Los Angeles, CA

It was the whine of the engines changing timbre that woke him. Terry Thorne felt American Airlines flight 1402 begin its descent, and knew that in a few minutes the Captain would announce their final approach to LAX. He couldn't see her face from this angle, just the top of her head, but he felt the warmth of Isis Knox as she rested comfortably against his shoulder, heard the quiet susurration of her breath, smelled the subtle floral scent of her expensive shampoo.

It all came back to him in a flush of excitement and the hair on his forearms rose as his skin prickled with the frisson. He'd closed the deal: convinced an international rock star to give Thorne-McGrath the contract for her personal security, a win big enough to finance any scheme he and Dino could dream up to get their K&R shop off the ground. Christ, what a rush. Dino wasn't going to believe it. He could scarcely believe it himself. Stuff of legends, mate. Thinking about it gave him an erection - or was that Isis' hand on his arm? No, it'd been the deal. The warmth of this sexy young woman's touch was just gravy.

Terry studied what he could see of Isis Knox, her small hand on his arm. Her nails were short, but glossy with a French manicure, simple and elegant. Can't play guitar with long nails, he reasoned. He'd tried to learn to play when he was a kid, but he'd been shit at it. He always loved music, admired musicians, but these days he left it to the professionals. Of course, after a few rounds, he wasn't beyond dancing on a table or two, especially if Latin rhythms were involved. He was in the mood for doing a bit of that later this evening, with Dino buying all the drinks.

Thorne felt a swell of respect and even affection burgeoning for that little hand, especially for the brazen way she'd offered it. "I make my own business decisions, and I've made up my mind. You're hired." He'd never forget those words. Isis Knox was smart, but impulsive, even a little crazy. It had gotten her this far in her career, he supposed, and that was to the top. She was ballsy all right, but she needed looking after, someone to do the legwork and clean up. He could have been anyone with a fake business card, Terry reasoned. But he hadn't been. She'd sensed that, went with her intuition. And she'd known that despite the show of security, Excelsior wasn't doing their job. Now it was up to Thorne-McGrath to show them how it was really done.

Of course, it wouldn't be quite that simple. Even if Steve Carlson was easy to trump, Excelsior Security would fight for their contract. Terry knew that Thorne-McGrath was probably looking at an expensive and lengthy lawsuit.

As the flight descended, he felt the pressure in his ears build, and as if on cue Kore began fussing quietly in the forward seat. Isis stirred next to him and blinked sleepy eyes at the familiar sound of her child's cry. In a moment, she smiled up to Terry in recognition. But her pleasant good morning wish turned into a shocked gasp when she saw the traces of foundation and eyeliner marking his white dress shirt.

"Oh God, I'm sorry," she pleaded, embarrassed, as she tried to rub it off. It wouldn't budge. "You're gonna be in the doghouse when you get home."

Terry chuckled ruefully, "No one at home to worry about, love. In this line of work, you have to take the vow." Isis wondered at that until he announced her daughter's arrival with an affectionate, "Ah, but look who we have here. Good morning, Butterfly. Here's mum."

Kore led her nanny by the hand as they walked the aisle, unsteady on sleepy feet. But the child's eyes passed over Terry entirely this time, only interested in her mother's comfort. He forgave her, rose to take his own seat again. When Isis reached to scoop up her daughter, he caught the glint of gold on her other hand.

Court Colbert had been dead for nearly two years, barely had a chance to meet his child, and his widow still wore his ring. Christ. It wrung his heart, such a tragedy, such a terrible waste. What might have been, eh? Gave it all up for the prick of a needle. But while Terry couldn't entirely forgive Colbert his culpability, he pitied him his weakness. Addiction is an unforgiving mistress. It made him admire Isis' strength all the more. But was it out of loyalty and love that she still wore his ring, or was it a shield against a cruel world, he wondered. Of course, with or without his demons, Court Colbert had been a legend, and a legend is a hard act for any man to follow.

Terry scratched at the growth of beard on his cheek while the blood in his veins cried for coffee. Pick your poison, eh? He wondered ironically, then considered himself lucky that he'd only ever acquired a taste for caffeine, tequila, and the occasional cigarette.

