White Hot Weekends

By Caryn Carter

By Popular Demand, Caryn Carter's two erotic tales of White-Hot Passion can now be purchased in one book!

Let’s Get Crazy

Jazz pianist Eric Sweeney’s thirty-fifth birthday is fast approaching and he still hasn’t experienced the fantastically wild sex of his dreams. What better gift to himself than a weekend under the tutelage of the sexiest woman he’s ever met--the woman of his sexual fantasies?

Angel Duvernay’s very conventional life has just been turned upside down. She may be dying of a rare blood disorder. This could be her last chance to try some of the things she never dared before. Like take a lover for an erotic, short-term affair. Angel never put a face to her fantasy man, until she’s introduced to Eric Sweeney. After a weekend together, will Angel and Eric discover that more than sexual fantasies can come true?

Stretched to the Limit

When Dr. Deidre Cummings did research for her Ph.D. in Psychology, she never dreamed it would turn into the best-selling novel, A Woman’s Guide to Sex, Love, and Protecting Her Heart. In her book, she warns that the fastest road to a broken heart is to become involved with wealthy, over-forty, never-married bachelors.

Then Deidre’s best friend, the owner of a reputable escort service, confides that she’s financially strapped and desperately needs Deidre to accompany wealthy, over-forty, never-married Sean McDougal to an awards banquet. Deidre agrees. After all, she knows all about men like Sean McDougal, and she’d never fall under his spell.

But then Deidre meets Sean and discovers it isn’t so easy to practice what she preaches. As Sean seduces her into his bed, she must decide if he is the exception to her rule, or if she’s just taken the first step on a fast-track to a shattered heart. . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: BelleBooks
• Release date: Oct 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781610260619

Book preview

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Other Books by Caryn Carter

Writing as Ann B. Morris

The Whitcombe Legacy Book One: The Vampire Julian

The Whitcombe Legacy Book Two: The Vampire Jerome

The Whitcombe Legacy Book Three: The Vampire Jonah

White Hot Weekends

by

Caryn Carter

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ImaJinn Books

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

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ImaJinn Books

PO BOX 300921

Memphis, TN 38130

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61026-061-9

ImaJinn Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

Let’s Get Crazy Copyright © 2006 by Caryn Carter

Stretch to the Limit Copyright © 2007 by Caryn Carter

Published in the United States of America.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

A mass market edition of Let’s Get Crazy was published by ImaJinn books in 2006

A mass market edition of Stretch the Limit was published by ImaJinn books in 2007

ImaJinn Books was founded by Linda Kichline.

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Cover design: Debra Dixon and Alya Bandealy

Interior design: Hank Smith

Photo/Art credits:

Couple (manipulated) © Lightfieldstudiosprod | Dreamstime.com

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Let’s Get Crazy

One

SHE WAS GOING to die.

Maybe not tomorrow or next week. Maybe not even next year. But she was going to die sooner than she should.

Ms. Duvernay?

Dr. Frazier’s hand on her arm brought Angel’s head up, leveled her gaze with his usually bright blue eyes, clouded now with concern.

I’m sorry I had to hand you such upsetting news. It’s just that. . . .

It was just that what had come back from the laboratory didn’t look good. Not good at all.

Dr. Frazier gave her arm a comforting squeeze. There’s still a chance it’s not what it seems to be. With a disease this rare, this new, diagnosis isn’t easy. There’s always a chance for error.

She knew he was doing his best to lift her spirits, to give her something to hold on to. To soften the blow. She appreciated that, but she had always preferred to meet the unpleasant things in life head-on. It was better to swallow the bitter pill fast, her mother always told her. Get it over with quickly, then forget about it and go on to something else, something sweeter.

And that’s what she would do now. Swallow the bad news fast, then get the heck out of here and try to come to terms with the rest of her life.

I’m going to set up another test with Carlyle Labs. No place is better equipped to deal with something like this than they are. I’ll ask them to put a rush on it, since you need to know before you have to leave the country again.

She nodded, too clogged in the throat to speak. It was one thing for the mind to accept a decision, another for the emotions to follow suit. She wouldn’t be dealing with this without a few tears. And she wasn’t one to cry in public.

She needed privacy. She needed to be home.

SUNDAY MORNING, Angel watched the sun come up over Madison Avenue from her bedroom window. She’d spent the entire night exactly as she’d spent the remainder of Saturday after she left Dr. Frazier’s office. Worrying. Thinking. Planning.

Crying.

