Up Close and Personal

has always been an inspiration. Thank you for

being such a wonderful friend!

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

1

JESSICA WINSLOW NEEDED to arouse a room full of women.

Right here. Right now.

She took deep breaths in her small suite at the Hotel del Coronado in San Diego, an accommodation with no view of the spectacular oceanfront outside. She’d booked this spot as a prep space for the retreat weekend she was leading—her biggest business coup yet. Eight women had bought into the extravagant “Better in Bed” workshop offered by Jess’s fledgling company. Who knew there would be so much interest in reclaiming your sensuality among wealthy, successful women who—seemingly—had the world at their collective feet?

“Do you need anything else, Ms. Winslow?”

A sleekly tanned young caterer with a Spanish accent tucked a clipboard under her arm as she waited for Jess’s instructions.

“Everyone has drinks next door?” She hoped this first session of the weekend would be made a smidge easier by plying her guests with alcohol.

Hell, her discussion of erotic massage might be easier if she downed the alcohol. She’d wanted to kick off the retreat with a bang, but planning the workshop in theory hadn’t fully prepared her for the intimidation factor of teaching erotic massage to a roomful of strangers she desperately needed to impress.

“They’ve all been served and there is a small bar set up for refills like we discussed.” The woman tapped her fuchsia-pink manicured fingernail down the itemized list on her clipboard. “Would you like me to bring you a glass of chardonnay?”

Jessica winced. Was her tension that obvious? There was no reason for the attack of nerves, since she knew her material backward and forward. Well, no reason except that setting her business venture apart from her family’s million-and-one get-rich-quick schemes depended on the good word of mouth generated by the attendees of this workshop.

After being raised well below the poverty line by parents who skirted the law, the truant officer and even Social Services, Jessica craved the stability of her own business. And the fact that she was targeting well-to-do women was no coincidence. She drank up the sweet scent of security inherent in their money, even as she made certain she had something of value to offer in return. Her business, Up Close and Personal, was no get-rich-quick scam but a labor of love that spiraled out of her need to pass on the benefits of self-help training she’d received since escaping her past, her birth family and, later, her foster family.

The wealthy women in the ocean-view suites across the hall could make or break Jessica’s new career with whatever they chose to share about this weekend at their respective country clubs come Monday morning.

Jess shook her head, refusing to give in to second-guessing. She’d have every woman in there eager to go home and jump the man of her choice. But to do that, she needed a clear head.

“No wine for me, thank you. We should be set until it’s time to bring in the appetizers an hour from now.” She checked her antique watch, unable to delay the inevitable.

The timepiece slid around her wrist as she left the safety of her room; the jewelry a long-ago gift from her father. One of the few he’d purchased honestly, since he’d found it at a garage sale. Because of her rocky relationship with her lawless parents, she wore the piece to remind herself she would forge a future all her own. On her own.

Passing a young family dressed in their bathing suits in the hall, Jessica pasted on her public face. She opened the door to the retreat space, ready to teach her guests everything she knew about erotic massage and reclaiming your sensuality.

Jessica hadn’t had a lot of opportunity to test her skills on real people, but she knew the methods worked, since she could at least talk about sex again and feel the hormone rush of getting turned-on.

Five years ago, she hadn’t been able to do either. A date rape in her teens had haunted her long after the night she’d been sexually assaulted by her date.

“Welcome, ladies!”

The scent of the surf hit her along with the floral fragrances of a half-dozen bouquets she’d ordered scattered around the room for ambiance. The whole suite had also been draped in burgundy taffeta at her request. The dark colors and bright flowers were offset by the moody purple light of the sunset bleeding through the sheer curtains, but soon the walls would be lit solely by two cast-iron candelabra she’d brought here in the back of her Escalade.

The vehicle and the accessories were both part of her belief that image was everything in a business like this. High-end consumers didn’t show up for retreat weekends at bargain hotels, and they didn’t expect their speaker to roll up in a decade-old sedan. No matter that the payments on that damn Escalade were killing her bank account. The cost of the accessories and the hotel space meant she would only break even this weekend, but if it generated more business—

Where the hell were her students? Jessica was so busy admiring the way the decor came together that she hadn’t immediately noticed her workshop clients were not in the room.

“Honey, will you look at the torso on that one?”

A woman’s voice floated in from the balcony, followed by a chorus of feminine sighs. Curious—and needing to keep her evening activities on schedule—Jessica headed toward the terrace hidden by a wall of sheer curtains and French doors.

“I’d like to give an erotic massage to him,” another voice chimed in.

Stepping out onto the balcony, Jessica could see eight women’s backs as they jockeyed for a spot at the railing. Silk-and linen-clad hips jostled while manicured hands held a variety of brightly colored drinks aloft to keep them from spilling.

“Are you kidding? That one makes me want to give myself an erotic massage.”

There was a round of laugher and one hearty “amen” to that as Jessica squeezed into the last available square inch at the wooden railing overlooking the shore.

The woman beside her—a buff blonde probably closing in on fifty with discreetly tweaked facial features—was pointing out into the water where six seriously ripped guys swam through the surf.

The view was diminished by their distance from shore, but even so, only a blind woman wouldn’t feel the testosterone tide emanating from those focused, intense men swimming as if their lives depended on it.

And, of course, their lives did depend on it, since the only guys who would be out training in the middle of the ocean off Coronado Island were Navy SEALs. The shaved heads and taut, defined muscles were a sure sign the next BUD/S class must be in session. Jessica had been a San Diego resident for the past decade, and she knew even longtime local ladies never tired of catching a glimpse of the honed male perfection that went through this rigorous training.