When you meet a certain kind of woman, no matter what anyone tells you about her, that’s it.

IneffableI love writing about troublemakers. Who wouldn’t? They make things so interesting, especially female troublemakers. Giving the hero as much hell as possible, and he still comes back for more.

Jewelry designer extraordinaire Margot Temple was one of the more solemn troublemaker characters I’ve created. Her nickname may have been Margot Temper, but she had a heart as big and bright as one of her gold, bejeweled creations, and Nori loved every curvy inch of her.

In this snippet Nori’s just getting a taste of the mysterious, reputation-challenged Margot, and before they even part he’s ready and waiting to go back for more. 

Ineffable is out now.



Nori liked to think he was a good judge of character. It had helped him make his own money, a lot of it, before he took over the family business. His ability to read people, to search out their flaws and exploit them, was as respected in business as his well-cut suits were in fashion.

But when he looked at her, he got nothing. He sensed no fear, no nervousness, and oddly, no desire. Damn it.

He hadn’t realized he’d grown spoiled, become used to the admiration of women. Even if his money was the main attraction, his tall, 4.2 percent body fat physique and what more than one claimed was a poetically handsome face did not go unnoticed.

But Margot, dressed in a pale pink skirt suit, all scalloped edges and dark pink piping, was as inscrutable as a Madonna. He had no idea if she liked what she saw when she looked at him. He had nothing except a prominent and irritating erection, until he heard her voice. Then everything changed.

Her voice pulled something loose in him. Something he hadn’t known was there, waiting to be disturbed. His skin tingled. His eyes narrowed. He wanted to kick the others from the room so he could concentrate on that deep, heavy rasp.

It was rough. It sounded a little dirty so early in the day. It was the kind of voice that should be heard under the moon, from behind a velvet curtain. Or from the center of his bed with her under him, pinned down by his cock and loving every hard driving second of it.

Later he could barely remember the meeting. Candy handled it all – he’d been too busy talking his erection down – but he did recall the charge he got when she called to tell him Margot had signed the contract.

I got her, he thought, smug.

He could remember every detail about her though: the length of her legs, the tiny heels on her dark pink and cream-colored shoes, how the sun came through the windows and gilded the stunning earrings she’d worn. Not because they dripped semi-precious stones, but because the dangling decorations swayed with her movements, brushing repeatedly against her long neck.

He could see himself holding the back of that neck while he had her mouth, biting and sucking until those lush lips turned red. He could see himself guiding her long, slender fingers until they wrapped around his cock, gripped his ass and stroked his back while he pounded into her.

Before Margot he’d never liked tall women. He preferred them short and well rounded, and while Margot’s bosom was as curvy as he could want, she had to be at least 5’9, and everywhere but her tits she was as lean as a greyhound. But he wanted her intensely. He hoped she was stronger than she looked. The way she had him feeling, he might have to be a little rough when he finally got her in bed.

He’d never slept with someone he worked with – he’d never wanted a woman the way he wanted her – but he saw no reason why he shouldn’t have her. It was a capsule collection. If things went badly, their association already had an end date.

Besides, she didn’t strike him as the clingy type. She was too self-contained. And he was French. There was always room for an exception, and Margot Temple was it. He was going after her, he would win her, and he would have her under him a, s, a, fucking p. He wouldn’t accept anything else.


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