The Captain came over the speakers and announced their landing in Los Angeles, local time 6:00 PM. He was late for happy hour. Once the plane was safely on the ground and taxiing to the terminal, Terry fished the Treo from his pocket and thumbed a text message to Dino: "Just woke up with a rock star. Meet you at Carlo's. Drinks on you. Stuff of legends, mate."

adad

Leaning over the beer bottles and shot glasses, Terry scrutinized his partner across their usual table at Carlo's, the Salsa club where they liked to take their evening meetings. Dino looked sharp, his shock of red hair perfectly coiffed as usual, but even his slightly sarcastic smile couldn't disguise the dark circles under his eyes. He'd been burning the midnight oil, but he still had enough energy to bounce his foot nervously under the table. He was eager to hear the details of the deal. It was killing him, in fact. Terry savored the moment, let the anticipation drag on. At least for once, his partner's attention was entirely his, not constantly drifting to the Los Angeles Latinas - or mamacitas calientes as McGrath liked to call them - that packed the dance floor.

Terry Thorne and Dean McGrath had been professional associates for years, and friends for nearly as long. K&R was a small pond full of brothers in arms, highly trained former international military personnel, but Dino was the best he'd ever worked with. Smart, skilled, and a hell of a lot of fun; more of a brother than a best friend. And now a business partner. Christ, a work wife - though to be honest, Terry felt like the bitch most of the time. Dino usually came up with the crazy schemes; it was Terry who wrote the plans, put them in motion, and made them work. The duo had entirely different styles, but they complimented each other well. And most importantly, they knew they could trust each other with their lives.

Terry considered his friend's bloodshot eyes; he hadn't drunk nearly enough tequila to look that worked over. Thorne was running on adrenaline from the deal, but the jetlag was doing its worst. No table dancing tonight, he thought. Raising his voice, he spoke over the thumping music. "You look like I feel, mate. What was her name?"

"Isis Knox," Dino insisted with raised brows. "I was up all night doing homework. Besides, the only place I need to sleep is in the Caymans with my money."

Thorne raised his shot glass to that, and toasted, "I don't think I want you sleeping with my money. Not without a condom, anyway."

"No glove, no love, baby," Dino chuckled, with a saucy tilt of his head. "So are you gonna let me in on the plan, hermano, or do I have to get the pliers for your fingernails?"

Terry looked over his shoulder cautiously. Normally, the back table at Carlo's was the perfect place for business, but tonight Terry wished they could be someplace quieter. He leaned in close and got serious. "This is big, brother. Maybe too big. She needs 24 hour security, at home and wherever she goes. Jesus, that beach house alone is going to be a nightmare. Excelsior has blind spots all over their camera coverage."

"You took her home?" McGrath marveled. "To Malibu?"

Terry smirked, "Had to see her off, mate. This one can't be wham, bam, thank you ma'am. Besides, I needed a lift and she offered."

"My hero…" he chuckled, raised his beer. "We're going to need more people."

"Lots more," Terry insisted, listing his remaining action items with extended fingers.

"She's performing at the Grammys in a month. We need to coordinate with their security. Then a European tour in the fall. All new territory, mate. And this while looking after our current clients and fishing for more. We've launched assaults with strike teams, but this operation needs a fucking army."

"What do we do? Subcontract?"

Thorne shook his head. "Not if we can help it. If the subcontractors screw up, we take the fall, and then our reputation is fucked. Everything depends on getting the right people in place."

"You know where the right people are…" Dino insisted. At Terry's scowl, he exploded.

"Fuck it, T! Send the shout out to the boys at Luthan Risk, see where their loyalties lie when they hear about this beautiful contract. No more getting hung out to dry in Chechnya and Tecala, just up to their armpits in prime shaved Beverly Hills pussy."

Thorne was as reserved as McGrath was animated. "We'll be sued."

