keep up the duplex. Her bedroom was the catchall. Even Cory had commented on her messy ways--but enough thoughts about Cory. If she thought about her bedroom, she thought about the bed, and with Culinary Casanova half dressed in front of her, it wasn't hard to put him in her bed...again. Damn, her salacious dream came rushing back. Fucking him--even in her dreams--had to end.
With her hands on her hips, Meg gave him the stare down. Knowing the answer, she asked anyway. "So is there someone in the bedroom waiting to eat my breakfast?"
He bumped his hip against hers to scoot her out of the way. "No, now get the plates while I get the rolls."
She grabbed plates and he filled them with scrambled eggs, turkey sausage and a warm sticky, cinnamon bun. "You never told me where you learned to cook. Was it in the Air Force?"
"Nope." He followed her to the breakfast bar. "Just how to repair jets." He took the seat next to her. "I learned to cook because my mom didn't get any girls, so the family kitchen secrets naturally fell to me as the youngest child."
Meg liked Cory's brothers, all five of them. "Lucky for Jake."
"Thanks for the sympathy."
Jake was one year older than Cory. They'd always been best friends. Mama Traven was the one who claimed she'd had Cory to be a friend to Jake. She'd already raised four boys and didn't want Jake to grow up without a sibling close in age.
"I guess after six children your mom figured she wasn't going to get a daughter."
"Oh, she would've had more kids but Dad wasn't willing to try again for a girl just so Mom could teach her to cook."
She smiled around a bite of eggs. "These are great," she said with her mouth full. "You'll make someone a lovely little wife."
He paused with his fork midway between his plate and his mouth, eyes flashing with unreadable emotion.
She swallowed. "What?"