HandsOn

  HANDS ON

  An Ellora’s Cave Publication, July 2005

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

  1056 Home Ave.

  Akron, OH 44310

  ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-4199-0152-4

  Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):

  Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML

  HANDS ON Copyright © 2005 JACI BURTON

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Edited by Briana St. James.

  Cover art by Syneca.

  Warning:

  The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. Hands Onhas been rated S-ensuous by a minimum of three independent reviewers.

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (E-rotic), and X (X-treme).

  S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination.

  E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. In addition, some E-rated titles might contain fantasy material that some readers find objectionable, such as bondage, submission, same sex encounters, forced seductions, and so forth. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry; it is common, for instance, for an author to use words such as “fucking”, “cock”, “pussy”, and such within their work of literature.

  X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Unlike E-rated titles, stories designated with the letter X tend to contain controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

  Hands On

  Jaci Burton

  Dedication

  To Jamie, my wonderful friend, who told me about this really interesting annual event she’d read about which made HANDS ON come to life. Thanks babe.

  To my editor, Briana St. James, for hanging in there with me through all these books. Thank you.

  To my pals for always being there with me through thick, thin and hysteria. You know who you are. Thanks for the coffee and your friendship.

  And to Charlie, as always, for making me believe that anything is possible. I love you.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  K-Mart: KMART PROPERTIES, INC. CORPORATION

  Chapter One

  “You’re from where? And you want to do what?” Lara was certain she blushed all over. The event was supposed to have been an anonymous fundraiser. The tall, dark hunk of beefcake standing at her door had to be joking.

  “Total Man Magazine. You’re Lara McKenzie, right?”

  She remembered a phone call from the magazine the other day, but she’d been too caught up writing her book to really pay attention to what they’d said. Now it clicked. Something about sending out a reporter. But wasn’t that supposed to be next week? “I thought this was about my book.”

  His lips curled in a devilish smile that turned her knees to jelly. “No, it’s about the fundraiser.”

  “The fundraiser isn’t newsworthy.”

  “Sure it is. You came in first. That’s big news.”

  He couldn’t hide his smirk. This was the most embarrassing moment of her life.

  Mr. Too-Sexy-To-Be-Legal flashed his driver’s license and magazine ID. “My name’s Mark Whitman. Can I come in and ask you a few questions about your, uh, win?”

  Oh dear God, where was the nearest hole she could crawl into? “Why?”

  He arched a dark brow, his whiskey-colored eyes making her wish he stood on her doorstep for any other reason than her winning the fundraiser.

  “Have you ever read our magazine?”

  “No.”

  “Trust me, what you did is a guaranteed sell-out.”

  Great. Just what she didn’t want to hear. “What if I refuse an interview?”

  He shrugged, leaning his broad shoulder against her doorway. “We’ll write about it anyway, and then add our own comments.”

  Mortification ran rampant through her. The knowing smile on his face was enough to make her regret answering the door.

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know,” he added. “It was for a good cause.”

  “If the shoe was on the other foot and I was here to interview you about…that subject, how would you feel?”

  He shrugged, not in the least bit embarrassed. “I’m a guy. We’re always bragging about our capabilities.”

  Lara blew out a breath. Who could she blame for entering that stupid contest, anyway?

  Nancy, that’s who. It was Nancy’s fault. She made a mental note to kill her best friend. Maybe she’d been drunk when she agreed to do it. Unfortunately, she did have a lot of experience in that area. And she knew she could bring in a lot of money for the women’s center. But she had no idea the results would be made public.

  “Can I come in or should we do the interview right here?”

  “My, uh, sex life is private.” Yeah, right. Sex and her life had absolutely nothing in common. But Mr. Hot-As-Hell-Reporter didn’t need to know that.

  “If it’s so private, then why did you do the fundraiser?”

  She gave up. Maybe the article would increase sales of her books. Lara stepped aside and Mark walked in, his gaze darting around her living room. His perusal of her messy house only added to her embarrassment. This guy had to be from New York and this was small-town Pennsylvania. She lived in a tiny rented house filled with old, cheap furniture. Her research notes littered every mismatched table in the room.

  “Sorry for the mess. I was reorganizing.”

  “You’re nervous,” he commented, casually moving a magazine aside. He sat on her ugly brown and orange sofa, pulling a laptop out of his backpack.

  “Me? Nervous? Hardly.” She swiped a loose curl behind her ear, hoping she didn’t look as bad as she felt. At least she’d brushed her teeth this morning. And the plaid pajama bottoms and Penn State T-shirt covered her body, even though they didn’t match. She sighed and plopped into the chair next to the sofa.

  Why did it even matter how she looked? Someone like her could never attract a guy like Mark Whitman.

  Mark smiled, his mouth bringing her attention to his dark moustache. His hair was raven black and curled at the ends. Well-worn jeans hugged his long legs and the black T-shirt stretched tight across his wide chest.

