Chapter
1

 On nights like this, diner owner Frankie Smith loved her life.

She lay on her side in her big, firm bed in her pretty house hanging on the hill in the southern California beach town of Six Palms. The cantilevered structure was a gift from her gambler dad, its design a reminder that the West Coast was cutting edge. No matter what complaints she had against her mostly absent father, Frankie loved every inch of this house—especially the eyrie that was her room.

Above her hung her prized possession, an outrigger canoe oar her mother had raced with as a teen. Out on her balcony, a potted banana tree whispered a lullaby to the sea-scented summer breeze. Frankie was young, relatively blond, and perfectly healthy. She'd put in a long day serving tourists and had brought in a decent take. Now she was ready to enjoy the good night's rest every hardworking stiff deserved.

That is, unless the hardworking stiff slipping in behind her had other plans.

Frankie's long-time boyfriend, Troy, must have thought she was asleep. She could tell he was trying not to disturb her as he eased beneath the freshly laundered sheets. He was hours later than he'd promised, no doubt kept chained in the office by his overly ambitious boss.

A former model, Troy was as laid back as they came, more at home in flip-flops than a suit. His trademark hollow cheekbones had earned him a small fortune, and she still couldn't believe he'd been talked into switching to real estate. But Troy had always been at the mercy of more forceful personalities. For all her good points, his boss, Karen Ellis, was definitely that. Troy was doing well, at least, and Frankie knew he was proud.

Troy's parents, on the other hand, thought he should have stuck to playing polo and mooching off friends whose families hadn't run through their fortunes yet. Laid back or not, Troy's blood was a very American shade of blue.

It always gave Frankie a private kick that he'd ended up with her instead of some debutante.

She grinned into the darkness as he achieved his favorite snuggling spot. His head was tucked over hers, and his arm draped her ribs with his hand coming up to cup. Troy was a breast man, and hers were just full enough to get him going. His sigh of pleasure was as involuntary as it was relieved. Naturally, he was naked; Troy was too gorgeous and too vain to wear a stitch to bed. He must have showered in the downstairs bathroom, because he smelled as good as he felt—six lean feet of gym-sculpted muscle and polished skin.

Frankie wore cotton panties and a strappy T-shirt, but the places he was warmest were impossible to mistake. His chest was as board-hard as it had been when he was twenty, and his lower body curved around her ass like it was born to fit. Always easy to rouse, his cock stirred against her bottom as if it, too, were wondering whether sleep was what it wanted most.

His body's reaction heated her deep inside, making up for his lateness, making up for all the familiar guy faults he had in abundance. Troy could be an idiot, but he was hers.

Frankie decided the moment was too nice to ruin with a scold. Instead, she wriggled her fanny backward and bit her lip as he hardened more.

This time, he hummed instead of sighed, though he seemed not to realize she was awake and teasing him. His arm tightened around her as his hips pressed forward. In seconds, his erection had reached full length. He was a good-sized man, with a healthy appetite for release. Since Frankie liked sex as much as he did, this had never been one of their problems. Twice a night wasn't too much for either of them, and only rarely had she turned him down. He was good in bed: straightforward but not selfish, and always appreciative. She knew a girl could do worse.

He moaned low in his throat. One of his more endearing traits as a lover was an inability to prevent himself from making noise. A rush of sultry moisture slid from her sex.

Then Frankie's eyebrows rose. The hand that had cupped her breast had moved to the strip of belly skin her T-shirt bared, preparing—she was certain—to slip into her panties and coax her clit awake. Troy's usual mode of rousing her for a quickie was to nudge her shoulder and say her name. This slightly daring change of pace delighted her, but to her surprise, he'd barely brushed her pubic curls when he hesitated, pulled back his hand, and rolled away.

Oh, for goodness sake, she thought, wondering at his scruples. Did he honestly think she'd be mad? It wasn't like she'd sleep through the whole thing.

She was about to let him know she was conscious when she realized what he was doing with his back to her.

His breathing had changed, and his arm moved in a rhythm as distinct as it was personal. He was jacking off, the slightly wet, clicking sound of his fist pushing his cock skin just audible above the rustling sheets. She could tell how much he wanted a release because, as always, he couldn't stay silent. He was swallowing back little grunts of need. Heat flushed through her like the sun blazing through a window on a summer day. Despite her annoyance that he'd rolled away from her, she knew it was the sexiest thing she'd ever heard.

If she hadn't been so aroused, she'd have listened to it to the end.

Copyright © 2006 by Emma Holly