Introduction

Danica Snow has always been the smart, practical, and appropriate sister. As a therapist, she prides herself on making reasonable, conservative choices, even if a bit boring, and as part of the Big Sister Program, she has little time for anything more in her life.

Blake Carter is a player. He never gets bored of conquering women, and with his sexy good looks and successful lifestyle, he has no trouble finding willing participants. When his friend and business partner dies in a tragic accident, he suddenly, desperately, wants to change his ways. The problem is, he doesn't know how to stop doing what he does best.

When Blake walks into Danica's office, the attraction between them is white hot, but Danica isn't the type to give into the heat and risk her career. Danica's desire sets her on a path of self-discovery, where she begins to question every decision she's ever made. Just this once, Danica wants to indulge in the pleasures of life she's been so willingly ignoring, but with her Little Sister in turmoil and her biological sister's promiscuousness weighing heavily on her heart, she isn't sure it's the right time to set her desires free.

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Excerpt

Chapter One

The line in the café went all the way to the door. Danica Snow wished she hadn’t taken her sister Kaylie’s phone call before getting her morning coffee. Living in an overcrowded tourist town could be a major inconvenience, but Danica loved that she could walk from her condo to her office, see a movie, have dinner, or even stop at a bookstore without ever sitting in a car. Every minute counted when you lived in Allure, Colorado, host to an odd mix of hippie and yuppie tourists in equal numbers. The ski slopes brought them in the winter, while art shows drew them in the summer. There was never a break. Every suit and Rasta child in town was standing right in front of her, waiting for their coffee or latte, and the guy ahead of her had shoulders so wide she couldn’t easily see around him. Danica tapped the toe of her efficient and comfortable Nine West heels, growing more impatient by the second.

What on earth was taking so long? In seven minutes they’d served only one person. The tables were pushed so close to the people standing in line that she couldn’t step to the side to see. She was gridlocked. Danica leaned to the right and peered around the massive shoulder ahead of her just as the owner of that shoulder turned to look out the door. Whack! He elbowed her right in the nose, knocking Danica’s head back.

Her hand flew to her bloody nose. “Ow! Geez!” She ducked in pain, covering her face and talking through her hands. “I think you broke my nose.” Each word sent pain across her nose and below her eyes.

“I’m so sorry. Let me get you a napkin,” a deep, worried voice said.

Two patrons rushed over and shoved napkins in her direction.

“Are you okay?” an older woman asked.

Tears sprang from the corners of Danica’s closed eyes. Damn it. Her entire day would now run late and she probably looked like a red-nosed, crying idiot. “This hurts so bad. Weren’t you looking where—” Danica flipped her unruly, brown hair from her face and opened her eyes. Her venom-filled glare locked on the man who had elbowed her—the most beautiful specimen of a human being she had ever seen. Oh shit. “I’m…What…?” Come on, girl. Get it together. He’s probably an egomaniac.

“I’m so sorry.” His voice was rich and smooth, laden with concern.

A thin blonde grabbed his arm and shoved a napkin into his hand. “Give this to her,” she said, blinking her eyelashes in a come-hither way.

The man held the woman’s hand a beat too long. “Thanks,” he said. His eyes trailed down the blonde’s blouse.

Really? I’m bleeding over here.

He turned toward Danica and handed her the napkin. His eyes were green and yellow, like field grass. His eyebrows drew together in a serious gaze, and Danica thought that maybe she’d been too quick to judge—until he stole a glance at the blonde as she walked out of the café.

Asshole. She felt the heat of anger spread up her chest and neck, along her cheeks, to the ridge of her high cheekbones. She snagged the napkin from his hand and wiped her throbbing nose. “It’s okay. I’m fine,” she lied. She could smell the minty freshness of his breath, and she wondered what it might taste like. Danica was not one to swoon—that was Kaylie’s job. Get a grip.

“Can I at least buy you a coffee?” He ran his hand through his thick, dark hair.

Yes! “No, thank you. It’s okay.” She had been a therapist long enough to know what kind of guy eyes another girl while she was tending to a bloody nose that he had caused. Danica fumbled for her purse, which she’d dropped when she was hit. She lowered her eyes to avoid looking into his. “I’m fine, really. Just look behind you next time.” Not for the first time, Danica wished she had Kaylie’s flirting skills and her ability to look past his wandering eyes. She would have had him buying her coffee, a Danish, and breakfast the next morning.