"Well, yeah!" he pronounced sarcastically. "Come on, man, they were gonna sue us anyway. Standard operating procedure. That's why we pay Eli that enormous fucking retainer. Let him earn it. And don't forget, hermano," he said as he touched his nose. "We know where the bodies are buried. Luthan Risk would do well to keep us happy allies, and they know it. So do you. Come on, baby," Dino said in that smarmy tone Terry hated. "Say it. I'm right."

"Not twice in one day. I'm sore," Terry grimaced.

Dino grinned, relieved. Point taken. He'd start calling their boys across the pond first thing in the morning, and he knew the cavalry would be arriving soon.

"I'll bet you are sore, you lucky bastard. Isis fucking Knox. Come on, spill, hermano. How was she?"

Terry feigned nonchalance, stood from his chair and fished his cigarettes out of his pocket. "Fuck you. I don't kiss and tell."

Dino followed his partner to the back exit. The cool night air was refreshing, but barely cut through the exhaustion they both felt.

"Jesus Christ, you're killing me!" he laughed, so tired he was giddy. "Terry, be honest. Does she look that good in person, or is it all airbrush?"

Thorne thought of that little hand on his arm and smiled inwardly, felt his bravado go a bit soft with affection. "She looks better, Dean. Bloody gorgeous, and smart too. She's got these big dark eyes and when she looks at you, she makes you want to wrap her up, protect her. But Christ, don't let her fool you - that Queen Bitch look could freeze the balls off a polar bear." Flicking his lighter, he giggled as the flame lit his face in the evening dark. "You should have seen her fire Carlson. She didn't just enjoy herself, she reveled in it. Good thing I was there to protect him."

Dino shook his head ruefully, green with envy. "Cocky bastard. What'd she smell like?"

Terry remembered the gentle pressure of her head resting against his shoulder comfortably, the scent of her expensive floral shampoo. It shocked him how the memory of Isis Knox lingered, how it affected him. But that little memento was just for him to treasure. Even brothers needed their own space. The mask of bravado went back up.
Terry smirked, dragged on his ciggie, and blew out a satisfied white haze. "She smelled like money, mate."

adad

Pulling the BMW coupe into the garage, Terry cursed the darkened condo. Too small, too expensive, and without a single architectural feature worth noting. Welcome to Los Angeles, land of the quick developmental buck. He hated the place. But as much as he was on the road, it hardly mattered where he lived. This was just a place to keep his clothes.

Despite its lack of charm, the condo did have one or two perks: a great gym and the required by Los Angeles law pool where he'd met Roslyn Moore, his favorite neighbor. Actually, she was the only neighbor he'd met at the complex. As a rule, Californians were a suspicious bunch, kept to themselves, assumed everyone was a serial killer. The best neighbor was the one you didn't see. But Rozzie was a gem, a brilliant and sexy divorcee who worked as an assistant to a high-powered movie producer. She was nearly as driven in her work as Terry himself, and just as vowed to her career. Never again was her mantra for marriage, though thankfully she wasn't one of those bitter man-haters. Quite to the contrary, she was very affectionate. But it was all no pressure, no strings; a friend with benefits of the finest kind. And those benefits were worth keeping this shit hole for at least another year while he worked to get the shop off the ground.

The thought of going inside for a game of 'let's see what I forgot to throw out of the fridge before I left' was a bit too much to bear. Terry was exhausted, but too tired to sleep. On a normal night, Terry and Dino would have both pulled at Carlo's, but they'd been too intent on business - and too rooted - even to attempt fishing those teeming waters tonight. Selecting Rozzie's name from his Contacts list, Thorne took the chance that she was A, home, and B, alone. Seemed his luck was holding out; she answered on the second ring.

"Hello, gorgeous," came that throaty bedroom voice he loved. "How do you always know when I'm naked?"

Terry chuckled. Lucky, lucky, lucky. "It's my super power, love."

"When did you get back? I didn't see your car."

"Just now, darlin'. Got company?"

"Not tonight," she purred.

"Want some?"

"Always want you, Terry. But I have an early meeting, so make it soon. I need my beauty sleep."