  Didn’t it just figure? Mark Whitman was the image of her fantasy man. The one she imagined when she wrote her books and thought about at night when she laid alone in her bed, masturbating and wishing for reality instead of fantasy.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  No. “Sure.”

  “How does it feel to have logged the most hours in the annual Masturbation-a-thon?”

  She was going to die. Right here, right now. No, first she’d kill Nancy. Then she’d die.

  She tried for nonchalant, knowing she failed miserably. The telltale heat creeping up her neck was a dead giveaway to her embarrassment. “I’m glad I raised a lot of money for the women’s center.”

  “Yuh-huh,” he said while typing. At least he wasn’t looking at her. “Why did you enter in the first place?”

  Because I’m so good at it? No, she’d faint dead away if she told him that. “Like I said, it was for a good cause.”

  He looked up and smiled at her, revealing two adorable dimples on either side of his mouth. Damn, damn, damn. Why did he have to be so good-looking? Weren’t
all reporters supposed to be slovenly, old and bald?

  “How often do you masturbate?”

  He was joking, right? “That’s really none of your business.”

  A laugh escaped his throat. Dark and sinfully sexy. She could imagine him making those sounds in her ear while they were entwined together in…okay, not good. Mustn’t think of Mark Whitman as a potential sex partner. Now as far as her fantasies? Oh, yeah, he was going to be in her bedroom tonight. Definitely.

  He leaned back against the couch and Lara’s eyes widened when she realized she’d folded her laundry right there. Her purple panties were right behind him.

  “You entered and won a fundraiser dealing with the number of hours you masturbate. Honey, it’s public knowledge how much you did it in a month. I’m just asking if that’s typical, or if you, shall we say, increased your average during that time period?”

  Okay, so he had a point. Except she focused on the way he’d said honey, how it rolled off his tongue like an endearment she could never grow tired of hearing.

  Focus, Lara, focus. “Daily.”

  One corner of his mouth curled. “Really.”

  “Yes.” She examined her hands. Really should get a manicure. Maybe a pedicure, too. She made a mental note to add bread to her grocery list. And cat food. Where was that damn cat, anyway? Oh, that’s right. She didn’t have a cat.

  “I can’t believe you’re embarrassed about this.”

  Oh, sure, easy for him to say. “How often do you masturbate, Mark?” She wondered how he liked having the tables turned.

  “Daily. Unless I have a girlfriend who likes a lot of sex.”

  “Do you like a lot of sex?” She cringed as soon as the question fell out of her mouth. Maybe if she was lucky she’d implode and end this mortifying conversation.

  Mark set the laptop to the side and leaned back, his head resting against her underwear. Lord, she had to do better at housekeeping.

  “Actually, I love sex. Daily, hourly, as much as I can get. It’s hard to find a woman who wants it that much, though.”

  Maybe the air conditioner was broken. Something had to account for the sweat pooling between her breasts. His comment hung between them like the July humidity outside, thick and nearly tangible. She wanted to reach out and touch his words, touch him.

  But she wasn’t that kind of girl. If she were, she’d have fewer vibrators and more real sex. Daily, hourly, as much as she could get.

  “Does it bother you that I’m so frank about sex?”

  Of course it bothered her. Couldn’t he see she was drowning in a puddle of heated perspiration here? “No, not at all. After all, it is what I write about.”

  He nodded. “Of course. You’re a writer. Tell me about your books.”

  “I’m sure you’d find them dull.”

  “Not really. I’m a journalist, remember? I live for the printed word. Nonfiction books about sex, right?”

  “Actually that’s a fairly simplistic explanation of a boundless and complicated subject. I write books on female sexuality.”

  “Yeah, I knew it was something along those lines. My editor gave me some of your books but I haven’t had time to read them. Care to summarize for me?”

  She snorted, unable to help herself.

  He arched a brow and asked, “Something funny?”

  “Sorry. Yes, and no. I’m often asked to summarize my books, but really, they’re too complex.”

  “I’m hardly a moron, Miss McKenzie.”

  “Call me Lara.” Bad enough she was out of his league sex-wise. She’d die if he treated her like some homely basket case.

  “Okay, Lara. Then tell me about your books in as much detail as you’d like.”

  “I don’t want to take up any more of you time than necessary, Mark. Is it all right if I call you Mark?”

  “Sure. And my time is yours right now, Lara. Go ahead.”

  He seemed sincere, but then many others had seemed that way, too. Except she’d later found out that they wanted to bed the professor of sex. Or even worse, wanted to use her knowledge to help them with their own research. She was so tired of being used for someone else’s gain.

  Someday, she might actually find a man who wanted her just for her. Maybe.

  “Okay. As I said, I write about female sexuality. But more than just biological functions. My books explore how women’s sexuality has changed from the early fifties until now.”