Danica was so confused, she wasn’t even sure what she wanted. She chanced another glance up at him. He was looking at her features so intently that she felt as though he were drinking her in, memorizing her. His eyes trailed slowly from hers, lowered to her nose, to her lips, and then settled on the beauty mark that she’d been self-conscious of her entire life. She felt like a Cindy Crawford wannabe. Danica pursed her lips. “Are you done?” she asked.

He blinked with the innocence of a young boy, clueless to her annoyance, which was in stark contrast to his confident, manly presence. He stood almost a foot taller than Danica’s impressive five foot seven stature. His chest muscles bulged beneath his way-too-small shirt, dark curls poking through the neckline. He probably bought it that way on purpose. She glanced down and tried not to notice his muscular thighs straining against his stonewashed denim jeans. Danica swallowed hard. All the air suddenly left her lungs. He was touching her shoulder, squinting, evaluating her face.

“I’m sorry. I was just making sure it didn’t look broken, which it doesn’t. I’m sure it’s painful.”

She couldn’t think past the heat of his hand, the breadth of it engulfing her shoulder. “It’s okay,” she managed, hating herself for being lost in his touch when he was clearly someone who ate women for breakfast. She checked her watch. She had three minutes to get her coffee and get back to her office before her next client showed up. Belinda. She’d love this guy.

The line progressed, and Adonis waved as he left the café. Danica reached into her purse to pay for her French vanilla coffee and found herself taking a last glance at him as he passed the front window.

The young barista pushed Danica’s money away. “No need, hon. Blake paid for yours.” She smiled, lifting her eyebrows.

“He did?” Blake.

“Yeah, he’s really sweet.” The barista leaned over the cash register. “Even if he is a player.”

Aha! I knew it. Danica thrust her shoulders back, feeling smart for resisting temptation.

Chapter Two

Danica sat across from Belinda Trenton, desperately trying to focus on her client’s latest issue instead of the pain she felt every time she sniffled or blinked. It hurt, but her nose hadn’t blossomed into a swollen mess, so she was pretty sure it wasn’t broken. Belinda chewed gum like a cow chews its cud. Her eyeliner was reminiscent of Madonna’s style from the eighties. Her dark hair was long and thick, pinned up in the very front with a petite barrette, leaving sexy tendrils hanging past her silver-rimmed glasses. She looked like a vixen librarian. The tops of her breasts plumped out of the low-cut T-shirt she wore, and her black skinny jeans looked more like a second skin than a layer of clothing. She bounced her stiletto heels as she spoke. Blake would love you, Danica thought, before quickly chiding herself for being snarky.

“I wasn’t going to sleep with him. I really wasn’t,” Belinda said, continuing her rationale for her previous evening’s romp.

“I’m not here to judge you, Belinda. It’s okay if you did want to sleep with him. But I thought you were trying to restrain yourself. Trying a new tactic.” Same conversation, different day. Belinda was no more in charge of her hormones than the sky had the power to withhold rain. Danica’s thoughts turned to Blake’s shoulders, and she wondered what it might feel like to touch them. Oh God, what’s happening to me? If even she couldn’t keep her thoughts focused—and she was the least sexual person she knew—how could she expect her sexed-up clients to?

“I know. I was. Meet them, chat, and don’t take them home, right?” Belinda looked at her for affirmation.

“Yes.” She mulled over what Belinda had done. What was so bad about it, really? She was attracted to a man and went home with him. Ever since that morning, all Danica could think about was what would have happened if she’d let Blake buy her coffee. For the first time in her life, Danica was wondering about that moment of impact, that instant attraction that so many could not deny—her sister included. She wondered why Kaylie had that level of desire and why she didn’t. She’d always thought that she was the less troubled one. Now, after experiencing heart-pounding excitement at the sight of Blake, she began to wonder if something was wrong with her after all. Why hadn’t she ever felt this way before?

“Well, I tried that, but he just kept offering. He said he had this great, new CD he wanted me to hear—and I like music.”

I like coffee. “Do you know what you're doing?”

Belinda rolled her eyes. “Rationalizing.”