Trying to accept the grim news she’d been handed. Trying to understand the how and the why of it. Trying to halt those dreaded words that scrolled past her mind like a blinking neon banner.

Leukemia. Rare. New. Words she’d likely be hearing and living with for the rest of her natural life. The rest of her short natural life, if the new test results came down on the wrong side of the scale.

No matter how sensitive Dr. Frazier had been, leukemia was still cancer. And there was no comfort in the fact that it was a new, rare form. If anything, its newness and rarity made her more anxious because there would be less knowledge in the medical community to access.

Maybe if she took a different approach, she might alleviate some of the anxiety.

Maybe she could look on the bright side.

Well, okay, there was no bright side. But maybe there was opportunity here. Opportunity to do some of the things she’d always thought of doing but never seriously entertained because . . .well, because basically she was a chicken when it came to pushing the envelope. But if ever there was a time to throw caution to the wind and push the envelope, this was it.

Let’s see, there was skydiving. How many times had she envied all those brave souls who jumped fearlessly from airplanes and vowed to join their ranks one day? And what about rappelling and whitewater rafting? How many times had she considered those gutsy sports?

Of course even if she made up her mind to try any of those things now, the seriousness of her condition might not let her follow through on them.

Although Dr. Frazier had assured her that even in the worst case scenario, once they began treatment she’d likely feel good for quite some time, one never knew. On the other hand, truth be told, she didn’t feel the least bit sick now. Just a little tired, which was what had sent her to Dr. Frazier in the first place.

But did she feel well enough to indulge in strenuous activities she’d shied away from in good health? Her short-lived, buoyed-up spirits took a nasty nosedive and she was down in the dumps again. She couldn’t even look forward to experiencing something with an edge of danger in it for whatever life she had left.

Perhaps if she gave it more thought, she could come up with something that would be a grand adventure, something exciting and daring, and yet not demand so much of her physically. Something like . . .like having a night of sex with Eric Sweeney.

Just the thought had adrenaline rushing through her bloodstream like water over a dam, lifting her up, taking her down, and pushing her forward, calmer, yet still rampant with energy.

Here was a real possibility. A real chance to do something daring and daunting, maybe even a little dangerous, but in a good, life-affirming way. After all, what would be, would be. She had no power to change the verdict. The only power she had was to change herself. Cliched, but true.

She sighed heavily. Should she do it? The answer came quickly.

She would take the chance and go for the gold. After all, what more did she have to lose?

Two

WHEN ANGEL SLIPPED into a booth at Manhattan’s Heritage Jazz Club Monday night, every nerve in her body tingling with excitement, Eric Sweeney was just finishing the last song in the set.

She still couldn’t believe she was actually here. Couldn’t

believe that she’d put on one of her sexiest dresses and come alone, as Eric had asked her to last Friday when he’d managed to capture her attention and let her know he was interested in her. Interested? From the way his hand had found its way to her thigh, he was more than interested.

She’d come here the first time with two other employees of the language resource firm with whom she was sharing a corporate apartment until she went back overseas on her next assignment. Both of the women were working temporary jobs for the company in Manhattan and went to the club often so they already knew Eric.

Before the women even introduced Eric to her, they’d both candidly admitted having the hots for him. Each in tum would have probably gotten naked and let him do her right there on the table in one second flat, given half the chance.

But Eric hadn’t been interested in either of them. She was the one he’d chosen to spend time with in between sets. He’d admitted he was turned on by her bubbly personality and her sexy body, and he’d whispered into her ear his desire to get to know her better.

She had been bubbly the first time they met. And she was still bubbly on her return visit last Friday, because she hadn’t yet made her second visit to Dr. Frazier.

Angel yanked her thoughts back quickly, anchoring them firmly in the here and now and reminding herself sternly of her decision to take a night of pleasure with Eric Sweeney and enjoy every last minute of it. That is, if he really had offered her that pleasure.

She’d asked herself a dozen times since Friday if he’d really implied he wanted to spend the night with her, or if it was just her overly active imagination wishing it was so. Did this unbelievably handsome, incredibly talented man, who could probably have any woman in the room with just the snap of his fingers, really want her?

As so often happened when she was on sensory overload, Angel’s mind hopped, skipped, and jumped through the several languages she spoke fluently to the one she happened to be most familiar with at the time.

Magnifico. That one four-syllable word said it all. Once again, Angel marveled that the Italians had such a way of saying the most with the least, especially when it came to things of breathtaking beauty.