  “And how has it changed?”

  “Women have thrown out the old customs of simply lying there while a man gets off. Now they can demand what they want, they can show their partners how to satisfy them. Really, all the new sexuality that’s touted in my books is nothing more than teaching women how to communicate with their men.”

  He looked at her and nodded. “I’ll drink to that. I can’t tell you how many times a woman has given me that disappointed look and I felt helpless because I couldn’t get them to open up about how to please them.”

  “Did you ask them?”

  “All the damn time. Do you know how many women are afraid to let loose?”

  “Too many, unfortunately.”

  “Why is that? I mean, here you have a scenario where two people have this great chemistry. And you know a guy’s biology is a given. If he sticks his, uh, you know…”

  “You can be as frank as you like, Mark. I’ve heard it all.”

  “Okay. So, during sex, a guy’s gonna get off unless he has some physical malfunction. But with a woman, her physical makeup is so freakin’ mysterious we need a road map to make her come.”

  She leaned forward and spoke with enthusiasm, barely able to form the words that her mind threw at her. This was her element, what she lived to talk about. This is where her comfort level came in. “All too common, I’m afraid. Women have struggled for years to gain the courage to tell a man what to do to make her come. Or, God forbid, actually show him.”

  “Now that I’d like,” he said, a gleam in his gorgeous eyes. “Not only would it be educational, but hot as hell.”

  “Indeed it would be, for both you and your partner.” Lara figured that previously wished-for implosion was right around the corner. Mark Whitman had fired her libido in ways that shocked her. She’d spoken frankly about sex with colleagues, students, even some of her readers. They all wanted to know how to charge up their sex lives.

  She’d told them. Many times in very sexual terms. Not once had a discussion turned her on.

  But this time it had, in a big way.

  Her mind refused to stay grounded in the discussion. Instead, it wandered off into dangerous territory. Like demonstrating for Mark how she liked to get off. In graphic detail, naked and with props.

  She licked away the perspiration on her upper lip and didn’t dare raise her arms because she knew the sweat stains would show. Although she was tempted to take the magazine lying on the table next to her and use it as a fan.

  She really needed a shower, followed by a good orgasm, because what was happening here was not good. Not good at all. She wasn’t having a simple clinical discussion with Mark. This was foreplay!

  “Um, are there any other questions?” Please say no and get out of my house before I embarrass myself.

  “Yeah, if you don’t mind. I could come back later if you’re busy.”

  “Yes, that would be good. No, wait.” Crap. She didn’t know what was worse—having him stay and torment her further or letting him come back and start all over again.

  What she needed was some time to get a grip on her emotions and her wayward libido.

  He looked at her expectantly, no doubt waiting for an answer from the crazy woman who couldn’t make up her mind.

  “I could take you to dinner tonight, if that works for you,” he said, no doubt to break the awkward silence.

  “Dinner?” Was her voice squeaking?

  “Yeah, dinner. You know, that place where they serve food. You do go out, don’t you?”

  Not this millennium. “Uh, sur
e. I just don’t think, well, that is I’m not sure if we…”

  “That’s okay if you don’t want to. We can just finish up now and I’ll get out of your way.”

  “No, wait!” God, how embarrassing to be so socially inept. “Dinner would be fine. Is seven okay?”

  “Yeah. You choose the place since I’m not familiar with the area and I’ll pick you up here.”

  She watched him pack up his laptop, hoping her panties wouldn’t somehow attach themselves to his clothing. Or worse, his head.

  As she walked him to the door, momentary panic struck. She had to go out to dinner with Mr. Magnificent-In-Blue-Jeans. And there she stood, the plaid, pathetic one. Was she insane?

  No, wait, it wasn’t a date. It was an interview. Sometimes she amazed herself with her naiveté.

  “See you at seven, then.”

  She nodded and pulled open the door to let him out.

  “Oh, and Lara?”

  “Yes?”

  His gaze strayed to the sofa where her panties dangled over the edge, then back at her. Heat warmed his eyes, darkened them. “I like purple.”

  Chapter Two

  It was obvious she had nothing to wear.

  Jeans, sweatpants and pajamas made up the bulk of her wardrobe. That and pants suits or long skirts for professional appearances or lectures at the university.

  But going out to dinner with a sexy man? No, there didn’t appear to be anything in her closet to fit that scenario.

  Fortunately she had Nancy, whom she’d called in a panic as soon as Mark left.

  Nancy, the one she was going to kill. Later. Right now they stood in her bedroom with a pile of Nancy’s sexy dresses.

  “Dresses? You brought dresses? I don’t wear those, Nance.”

  Nancy scrunched her pixie face and frowned. “Tonight you do. So, tell me about him. Is he gorgeous?”

  Lara sighed and fingered the purple silk of a sundress that seemed to call to her. “Beyond gorgeous. Way out of my league.”