Danica nodded. Some people would call Belinda a sex addict. Even Danica had lost track of the number of men that had shared Belinda’s bed in the past year. But Danica didn’t like that term—sex addict. She felt it was a cop out. Being promiscuous was something that seemed to drive Belinda from one moment to the next, and Danica knew that when Belinda discovered more about herself and gained more confidence, the need for meaningless sex would wane.

She didn’t mean to, but she knew she was giving Belinda the disapproving parental look that she herself despised. Strangely, she felt the look was meant more for herself than Belinda. How many times had her father given her that same look for doing something whimsical instead of academic, while praising Kaylie for her song and dance routines? She pictured him now with his thick, dark hair, one bushy eyebrow lifted, as if to say, Don’t waste your time on that silliness. She pictured her proper mother, demure with her blunt-cut hair and ever-present smile. She didn’t have to say a word to Danica about her behavior. The way she’d nodded in support of her father was enough to send a strong message: Danica was the smart one. Her father’s voice still rang out in her mind, There are certain expectations we have of you that we simply cannot expect of Kaylie.

Time to wrap this session up.

“Okay, so, next week we’ll work on learning the downfalls of rationalizing your actions away.” And, hopefully, I’ll be able to think past the sexy man who gave me a bloody nose.

Belinda bit her lower lip and stood eye to eye with Danica. “Do you think there’s hope for me? Or am I always going to be like this?” Her eyes pleaded for help or some sort of kudos, something to validate that she wasn’t looking at a mountain that she could never climb.

Danica knew the power of positive thinking. She patted Belinda on the back and said, “You can do anything you’re really determined to do, Belinda. We just need to work on some of these things. I have faith in you.” Validation on a paper plate. Why am I such a magnet for promiscuous people? She thought about it, then silently added, Even my sister!

Chapter Three

Blake Carter listened to the two cougars whispering about him from behind the ski rack. He eyed them as he walked toward the front of the store. The dark-haired one looked vaguely familiar. The redhead flashed him a smile as he walked past. He gave her his best over-the-shoulder glance, holding her gaze. Nice rack, nice ass. He busied himself behind the counter, counting up the receipts, glancing up when they giggled like schoolgirls. He was playing a game, doing what he knew best. But ever since that woman he’d hurt in the coffee shop noticed him taking a last glance at the slinky blonde, he had actually felt bad. He’d seen the hurt in the woman’s eyes as she stood there with blood on her nose, and it was like his heart had softened. Ever since that moment, those hurt eyes lingered in his mind, and now he was having trouble seeing past them.

“They’re hot for you.”

Blake lifted his eyes to Dave Tuft, his best friend, business partner, and the best acroskier he knew. Dave could flip and spin on a pair of skis as well as Blake could land women.

“What else is new?”

Dave shook his head. “So, you goin’ for it?” He lifted his eyebrows.

“No, thanks.” Blake laughed, wishing the woman from the café had accepted his offer to buy her a cup of coffee. He could have made up for the sneak peek at the blonde.

“You can’t handle two?” Dave pulled an inventory clipboard from below the counter and glanced over at the fifty-something-year-old women. “I envy you, but I wouldn’t trade Sally or Rusty for anyone in the world.”

“Just wait. Rusty’s what? Fifteen? Soon he’ll be doing what I’m doing, if he’s not already.”

“Maybe, but we spend so much family time together that I can’t even imagine it.”

“Tell me about it. When are we hitting the slopes again? Between Rusty’s basketball and your weekly date night with Sally, we never get to catch air together. We should take a run, let our Kodak courage run wild.” Blake knew from experience that if he egged him on enough, Dave would eventually relent. Dave’s commitment to Sally and Rusty was enviable, but Blake missed their skiing excursions.

“Kodak courage, huh?” Dave laughed. “I think it takes Kodak courage to do what you do.” He nodded at the women. “I’m too old and too tired to show that kind of courage.”

Dave was five years older than Blake, and at thirty-four, Blake still couldn’t imagine being too tired for sex. He turned away from the women and leaned against the counter. He couldn’t get the woman from the café off his mind. She was bitchy and cold and had made it very clear that she was too good for him when she snubbed his offer to buy her coffee, and yet, when he’d looked into her eyes, he’d been intrigued by some kind of repressed spark. Maybe it was just the old adage: Everyone wants what they can’t have. All he knew was that for the first time in years, he had no stirrings for the women who were so eagerly vying for his attention, and he was pissed at having been blown off earlier.