And Eric Sweeney was breathtakingly beautiful, if a man could indeed be considered beautiful. From his tawny shoulder length hair, held back tonight by a strip of black leather, to his deep sapphire eyes, and straight down to his perfectly sculpted, sensuous lips, he was perfection. Even his nose, which was slightly off-center, added to his incredibly masculine, breathtakingly good looks. Angel’s heart raced faster than Eric’s fingers as they played the final quarter notes of the set.

Before she could calm her racing pulse or figure out a way to let Eric know that she was here, he was already off the dais and down in the audience. Damn. For once she should have done the sensible thing and let him know she’d be here tonight.

Instead, she’d come here looking her sexiest, hoping her feminine charms—two of which had almost escaped her décolleté neckline—would take him by surprise and knock him off his feet.

But that, she realized, could only happen if he saw her. And what were the odds of that happening when the club was filled to capacity and she was hidden in a corner all by herself?

Well, she decided, she’d come this far and she damn well wasn’t turning back. Not before she pushed the envelope as far as she could. And not before she at least had another faceto-face with Mr. Magnifico.

If necessary, she’d take the bull by the horns and go after him herself. Ummm, yes, that was exactly what she’d do. But not without first moistening her lips and brushing a bit more color on her cheeks to compensate for the dim overhead lighting.

Angel hadn’t yet found the tube of lipstick in the bottom of her purse when someone slipped into the booth beside her. She knew it was Eric even before he spoke.

Hello, Angel.

Eric’s baritone voice was as smooth and rich as the classical jazz he coaxed out of his baby grand. Like everything else about him, it sent shivers up her spine and already had her stomach looping in knots.

Whatever it was that his body communicated to hers, it was the most powerful, invisible aphrodisiac she’d ever experienced. It called out to something both primal and spiritual inside her. She could only imagine what sex with him would be like. And imagine. And imagine. And—

"How do you like it?’’

"Like it?’’

Your drink. He signaled for a waiter. I’m going to order you a margarita, and I need to know if you like it with or without salt.

She was already in awe of him. He’d actually remembered she drank margaritas!

Eric placed his hand over hers, and Angel drew in what she hoped was a silent gasp. His touch was ten times more arousing than his voice, and what it did to her body she didn’t have to imagine. The little throbs of pleasure between her thighs were all too real.

What are you having? she managed, her voice tight from having to concentrate on hiding how hot she already was for him.

Soda water for the time being. I never drink alcohol until the break before my last set. I’m one of those weird people who mellows out real quick after only one drink.

Angel added that bit of information to her Things I’d Love To Do With Eric Sweeney Wish List. She’d just love to mellow out with him, since she was one of those weird one-drink people too. Mellow out skin to skin, she added to The List.

Soda water’s fine for me as well, she told him, thinking that if he asked, she’d drink Drano with him at that moment.

Good heavens! Was she losing her mind? Certainly it was eroding at the very least. Just because she was teetering on the edge of the cliff didn’t mean she had to jump over it. There was always that slim, one-in-a-million chance that this new lab . . .

She did a quick three-sixty and swung her thoughts back to Eric as he gave their orders to the waiter who had materialized out of thin air and vanished just as quickly. And when he gave her hand a light squeeze and leaned in close, she just knew that if he moved any closer, she was going to puddle-up right here.

There’s something important I need to know, although I’m already pretty certain of the answer, Eric said, bringing her hand up to his lips for a soft, butterfly kiss on her palm. There is no Mr. Angel, is there?

Was he for real? In her experience, most men would hit on anything in a skirt and worry about a little detail like that later. She liked it that he didn’t. She shook her head.

There’s no Mrs. Eric, either, he said, as he winked at her over her fingertips.

Angel felt her heart settle down in relief at that bit of news, only to have it start rattling again when, his sapphire eyes piercing hers like a laser in the shrouded light, Eric whispered against her hand, I was afraid you might not come back.

I told you I would.

Sometimes people say things they don’t really mean.

I don’t.

Good. Because there’s something else I need to ask you. She hoped it was a short question because every time he spoke, his breath fanned across her fingertips and she got goose bumps on them. Goose bumps on her fingertips? She was really losing it.

Eric held her gaze. "You know I’ll be leaving in a week for

Europe."

Yes, she knew that. He’d told her when they talked for what seemed like hours last week that he had to be in London by the end of the month for another engagement. Just as she had to be in Milan in two weeks. Correction. Just as she hoped to be in Milan in two weeks.