"Just give me a tic to take a shower…"

"Save the water, I was just getting in myself."

Could it be any better? He was definitely on a roll. "Christ, love, I've just cracked a fat. Leave the front door unlocked and get in. Make it nice and hot.""

"Hot and wet, like always," she teased.

"God, I missed you."

"Liar."

"Yeah, but I'm good at it."

That deep whiskey voice made her shiver. You sure are, Roslyn thought to herself, but wouldn't dare gratify him with that answer. Terry Thorne's ego was big enough. Instead, she hung up and started lighting candles. Sure, it was a booty call, but it was worth it. Terry was the best lover she'd ever had. If she'd been a silly young girl, she would have fallen in love with him, but he wasn't interested in a relationship and neither was she. They were both married to their careers. This arrangement was better. Terry was out of town most of the time, so it never got old for him. And the best part for Roz, no socks to pick up.

Steam filled the upstairs bathroom as the shower ran hot, creating the perfect light and mood with the flickering scented candles. She'd upgraded her utilitarian condo's fixtures with a new multi-headed shower. Stepping under the massaging spray, Roz felt a thrill of anticipation move through her belly and make its way lower. The minute she'd seen Terry's name on her phone, she'd gotten wet: nearly a Pavlovian response. It never failed. Taking up the fresh scented shower gel, she soaped her body, hands lingering over her breasts and nipples, already peaked with excitement.

Downstairs, she heard the door close, and it was like an electric charge moved down her spine directly to her clit. She couldn't resist, her fingers moved between her thighs nearly of their own accord, and started massaging to relieve the ache as it built. She was already so turned on just at the sense memory of Terry's big hands on her body. She heard him in the bedroom then, undressing, but had to strain to do so. This guy moved like a cat, quiet in the dark. Must have been all that military training. Terry Thorne was a good neighbor, a good man, and at his best when he was being bad in her bed.

The glass door opened and Terry stepped in behind her. "Let me do that, love," came his deep whiskey voice at her ear. He captured her lobe between his white teeth and moved his hand down to take the place of hers. Roz's head went back, exposing her tanned throat as thick fingers swirled over the sweet spot he knew so well, sending lightning up her spine. "Ah God, Terry," she gasped. "Missed you."

"Yeah?" he teased, feeling the same at this moment. Missed this, he mused. "Show me how much." Terry's other hand moved to her perfect breast; implants of course - like every woman in LA - but fabulous nonetheless. Kneading firmly, he pressed her body back against his chest to hold her fast, and groaned when his quickly swelling cock nestled into the crack of her shapely arse. He rocked his hips against her slippery skin, savored the sensation, let it stoke his desire gradually. She responded by leaning back into his body wantonly, already begging for it, but he resisted his body's urge to fuck her right there against the shower wall. Nipping the back of her neck possessively, Terry concentrated his touch, swirled meticulous fingers in tight circles. Slowly, patiently, he listened to her breath grow deep and fast, felt her body coil. When her knees began to shake, he knew she was at the precipice. Didn't take long. Christ, what a hot little bitch.

"Come on, love," he coaxed, demanded. "Give me what I want. Let me hear it. Say my name when you come."

Roz bit back her cries, held her breath as she climbed the last few seconds, made him work for it, until his name finally exploded from her lips and her body rocked with the violence of her orgasm. Terry had to catch her when her knees buckled, held her fast as her pleasured moans echoed off the shower walls.

That whiskey voice was at her ear again, gentling, soothing: "Fuck me, you come so good, Rozzie. Good girl…"

No one does that like you, she thought, swimming in euphoria, but didn't have the strength to form the words. When she regained her footing, Roz turned to see Terry Thorne's familiar smiling face, loved that cocky smirk of satisfaction. He always seemed to enjoy her orgasms more than his own, and she was happy to oblige. Reaching up, Roz ran her hands through his soft curling hair, and drew him down into her grateful kiss. The stubble of Terry's beard was sharp against her tender skin, an unfamiliar sensation. He was usually clean shaven. But she reveled in its sting, loved the need in his nearly bruising response to her kiss. When she looked into his eyes again, she saw the same need there in that hooded green gaze. He was tired, that was obvious, but more than that, he wanted her. Needed her. Nothing turned her on more than seeing that hungry look in his eyes. A wolf in wolf's clothing, she thought idly, wanted to lick her chops. Instead, she let her hand wrap around the glorious tool that prodded her belly and stroked. It jumped and throbbed at her touch, a living thing. Eight solid inches, if not nine. God, what a beauty.

