Swingtime

Lanie Burrell flipped a page in the book she was reading and sighed. Since she’d taken a job as reviewer for erotic romance publishers, she’d become all too aware of how pitiful her own sex life was. She could only lose herself in the pages of someone else’s fantasy so many times before wondering if she’d ever get to live out her fantasies. If the closest she would get was reading about them while she sunned herself on her patio.

She turned a page and sighed. This particular book was about a ménage, and the heroine was in bed for the first time with both lovers. Naked, they lay back on the cool cotton sheets, hands stroking each other, touching each other’s sex organs in erotic exploration. The heroine had just—

“Lanie?”

The deep male voice startled her, and she jumped, dropping her book on the patio beside her chair.

“Ohmigod, Cody.” She pressed her hand to her heart. “You scared me out of ten years’ growth.”

Her neighbour didn’t usually sneak up on her this way. It was bad enough living on the same cul-de-sac with a man who made her mouth water, her nipples stand at attention and her crotch dampen whenever she laid eyes on him, but she usually had enough warning that she could keep herself under control. Today not only had he walked into her yard without notice, but if she’d been an aggressive, uninhibited female, she would have given in to her feelings and thrown herself at him, begging for wild, crazy sex.