Will you spend the weekend with me before I leave? he asked.

Angel took a fast breath and considered the possibility that she had totally misunderstood him. At the same time, she was certain she had heard him correctly. But perhaps a weekend might not mean the same to him as it did to her. His idea of spending the weekend with her could mean spending time together in the day, separating at night and getting together again the next day. Nah. She didn’t really believe that.

Better to have no misunderstandings, though. The entire weekend? As in Saturday and Sunday? After the question was out, she held her breath.

Eric smiled and was just about to answer when the waiter set their drinks in front of them. How about let’s get crazy and make it Friday night to Sunday night? he whispered when they were alone again.

Day and night? She wanted absolute clarification.

That’s pretty much what I had in mind.

Her hand was still in his, so she brought both down to rest on the table. His fingers fascinated her, and she quietly studied them by the light of the candle in the table’s center. They were long fingers, almost femininely soft at first glance, but even within his light grasp she felt their strength.

Not surprisingly, she found his fingers every bit as magnificent as the rest of him. She could only imagine what they would do to her, how they would make her feel when they . . . She forced herself to quit the fantasy and get back to reality. There were still questions that needed answers before she agreed to what he’d proposed.

She was about to ask one of those questions when Eric glanced at the diamond-studded gold watch on his wrist and frowned. My time is up. I’m back on for another forty-five minutes. Will you wait for me? He lifted her hand to his lips and let them linger there while she went weak from the candlelight dancing in his eyes. Will you?

I’ll be here when you finish.

Promise?

She didn’t have to think twice about her answer. She knew even before she’d arrived at the club that if he really wanted her, when she left here tonight there would be some type of arrangement between them. There was no sense playing cat and mouse. Especially when she knew the mouse wanted to be caught.

Cross my heart.

She would have to be crazy to leave now. One night of pleasure had just turned into an entire weekend of what promised to be the greatest sexual adventure of her life.

ERIC’S MUSIC WAS as close to him as his own skin. He could

afford to let his thoughts dwell on the beautiful woman in the corner booth as his fingers mechanically played the last song of the set.

The idea of taking a lover for a brief, intense affair wasn’t new to him. He’d first come up with the idea six months ago. It was to be a very special thirty-fifth birthday present to himself. He’d even planned to carry through with it during his gig here in the States. But every time he found a woman that piqued his sexual interest, he’d talked himself out of it.

Until he met Angel. Angel with the raven hair and the molten, obsidian eyes. Angel with a body that would tempt the devil himself.

There was something about her, something that attracted him more than any of the other women he’d only halfheartedly seduced during his tours around the world. He wasn’t able to put his finger on exactly what it was, but he damned well had every intention of finding out.

Since that first meeting, scarcely a week ago, he’d known this was the woman with whom he wanted to cross all barriers and explore every sensual pleasure their bodies had to offer. She was the woman of his fantasies. The woman who would be open and honest enough with her body to climb with him to the heights of carnal bliss. The woman who had kept him hard, day and night, since their first meeting.

He could still feel the warm flesh of her thigh against his hand even as his fingers flew across the smooth ivory keys. Christ, how he’d ached to slip his hand beneath her skirt and press his fingers against the soft down of her sex.

Touching Angel the other night had been a test. If she’d made the least objection, he would have moved his hand. It wouldn’t have deterred him from his goal, but it would have indicated he needed a new approach. She hadn’t objected at all, though. In fact, she’d placed her hand over his and without a word let him know he was welcome to leave it there awhile longer.

Her invitation had taken him by surprise. So much so that he’d had to temper the rush of heat that encouraged him to pounce on her like a rutting animal, and he’d acted instead like a completely aroused, but sensitive male. After a respectable length of time, he’d removed his hand from her luscious thigh, turned it over to capture hers and bring it to his lips for what he hoped was the kind of kiss that told her how utterly desirable he found her.

He’d then asked her to come back. Alone. And she had. Because she had, he’d felt no need to put off the question that was the reason for all of this. He’d put it to her straight. He wanted to spend the entire weekend with her. She’d seemed a bit surprised, but she hadn’t turned him down. And she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. It was unthinkable, unbearable, for him to even consider that now that he’d finally found the woman with whom he wanted to celebrate a birthday of nonstop sex, she’d refuse him.

He played the last notes of the night in a rousing crescendo, not unlike the finale on a concert stage. Or the way his blood thundered through his veins at this very moment. He had not felt this exhilarated, this alive, in a long, long time.

After a short good night to the crowd, he