"Looks like someone missed me too," she purred. "Let's get you cleaned up, dirty boy."

Terry let her turn him into the spray, and grinned when she went for the body wash. He stood still while the hot water sluiced down his body, welcomed her ministering touch. She started at his neck and shoulders, massaged firmly, easing the tension from his weary muscles, cramped from long hours of traveling. Her touch gentled when she soaped his chest, under his arms, and down his belly to cock and balls, washing thoroughly but quickly, and without hesitation. Perhaps not enough hesitation, he realized, woken from the pleasured sensation of her hands on his body when he felt her fingers playing between the cheeks of his arse. "Watch it," he giggled. "Exit only."

She loved that girlish sound from such a manly man, laughed a throaty chuckle in response, well chastened, "I know the rules."

There were a few rules to this kind of arrangement. They had to have some in order to make this work as well as it had. Safe sex, that was the first. No jealousies or hurt feelings if they didn't have time to call. If they met in public, it was a kiss on the cheek and How are you, neighbor? Nothing up Terry's arse: that was definitely off limits. And most importantly, no talking about other lovers when they were together. Of course, thinking about them…well, nothing could stop that. And as Roslyn went down on her knees before him, Terry couldn't help picturing the pretty face of Isis Knox in her place.

"Yeah, that's it, love," he groaned as she tongued the head, took his aching flesh between her lips and suckled. "Take care of your man."

Roz looked up, gave him a saucy wink, then indulged her healthy appetite. He gasped when he felt the back of her throat. Christ, she's good at that, he thought as the pleasured groan welled up from his chest. She was encouraged by its reverberation against the shower walls, felt wrapped in a cocoon of sensation in the warm steam and candle light and Terry's deep needful moan.

He reached down to hold her head gently as she bobbed on his cock, rocked his hips for more when she took his length so deep. Tired as he was, he knew wouldn't last if he let her go much longer.

The tap snapped off, and Roz's lips gave an unexpected smack when Terry drew back. She was about to ask him what was wrong when he opened the shower door, grasped her under the arms, and lifted roughly, swinging her slight weight easily until she was propped inelegantly on the bathroom counter, her head against the mirror. Holding up a teasing finger, Thorne disappeared into the bedroom. Inside, she heard rustling in the nightstand drawer. Even balanced so precariously, she decided she was thankful he'd had the presence of mind to remember a condom: she'd been much too far gone to even think about it. He came back sheathing his standing cock in latex. Roz watched his hand in the masculine gesture, licked her lips hungrily. When he did that, somehow it always looked like Terry Thorne was sharpening a sword.

"Ready, love?" He grinned when she spread her legs, giving him an unobstructed view of that pretty shaved pussy, pink, wet, and wanting him.

She ignored the chill of the water on her skin and propped her knees up over his shoulders. "Come fuck me, Terry," she breathed, as if he needed the invitation. But she did it for him. He loved to talk during sex, and he was brilliant at it. She could come just listening to him - she'd actually done it once - but it was even better coming on that long thick cock.

The height of the counter was perfect for Terry's long legs and afforded him a beautiful view in the mirror, already half cleared of steam. He leaned for another kiss, then watched himself as he took her body, felt the velvet heat of her flesh close over his cockhead. He watched her face as well, savored that moment of entry that made her blue eyes snap shut, made her kiss-reddened lips open in a pleasured gasp, took her breath away. Her reaction affected him even more than the sensation of flesh on flesh. Leaning on the counter, Terry flexed his arse between her legs, used his weight to ease inside that tight little pussy. Roz braced herself against the mirror, closed her eyes to savor the sensation of his length pressing in…in…in…sliding on copious wetness, filling her to her limit. She shifted to give him a better angle, more purchase, and moaned when he plunged so deep.

