My Secret Fantasies

My Secret Fantasies
Joanne Rock

My Secret Fantasies TV reality star Miranda Cortland has escaped the media frenzy of LA and started writing a naughty novel. But, with every sexy scene she writes, things heat up with her gorgeous landlord, Damien Fraser. Now the hero in her book is starting to look like Damien, but, when real life and fiction collide, it could cost Miranda all of her dreams.

It was as if I’d been shocked …

Damien’s big, strong body blocked out the glow of the fireplace, until all I saw was him. I swallowed hard. Vaguely, I wondered if I’d combust on contact.

Then, his lips were on mine and all that weird, anxious energy in me quieted. Those warm hands were on my waist, his fingers straying to the bare skin beneath the hem of my shirt. He steadied me as he kissed me, holding me still while his lips moved in a tantalizing dance over mine. Soft at first. And then, with a brief flick of his tongue along the seam of my lips, things turned sexy.

Hot.

Damien knew how to kiss. He savored me like fresh fruit at harvest time, tasting, nipping, licking. He made me feel delicious. He let me absorb every detail of the kiss at my own speed until I was comfortable.

No, not comfortable. Hungry …

My Secret Fantasies

Joanne Rock

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

While working on her master’s degree in English literature, JOANNE ROCK took a break to write a romance novel and quickly realized a good book requires as much time as a master’s program itself. She became obsessed with writing the best romance possible, and sixty-some novels later, she hopes readers have enjoyed all the “almost there” attempts. Today, Joanne is a frequent workshop speaker and writing instructor at regional and national writer conferences. She credits much of her success to the generosity of her fellow writers, who are always willing to share insights on the process. More important, she credits her readers with their kind notes and warm encouragement over the years for her joy in the writing journey.

For Lisa Manasier,

who made me kale chips while I wrote,

who has encouraged me in more ways than she knows,

and who has always had my back.

I love you like a sister.

Contents

Prologue (#ue2d53bdd-6e31-51c4-8e41-e51743f4b898)

Chapter 1 (#u3ba8eae9-f1f6-5e8f-b087-1ddbd15b9b68)

Chapter 2 (#ubff4948d-81fe-58fb-bc56-8c7fe280f5ae)

Chapter 3 (#ue9b3651c-5011-512a-8029-dfd8208c91fd)

Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)

Prologue

“Is anyone there?” Shaelynn called, knocking on the door of the only house she’d seen after hours of walking through the cold, snowy dark. Her snowmobile had died miles from her hotel, crashing nose-first into a frozen stream. She’d lost her cell phone.

This Colorado getaway had stopped being fun and started being scary when she could no longer feel her toes. She had to get inside and get warm...fast.

“Hello?” She banged on the door again....

MY FINGERS HOVERED over the computer keys as I paused to reread what I’d just written. While my fictional heroine shivered in the mountains, I sat in my vacant L.A. apartment. All my worldly possessions were already packed in the SUV, and I was leaving town tomorrow. For tonight, I deserved a fun distraction. Ever since I’d taken it into my head to write a naughty novel, I’d been having a great time with my characters.

The world of steamy fiction was a vast improvement over my job as a struggling actress—a job I’d finally realized didn’t suit me one bit. And writing was far, far better than my awful experience on a popular reality series that had made me one of the most gossiped-about women in Los Angeles. Most of all, I had the sense that penning this book would finally heal some demons I’d been running from ever since I’d left home at eighteen. Closure on that dark chapter of my life was long overdue—especially since running from it had only made the past implode.

Drumming my fingers lightly along the keys, I forced those thoughts aside to concentrate on what happened next in the story, while on another screen, I waited for a reply on my instant message regarding a piece of property I wanted to see tomorrow. This business deal could give me the time and freedom to finally write my book. I’d scrimped and saved, living like a pauper, to finance the next phase of my life. Now that I’d won that reality game show series, I finally had enough starter money to get to work on my dreams. And not a minute too soon, given how much grief I’d taken because of the show ever since filming ended three weeks ago. Given how much grief a long-lost boyfriend was trying to create for me.

Shuddering, I turned back to the story.

“Is anyone home?” Shaelynn called one last time before she trudged through the knee-deep snow, her legs shaking from exhaustion and cold. Maybe she’d have better luck at the back door.

Shoving through the negligible barrier of an overgrown boxwood hedge, she peered around the back corner of the cabin. Another exterior light burned, just like in front. But inside, the place looked completely dark. Hopelessness threatened to swamp her as she banged on that door, too.

“Help!” she called, her voice echoing in the sharp cold. “Help!” She backed up a step so she could yell at the whole house.

And rammed right into a low wall.

“Oof,” she muttered, slipping. She grabbed on to the structure to keep herself from falling. Only to realize it wasn’t a wall at all. It was a hot tub.

Built into the cabin’s raised deck, the tub had a thick, insulated leather covering. A thin trail of steam wafted from the seam where the cover met the cedar siding.

Heat. Warmth. A guarantee of survival.

All those things awaited her there beneath that tarp. Who would call it trespassing when she was at risk of freezing to death out here?