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author of erotic romance fiction
    Rayne Forrest
The Books
Under a Painted Moon
click to read about the companion to Under a
Painted Moon - Mountain High
©Rayne Forrest,
2006

Whiskey Creek
Press Torrid
Courtney Nichols’ life is off-track. She’s forty, divorced, and feeling lonely. To
make matters worse, Courtney sees long-time acquaintance Barry McWaters in
a new lustful light.

Artist Barry McWaters has waited for Courtney to get back on her feet after
her marriage ended. This time, she’s not getting away. Little by little Barry’s
chipped away at her defenses – and he’s making progress.

EXCERPT


"I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you!” Courtney yelled at
him.

“Did you yell at Waynie-boy like that?”

“No! And fuck you!”

Barry turned off the kitchen lights and grabbed her hand, pulling her
toward the hallway. “I’ll start cleaning the carriage house out tomorrow
afternoon. Where do you want me to put the stuff?”

“Oh, McWaters, don’t leave me an opening like that,” she said smoothly.
He chuckled and led her into his bedroom.

“Now, now, babe. Be nice.” He pulled her into his arms. “Okay, in all
seriousness. I’m very happy to accept the offer of the carriage house. I’m
more than happy you’re even thinking about us living together. I’m
delirious, in fact.”

“Yeah? Well, why I am suddenly not so sure?”

He hugged her tighter. “We’re going slow, remember?”

“This is slow?” she asked as he yanked her tank top over her head.

“Stop being scared of a future with me, Courtney. There’s no reason to
be.”

She buried her face in the center of his chest. Damn, he smelled good. All
that musky, woodsy, spicy scent couldn’t be just the Old Spice.

Maybe he was right. Maybe she didn’t need to be frightened of a future
with him, not when that future meant him holding her every night. She
pulled his mouth down to hers. The taste of the wine lingered on his lips.

The change in him was swift. He lifted her, taking the last few steps to the
bed, tumbling them down onto the soft mattress. His lips found hers
again. His hands were busy everywhere. His nimble fingers worked
quickly, divesting her of the rest of her clothing. She tried to keep up with
him but the snap on his jeans refused to open. Their fingers warred. The
snap opened and she pulled his zipper down and slipped her hand
beneath the waistband of his boxers.

He was fully erect, a hard core sheathed in silky soft skin. Her innermost
flesh contracted, raining down her desire as his hand cupped her heat.
He slipped two fingers inside her, a long, low groan rumbling out from
him. Her pulse soared.

He made the sound again. It was so purely male, she squirmed against his
hand. He responded with an upward pressure. The ache inside her grew.
She clamped her thighs tightly around his hand, wanting any kind of relief
for the insistent throbbing at her center. His thumb found the right spot
and applied a gentle, rolling pressure.

She sank her teeth into the soft skin of his shoulder to keep from
screaming. Her heartbeat matched the pounding inside her belly.

“Slow, darling. Slow.” His hand slipped away from her. She clutched at
him, wanting to drag him back to her. His mouth found her peaked nipple
and suckled. She ached and she knew what to do. She slipped her middle
finger into her damp curls.

“That’s cheating, baby.” His voice was low and strained at her ear. And
amused, too.

Damn him, anyway. She applied more pressure and the sensations
ballooned outward. His hand covered hers, stilling her tiny movements.

“I want to be inside you when you come,” he whispered hoarsely in her
ear.