"Fuck yeah," he growled, bit at her ankle, and began fucking in earnest. One big hand held her hip while the other went for her breast and squeezed. He loved watching those big firm tits sway and jiggle as he jostled her body with the force of his thrusts. As good as it was, the hard counter bit into Roz's hips. She opened her eyes to find his intent on her face.

He slowed, leaned to kiss her breast, suck at the peaked pink nipple. "Cold, love?" he asked gently with warming breath. She nodded, kissed his forehead, and took her legs down from his shoulders in a wide fan kick. He admired her flexibility in the mirror. Yoga is for more than the soul, he mused. "You've dyed your hair," he observed, his eyes finally adjusted to the candlelight. "I like it red. My little Red Rozzie."

"Nothing gets past you," she teased.

Terry helped her hop down from the counter and she grabbed a towel from the rack, drying herself on the way to the bedroom. He picked it up off the floor where she dropped it and quickly rubbed at his chest and arms. As she climbed in between the expensive white sheets, Terry admired her perfectly stair-mastered arse, couldn't help thinking of Isis again with her dancer's body.

"Where do you think you're going, mate?" he said in a low growl. Grasping her by the hips, his fingers pressing hard enough to bruise, Terry pulled her back roughly to the edge of the bed and sunk his length in from behind, went balls deep. He chuckled at her surprised gasp, but let her catch her breath, waited for her to look back to him with a pleasured grin before he started rooting hard and fast. Only got one in me tonight. Better make it good. But he knew it would be good for her; this was her favorite position.

Roz writhed and moaned as she gathered the sheets in her fists, pushed back into his thrusts for more, breathed his name again and again. Such a generous lover. He relished every minute with her, knew exactly what she liked because he was smart enough to ask and she was brave enough to actually tell him. And Rozzie loved a bit of rough play. "This arse is going to be red when I'm done with it," he threatened, and punctuated the promise with a sound slap to her cheek. She shrieked and laughed, then moaned in gratitude, loving the sound of his hips slapping against her backside, the sensation of his balls flogging her ass. Two more swats with his big hand and she came with a scream so loud, Terry worried for the neighbors. At least they'll know my name if they want to complain, he mused. Good bit of advertising there.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Terry panted as he pulled out, careful to bring the condom with him. He soothed gentle hands over the warmed skin of her backside, even kissed a reddened cheek as he slid into the bed beside her. He couldn't see her face beneath the tangled mass of wet hair, but he propped the pillow under his head and watched her gasp for breath. When a single blue eye opened, he asked, "You all right, love?" Secretly, he loved the way she looked so wrecked after they fucked.

"Jesus, Terry," she groaned an exhausted chuckle, and collapsed, cuddling in at his side.

"What's gotten into you tonight?"

"Whatever it was, it's gone now," he grinned a little sheepishly. "I need a bit of help. Too tired, too worked up. Climb up and finish me off, will ya love?"

She leaned up on her elbow, licked at his wide flat nipple seductively. "My pleasure," she purred. "It's the least I can do."

"There's a girl." Terry watched intently as she knelt and straddled his hips. Reaching up, he pushed the wet locks of her hair back, held her pretty face in his hands softly, considered her thoughtfully. "Rozzie, sweetheart, why aren't we married?"

Her withering scowl told him why. "Well there's a mood killer," she grumped. "Thanks a lot."

He couldn't help laughing. "Just joking, love," he said as he released her. "You mean nothing to me."

"That's better. Now shut up and come. Remember, I've got to get up early."

Now you do sound like a wife, he thought, but knew well enough to bite his tongue. Terry winced as she took his penis in hand. He was sore, and if he was sore, she must have been burning. She grimaced a little when she moved to receive him, but once he was in, it felt good. He grasped her hips, guided her movements.