“As much as I egg you on, dude, I gotta tell ya, life is complicated enough. One woman—the right woman—is more than enough for me. I have to wonder why on earth you’re so afraid of getting married,” Dave said.

“Not afraid. Too smart to get caged.” Blake smiled. “Come on. Whaddaya say? One more ski trip before the season’s over?”

“You know, there are people who can help you work through that mommy drama of yours.” Dave pulled out his cell phone scrolled through his contacts. He scribbled a number on a piece of paper, then shoved it into Blake’s pants' pocket. “I looked her up a few months ago. I didn’t see her, but I heard she’s great.”

“Hooker?”

“Therapist,” Dave said with a serious tone. “Okay, look, it has been a while since we've skied. Rusty has a game tomorrow, but how about a night run on Saturday?”

Blake eyed Dave expectantly, waiting for him to say that he forgot he had plans with Sally, Rusty needed help studying, or it was family movie night at their house. He touched his pocket, wondering why Dave would have a therapist’s number, then dismissed the thought and moved on to planning their evening of skiing.

“What?” Dave asked.

“Hadn’t you better check with wifey first?” Blake asked.

“Sally doesn’t care what I do. I mean, she cares, but it’s my choice.”

Blake heard hesitation in Dave’s voice and raised his eyebrows.

“I know you can’t understand this, Casanova, but I actually like spending time with my family. I like the mundane of knowing they’re there. I like coming home to the same woman every day, knowing what perfume she’ll have on, and yes, even knowing that Friday nights are family movie night and Sundays are our date night.” Dave sighed. “Look, Saturday night. I’ll make it happen.”

Blake shook his head.

“What’s that? Blood?” Dave pointed to Blake’s elbow.

“What?” Blake looked at a smear of blood on his elbow. “Goddamnit.” He walked toward the bathroom to wash it off. Now the snarky woman had ruined his favorite Rossignol long-sleeve shirt. Sure, he had too many of the same type of shirt from every manufacturer around, but this shirt was the one his father had mailed him when they’d opened their ski shop, AcroSki. It was light gray, one size too small, and hugged him in all the right places. The perfect base layer. It was his lucky shirt, and now it was probably ruined.

Dave was on his heels. “Blood? What’s up with that?”

“I elbowed some woman by accident at the coffee shop. She got a bloody nose.” The woman he couldn’t get out of his mind, with the cutest mole he’d ever seen right above her luscious lips.

“Is that why you’re in a shitty mood?” Dave asked.

Blake stopped walking and turned to face Dave. “I’m not in a shitty mood. I’m just tired.”

“If this isn’t a shitty mood, then you’re a virgin, too.”

Blake pressed his lips into a tight line and walked away.

The bathroom was bright and, thankfully, empty. Blake pulled at his shirtsleeve to inspect the damage. He’d never hit a woman before, not even by accident, and the one time he made a mistake, she bleeds all over his favorite shirt? Just his luck. He pulled his shirt over his head and rinsed the elbow area with cold water. The water turned pink from the runoff.

The bathroom door swung open, the Men’s Room sign clear in big, bold, blue letters on the door.

“Oops. Sorry,” the redhead said with a coy smile.

Blake feigned a smile in return. He was in no mood for a quick bathroom romp. He’d done it before—bathroom, airplane, even on a ski lift. Hell, there was probably nothing he hadn’t done before, but he was not in the mood for it now.

The woman shimmied over and put her hand on his bare back. “Want some help with that?” She leaned in close, brushed her breast against his bare chest.

Blake steeled his stance. “I’ve got it, thanks.”

Red reached over and put her hands on top of his, moving it in a scrubbing motion just as he was. “I’m good with my hands. I can probably get that right out.”

I’ll bet you are. Her hair smelled of roses, her shoulder and neck of Obsession perfume. Blake felt the familiar desire pulling him toward her. He leaned back. Behave, he told himself, but his body had other ideas.

The woman turned and put her wet hands on Blake’s biceps, her lips an inch from his. “My girlfriend,” she said, running her wet index finger down his arm, “said you liked a little fun.”

