Talking Dirty

By Patricia Pellicane

Kati Miller has sworn off handsome men. But Jake just wants to take her to dinner. The hunger between them is instant and has nothing to do with food. A cold glass of wine pressed to her nipples will temporarily ease the fire burning inside, but she needs more, a lot more. 

Jake Pitt has never met a woman like Katie. He’s asked her to dinner, but watches in breathless anticipation as the need between them flares quickly out of control. He groans his pleasure as she shrugs partially out of her dress. Naked to her waist, she plays with her nipples. How the hell did he get so lucky? This lady, earthy, sexy, and gorgeous, knows what she wants and doesn’t hesitate to take it, while Jake is more than willing to give her all she wants. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Torrid Books
• Release date: Sep 12, 2018
• ISBN: 9781682992944

Patricia Pellicane

Patricia Pellicane lives with her husband on Long Island in New York. Her six children live in neighboring towns as do most of her sixteen grandchildren. Her favorite hobby is reading. Patricia insists her ideas for stories come while doing dishes. “Could anything be more boring? It’s nearly impossible to keep your mind from wandering.” In a recent interview she was asked: How hard or easy is it for you to write? Patricia’s response, “Someone once wrote. ‘Writing is easy. All you have to do is put a sheet of paper in a typewriter and stare at it until blood forms on your forehead’. Sometimes writing is exactly like that. And other times it’s a wondrous happening where words flow from mind to fingers to computer screen almost without conscious thought. It doesn’t matter which way it works for you. Once a writer begins the journey, they’re hooked. It’s a drug and you can’t stop looking for that next story, that next high.”Patricia’s fans can contact her at, [e-mail] or stop in at her website at www.patriciapellicane.com Click under Books for a list of her twenty-two printed published books and About Me to catch a glimpse of what Patricia thinks about life in general and more.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Kati put her marinating chicken into the oven. Next, she showered, then slipped into her silk robe and tied it at her waist. With a glass of white wine in hand, she stepped outside to her private terrace. From there, just outside her kitchen, she had an unobstructed view of the gulf, high above the houses to her right and left. Unseen by all but for a sporadic swooping bird, thanks to a waist-high railing, she sat, slipped her robe off, then reclined comfortably naked on her cushioned chaise. Harsh summer rays were unusually soft today thanks to floating clouds that allowed only an intermittent shaft of warm sunlight to peek through.

Most late afternoons might find her thus positioned, enjoying the last rays of a setting sun, the dark, inviting waters of the gulf, and her single glass of cool wine.

Today, unable to sleep, she’d struggled to put together her thoughts. Up before dawn, she worked on her latest piece. By two this afternoon, she’d finished the book with a particularly intense scene. At first, she’d wondered if she hadn’t taken on too much as she strove for a depth of emotion her work usually did not incur. In the end, exhausted, she realized it was worth it. Her editor was going to love how she’d managed to tie all loose ends together.

Kati sighed in relief, knowing the worst of it was over. The editing should take her another week or so before she could send it off to her publisher. The sounds of surf lulled her into a comfortable doze, the soft warmth of the summer afternoon deepened her sleep. The stress of hard hours of work began to slip away, and with a tired sigh, she relaxed. She drifted, floating in that perfect place just before she lost herself to oblivion, unable, even had she the will, to pull herself back.

She dreamed of heavy, hurried footsteps invading her peace. She huddled deeper into sleep and yet heard them on the steps, the sounds clear above the soft but steady, rhythmic flow of water against the rocky shoreline below. She frowned as the foreign sounds began to pull her from sleep. A gasp for breath, fused with a low muttered curse, then footsteps again. She drifted back to sleep as the sounds mingled, fell over one another and intertwined as they danced on the edge of a dream. Her frown deepened as they grew heavier, swifter, louder, and finally raced right by her.

Her eyes blinked open as she watched a man run straight into her kitchen. Not yet fully awake, she wondered if what she saw was real. She muttered a groggy, What?

What? she said again, while being torn from her peaceful world.

She sat and watched, bewildered at the oddity of finding a man in her kitchen. She blinked, trying to understand. Was she dreaming?

A strange man stood in her smoke-filled kitchen. Smoke-filled? Of course, she was dreaming. She frowned again as he took one of her good towels—towels used only for show—to pull a flaming pan of chicken from her oven. Without hesitation, he threw towel, pan, and chicken that appeared burnt to charcoal into her sink. The towel caught fire thanks to chicken fat. A lone flame licked the curtains above the sink. In seconds, that frilly material was also on fire. Apparently, to prevent further damage, he yanked the curtains and now broken rod into the sink and turned on the water. The room filled further with darker smoke. She was dreaming, of course. Even in a dream, she knew if there’d truly been a fire, her smoke alarm would have gone off.

She watched him shut the oven door, open the window over her sink, and wave a hand before his face to clear away what he could of the smoldering scent. She must have made a sound because he turned to glance in her direction, apparently noticing for the first time he wasn’t alone.

* * * *

Jake Pitt hurried to exit the smoke-filled room, then gasped at the sight of a naked lady. He closed the sliding glass door behind him and dragged clean air into needy lungs, just before he murmured with surprise, You have a…fire in your…oven, lady. He blinked a few times and, with the backs of his hands, wiped away smoke-initiated tears. His gaze widened with appreciation as he watched her come to a wobbly stance. Taking in her naked form, he unknowingly croaked out a stunned, Jesus!

Jake could only stare, opened-mouthed, eyes wide. He was afraid to blink, lest this beauty disappear, like a sexy mirage or a wet dream. Jake’s first thought was, damn, this was a gorgeous woman. Simply beautiful and thanks to her present attire, or the lack there of, he knew her to be a natural blonde. Far better, prettier, and shapelier than those artfully airbrushed in men’s magazines.

* * * *

It was only when she heard his shocked murmur that the last of her sleep disappeared and she was snapped fully awake. Kati realized, too late, she stood before him wearing only a stunned expression. She grabbed for her robe and held it quickly, tightly, if haphazardly against her. It didn’t completely protect her from his hungry gaze. One breast remained mostly bare, along with both hips.

Turn around, she said.

He frowned, obviously less than happy at her request, and asked in what she imagined to be exaggerated disappointment, Really?

Her response was to slightly pinch her lips, raise one brow, and add a moment of total silence to her demand. It left him in no doubt as to her wants. His sigh showed clearly his regret as he did her bidding.

What are you doing here? she asked as he faced her kitchen. She quickly slipped her robe on and secured it at her waist.

There was a fire in your stove. I could see the smoke billowing from your doorway. You almost burnt down your house.

Not likely, she returned as she moved by him and into her kitchen. She coughed, then moaned unhappily as she took in the mess the burnt chicken had made of her sink, her torn curtains, and the tiny blackened embers of cloth that floated above the chaos. I’ve had oven fires before. They’re a nasty job to clean, but hardly dangerous. No oxygen, she explained. No oxygen, no fire. It puts itself out. And why didn’t the alarm go off?

She turned and took her smoke alarm from the wall above her door. She sighed. Apparently, it was defective, or the battery was dead. She pressed the test button. Nothing happened. She threw it in the trash and silently promised to pick up a replacement later. You need a new oven. This one isn’t air-tight. I saw the smoke from the sidewalk below.

She nodded at his comment. Considering the smoke in her kitchen, she knew he was right. I’ll look into a replacement.

That was your dinner, right?

It was, she muttered morosely. I must have forgotten to lower the setting.

Were you expecting company?

No. She glanced in his direction.