"Go slow, love. I come slow," he encouraged her. But Rozzie knew what she was about. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd come in this bed, as well as in every other room in her place. Not to mention a few times in his own. She rocked her hips over him, took him deep and easy. Leaning down, she fed him her breast with an encouraging coo. He suckled enthusiastically, first one peaked pink bud, then the next. Terry shut his eyes and lost himself in the sensation of her body engulfing him. He felt like he was swimming in her, effortlessly, a warm sea of pleasure. But another face kept coming into his field of vision, another body, another voice.

She chanted at his ear in that throaty bedroom purr. "Are you gonna come in my pussy, baby? Gonna come for me, Terry?" Normally he would have loved it, would have begged her for more, to talk him into coming, but he needed something else tonight: quiet so he could imagine…

"Shh…" he hushed his lover. "Kiss me."

Terry opened to her, let his mind and body relax, felt her lips nibble at first, then suck at his tongue hungrily. He let himself be lost in the fullness of her kiss, the rhythmic surge of her hips, and he let the vision come over him. Isis, sitting tall astride him, her dark hair flowing down over natural breasts, dark tattoos surrounding her biceps, dark hair at the juncture of her thighs. Her body writhed like a snake, a primal undulating dance, a burning flame. He could smell the scent of her shampoo, the natural scent of her sex. Saw her small hands propped against his chest with her short manicured nails as they dug into his flesh needfully. Christ, it was so real.

He felt his lover's climax build, felt the clutching of her walls around his girth, heard her muffled moans, felt them in his mouth. And in his mind, she was Isis. Wrapping strong arms around her warmth, he clutched her close, nearly desperate as he mined for his release and hers, thrusting up suddenly violently to meet her body. Finally breaking the kiss, Terry gulped air and cried out senselessly as his orgasm rushed up and took him down. His veins were on fire, his head throbbed, and he moaned wordlessly with relief and gratitude as his body juddered against her. His semen rushed out to quench the fire, but was trapped by the condom. Rozzie's continuing pleasured cries woke him from his exultant dream, brought him back to reality, which he had to admit was pretty damned good.

She collapsed against his chest, rode the rise and fall of his heavy breath, and let him hold her in protective arms. Terry's big hands moved up and down the smooth skin of her back, soothing her and himself in the same moment. Her ear pressed to his chest, and she heard him purr like a well-fed lion.

"Christ, Terry. You fuck like a volcano."

He laughed out loud, an exhausted croak. "Never heard that one before," he chuckled, and clutched for the condom as she slid off his body and into the bed. Sleep came down over him like a blanketing fog. With Roslyn's fingers playing in the hair on his chest, Terry struggled to keep his eyes open. "I'm bloody rooted, love. Mind if I stay?"

She kissed his ear, nibbled the lobe. "Sorry, baby, I got a shit load to do in the morning for this presentation. No time for breakfast in bed."

"Fuuuck…" he groaned. Talk fast, mate. "Hey, with the deal I just made, I'm a good luck charm. Keep me around and see if it rubs off."

"Who'd you bag, big hunter?"

"Can't say, love. Classified. But you've heard of her. Rock diva."

"Blonde or brunette?" she asked succinctly.

"Brunette."

"Isis Knox," Roz said confidently. "So she was the inspiration for your performance tonight. Lucky me."

Terry smiled even though guilt stabbed his gut. "You didn't hear it from me," he insisted. Rolling over, he covered his head with the pillow, pleaded a muffled, "Don't put me out in the cold, Rozzie."

She drew down the expensive white sheet, let her hand smooth over and knead the muscles of Terry's backside. "You know I love seeing this perfect ass first thing in the morning, but sorry, Terry. You don't have far to crawl. Besides, you broke the rule. No talking about other women in my bed."

The soft caress turned into a sound slap. Terry jumped but didn't turn over "Christ! You talked about her, not me. You're my only love.""

"Liar."

"Yeah…" he breathed gruffly, rolled over for her kiss. "But I'm good at it."

Roz chuckled, exhausted herself. "Sure as hell are."

"Ta, love," he said sincerely. "And good luck tomorrow."

"Thank you, Mr. Thorne," she said with a kiss. "Goodnight."