Hi there. This is a little snippet from Morgan’s Return, the sequel to Morgan’s Choice. You don’t have to have read Morgan’s Choice to enjoy Morgan’s Return, but I think readers would agree it helps.
In this little scene, Morgan is creating a distraction and is having a hard time not distracting herself.
“Sounds like you quite fancy my lover. I wouldn’t presume to call him my boyfriend, he’s certainly not a boy. He can be a total bastard, you know. Not nice at all. Except in bed.” She smiled, conjuring up memories.
That got through. Cruickshank’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You’ll all die together. A pity, but there it is. I can still have him whenever I want him.”
Where had that come from? This was a fantasy. Morgan wouldn’t be surprised if Cruickshank had never had sex with a living, breathing man. Of course. Plenty of women used virtual sex with images of men they lusted after. That Playmate program? She’d heard about it, but she preferred the real thing.
“Got him in your collection, have you? Playmate?”
Cruickshank grinned. “Never you mind.”
“Bet it’s not like the real thing, though. Want to see?”
The cargo hold was fitted with a screen capable of 3D. It was more routinely used to display engine schematics but this time, Morgan concentrated on the connection, and built an image of Ravindra in Manesai full dress uniform. The white cloth almost shimmered against his dark skin, and the golden collar and rank insignia sparked in harmony with the glint in his amber eyes. He looked magnificent, a man of power and authority.
Cruickshank couldn’t help herself, glancing at the display while trying to concentrate on Morgan. “Thanks. I’ll add this to my database.” Her voice sounded strained.
Morgan made sure the virtual Ravindra faced Cruickshank. Then she had him unfasten the collar so it parted, showing his Adam’s apple. Now the next button, slipping the golden disk through the material with long, strong fingers. Now the next. And the next, until the coat hung open. He slid the arm off one shoulder, then the other, and let the coat drop to the floor, where it disappeared from the display. Now his skin-tight white undershirt, that clung to every muscle, defining his pecs and his abs. He pulled the material out of his belt slowly, a slight smile on his lips.
She remembered when he’d done this, just for her. Stop it, Morgan. Keep your mind on the job.
He lifted the material in his fists, dragged the shirt up his torso, revealing skin like polished mahogany. Then over the swelling pectorals, up over his head, until he could flick the shirt away. The golden lines of the tattoo on his right shoulder gleamed.