Guitar Man, NOT CURRENTLY AVAILABLE   A powerful psychic is torn by her conflicting quests for personal stability and sexual excitement…   When Ellie is dumped at the altar - again - she swears off men and takes her wounded heart to Scotland and Jenny (from Undead Men Wear Plaid).  Here she encounters a glorious one-night stand from her past, Glaswegian busker Chris, and her resolve to eschew men is severely tested. Worse, Chris is clearly connected to a malevolent spirit that lurks in his house but cannot be traced.  Is he himself the source of the evil energy, or is he being possessed?

Reviews:

"This is fun and highly sensual, a sexy romp that you will read all in one go. I award 4.5 red roses for this very enjoyable book." - 4.5 roses, Anne, Red Roses for Authors.

Excerpts:

First, a scary one.  Scroll down for a spicy one!

     While Chris lounged on the bed, tuning the guitar and strumming vaguely, I strolled around the room, examining his books – a diverse collection of music, politics, literature and popular fiction. I found myself humming along with the melody Chris began to play, although I didn’t recognize it. I opened my mouth to ask him what it was, when it suddenly changed into a different tune, discordant yet weirdly hypnotic.
     “Chris, that’s horrible!” I chided. “Play something else.”
     Since he didn’t, I threw my head back in mock outrage and announced I was going to make more coffee. He didn’t object as I swept dramatically past the foot of the bed, but at the last minute he moved with startling speed. Hanging on to the guitar with one hand, he launched his body across the entire length of the bed and reached out to grip my thigh.
      Stunned, I stood quite still, staring at his hand. It was warm, its grip too firm around the top of my leg, the palm secure around my inner thigh. I knew I would have difficulty removing it, at least by normal means. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to. I liked Chris’s hands. He had never been short on boldness, and I supposed I had been enticed up here for a reason. My ego wasn’t sorry about that either. His fingers dug almost painfully into my flesh, and yet treacherous tinglings snaked upward from his fingers to my pussy. I felt suddenly hot and moist.
     Slowly, almost afraid, I lifted my gaze from his rigid hand to his face. His blue eyes gleamed. But he wasn’t smiling. This was a new Chris to me – dominating, determined, almost…scary.
     He said, “Fuck the coffee. Sit on my cock and screw me.”
     Shocked, I reacted purely from instinct. I hurled un-necessary force at his fingers, prizing them loose with my mind. In less than a second, I was out the bed-room door and running for the stairs. Stupidly, I could feel the ache of tears desperate to be shed, and I didn’t even know why.
     Chris had never been mealy mouthed. I wasn’t exactly a shrinking rose myself. In Pisa, part of his charm had been his directness. It had been exciting, compelling. Yet here, I felt…abused. And by a man I was beginning to like a lot.
     My mobile phone chose that minute to go off.
     I heard it from the stairs. Dashing into the living room where I’d left my bag, I grabbed the phone out of it.
     It was Jenny, damn her. “Not a good…” I began, but she interrupted me, her voice high and harsh.
     “Ellie are you okay?”
     “Okay? Yes,” I mumbled in bewilderment. Was I?
     “Get out of there, Ellie. Now. The readings are off the scale.”

     I grabbed my jacket and my bag and bolted for the living room door, trying to stuff the phone back into my bag with shaking fingers as I went. A shadow fell over me, bringing me to an abrupt halt. I could hear my heart thundering in my ears. Slowly, I raised my eyes.
     Chris stood in the doorway, distractedly rubbing the fingers of his right hand...

 

*

     It was I who touched him deliberately first, tracing the prominent veins of his hand with one finger. “Is it playing guitar that does that?” I asked, to provide an excuse.
     “I suppose–and the heat. Pianists have even better veins.” He reached across me for the carafe, and I felt his wrist brush against my breast. Already hard, my nipple tightened unbearably as if straining for his touch. “Do you play?”
     I shook my head. “No. Why?”
     “You have very sensitive fingers.”
     I smiled, following the vein over his wrist. He shivered.
     “Ellie?”
     “Mmm?”
     “Can I ask you something?”
     “Sure.” My heart leapt so high I thought it would come out of my throat. His hand turned, capturing mine, caressing it.
     “What are you doing later?”
     “Later than what?”
     “Later than this.”
     “I don’t know.” Lifting my eyes from our entwined fingers, I looked into his amazing blue eyes. “Do you have any suggestions?”
     “Lots,” he said, smiling. His other hand cupped my cheek, his thumb brushed my lips. I parted them, emitting a tiny gasp of pleasure. He leaned in to me and captured my mouth.
     I was lost. A man who could kiss like that had no business doing it in a public café. Hot and firm, his lips brought sensual magic, parting mine further and exploring softly with his tongue until I melted into his mouth with a sigh of pure satisfaction. Holding my head with both hands now, he deepened the kiss, making me gasp and gasp again. I sucked his tongue farther into my mouth, grazed it with my teeth. A growl of desire began somewhere about my toes and rose up to my lips. I threw my arms around his neck and still he kissed me as if he would never stop, thrusting and dancing with his tongue, making love to my whole mouth. It was the wildest, most blatantly sexual kiss I could ever remember and it left me hotter and randier than I’d ever been in my life.
     “Ellie,” he groaned softly against my lips. “Will you come home with me?”
     Unsteady laughter caught at my breath. “To be honest, Chris, I’m not sure I can make it that far.”
     He smiled into my mouth, delving in for another kiss. “God, me neither.”
     “Where can we go?” I whispered, not even sure if I was serious. “Where is quiet? And close!”
     “Toilette?”
     I shook with laughter as well as desire. The knowledge that he was so desperate for me aroused me beyond fever pitch. I said, “We can’t! People will see us go in!”
     “No one will notice if you’re blatant enough. Come on.”
     He leapt to his feet, drawing me with him. As we stood, careless of onlookers, he wrapped both arms around me, drawing me close into his body so that I could feel his erection, huge and hard against my abdomen. Gasping, I pressed into it, pushing my breasts into his hard chest, running my hands up and down his muscular arms, roving them over his broad shoulders and back. I just knew he would have the body of a god, and if he was only half as good at the rest of the stuff as he was at kissing, I was in for one crazy ride, and I couldn’t wait. Reaching up, I seized his mouth in mine once more. His hands held my buttocks so that he could grind his erection into me. His breath came in ragged pants. I could think of nothing except that hard cock pushing into me, giving me some release from this intensely pleasurable torture.
     Tearing my mouth free, I gasped recklessly, “All right. Take me there. In every way.”


Copyright Marie Treanor 2007

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