“Did she?” Blake had a hazy recollection of the other woman from the only non-touristy bar in town, Bar None. He cringed. Was the town really that small? Blake was torn between his growing erection and the anger he’d felt moments before she’d come into the bathroom.

“Mm-hmm. I thought I might meet you after work and,” she leaned in and whispered in his ear, “help you release some stress. Drinks, my place?” She planted soft kisses down his neck.

To any other man, this might have seemed unusual, but to Blake—who'd been intimate with too many women to count, in too many places to remember—this was an everyday occurrence. Something he normally thrived on. Today, all he wanted was to clean his damned shirt and forget the woman from earlier that morning.

Her lips moved down his chest, circling his nipple.

“You look stressed. Maybe this will help.” She ran her tongue down his stomach and back up again.

Blake dropped his shirt into the sink and turned, pressing his groin into the woman’s hips. “Maybe it would.” Unable to withstand the sizzling heat of her lust, he gave in to the familiar release that he’d given in to over a hundred times before. He brought his lips to her neck, kissing and licking until she was moaning, grabbing his ass and pulling it toward her. His eyes lingered on the shirt. His favorite shirt. The shirt that was stained with that other woman’s blood. His erection faltered.

Red reached for his crotch, massaging him through his jeans, and planted quick licks of her tongue on his neck and chest. The wetness lingered there, cool and sharp. She unbuttoned his jeans, the tip of his erection pressed against the waistband of his black Calvin Klein boxer briefs. She slid her hand inside the denim and cradled his balls through the soft cotton.

Blake closed his eyes, submitting to the desire that swelled within him. Not good enough for you? Anger at the morning’s snub surged through him. I’ll show you how good I am. He grabbed Red by the back of her head and kissed her hard. She moaned with pleasure, her hand still working its magic. He lifted her up and onto the counter, forcefully reaching under her dress and pulling her thong to the side. He pushed his pants down, slipped on a condom, and wrapped her legs around his waist. She pulled away from his grasp, looking down at his massive erection.

“Oh yeah, she wasn’t lying,” she purred. She pulled him against her.

With one hand, he grabbed her ass and lifted her forward, to the edge of the counter, the tip of his penis against her opening. She was wet, ready. With one thrust, he was inside of her. She gasped, digging her fingernails into his shoulders and sending his erection into overdrive. He pumped hard and fast. Her head fell back as she arched into him. He kissed her long neck, twisting out of her fingernails’ grasp and driving even deeper. The snarky woman’s voice invaded his thoughts. Are you done? Usually Blake waited for the woman to orgasm before finding his release. Today he had to escape his own thoughts. He thrust and pumped until he was on the verge of his own orgasm.

Red panted, “Wait. Wait. Go slower.”

Are you done? There was no waiting. Anger fed his need. He clung to her ample hips as he pulled her forward and pushed her back in perfect rhythm with each of his harsh thrusts, until finally, she squeezed and pulsated around him and he came hard and forcefully, gritting his teeth and grunting against her neck until he was spent.

“Fun,” she said, out of breath.

Blake opened his eyes to find his own reflection staring back at him in the mirror. His cheeks carried the pink of fresh desire and his lips were smeared with her lipstick. His jeans hung around his knees, and the fifty-something-year-old woman he’d just banged was hanging on to him like he was hers. He didn’t even know her name. Fun? He was a thirty-four-year-old male slut—no better than those girls everyone teased in high school. Are you done? Her voice echoed in his head. Blake pulled out of Red, grabbed paper towels from the dispenser, and handed them to her. “Thanks,” he said, tossing his condom in the trash. Then he snagged his shirt, hiked up his pants, and escaped with his shame and self-loathing to the safety of his office. view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

1. Both Danica and Kaylie had intimacy issues due to their father’s lifestyle. Which sister do you think handled it in a more appropriate fashion, and if you were in the same situation, how do you think you might have handled it?
2. Danica faced a tough decision with regard to her career. Do you feel she handled things well? What do you feel she should have handled differently?
3. The tragic loss of Blake’s business partner and best friend was the catalyst for Blake’s metamorphosis. How much of who he was do you think was based on his familial situation? What might have made a difference in his life if handled differently?
4. Danica and Kaylie are polar opposites on the outside. In what ways are they alike?
5. Given the opportunity, would you take a chance on a man like Blake or a woman like Kaylie?

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