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Cali’s Hurricane – “Naughty” Excerpt
Copyright © Afton Locke, 2016 – All Rights Reserved

“Mary came down here for sweets. Was I supposed to turn her away?”

“I suppose not.” He paused, as if thinking it through. “From now on, you’ll set dessert out in the dining room at nine o’clock.”

“Yes, sir,” she said again. “And what are you doing down here? Did you want some dessert, too?”

The anger in his face vanished, leaving behind a small smile and flicker of heat in his eyes.

“I came to—” He blinked as if he’d forgotten what he was going to say. “Well, something sweet might be nice.”

When she turned her back to cut him a piece of cake, he stepped behind her. She heard the footsteps, slow and heavy. Then his even breaths, which came a little too fast. Most of all, she felt his heat.

Nerves in her body—nerves which had lain dormant for years—sprang to life. Heat flared down the length of her cleft. It obviously didn’t give a damn about Jonathan’s sour character. He was a man. And he was…holy crawfish…hard. A fine ridge of manhood pressed into her backside.

And it felt so deliciously good, she could hardly catch her breath.

She dropped the knife. “Mr. Carter, I could fix you a plate much easier if you’d give me a little room to work.”

But he didn’t move. Instead, he tugged the yellow kerchief covering her head. She gripped the counter as the fabric gave way. Her nipples hardened despite the shock and anger marching down her spine.

“I’m warning you, Mr. Carter. Take your hands off me.”

The kerchief fluttered to the counter, and her long hair dropped to her shoulders. How dare he! She always covered her hair in public. He might as well have stripped her entire body naked.

He leaned close to her ear. “Or what?”

Quit! She didn’t know who said it—Ernest, Thelma, or the spirits. No job was worth being treated this way, but the lust roaring through her veins numbed her lips. Why was it so strong? Did the hatred between them fuel it?

He gripped her shoulders. “We want each other, Cali.”

She gasped a lungful of air as bone-wrenching desire shot through her, soaking her step-in panties. The muscles in her legs quivered, fighting the urge to melt against him. If Ernest could see her now, he’d turn over in his grave. Jonathan Carter wasn’t just a bigoted white man. He was a Klan leader.

Like the one who’d given her husband his heart attack. No, the Louisiana brethren hadn’t murdered her husband, but they might as well have shot him point blank. They’d taken his life. Hers, too, because this wasn’t living.

How could she long to rub herself against this man like an alley cat on the prowl? Tears streamed down her cheeks. She couldn’t pick a worse way to betray Ernest’s memory. As soon as strength returned to her muscles, she wrenched herself from Jonathan’s grip—so hard she bumped into the nearest wall.

“Let’s get something straight, Mr. Carter. I will never want you.”

Oyster Harbor Series

Plucking the Pearl, Book 1