After five years of living abroad, Rachel has returned to Chicago. As a welcome-home present, one of her best friends throws a ‘70s-style key party. A night of mingling and anonymous sex with one of Petra’s hunky friends seems perfect.
Petra knows about the crush Rachel had on Ben in college, and she rigs the game so Rachel ends up with the very fine young doctor. But Petra doesn’t know the whole story. Rachel never told her friend about the scorching-hot make-out session that is now Rachel’s go-to sexual fantasy.
And neither of them could know Ben is more than looking forward to showing Rachel every carnal moment she missed when she left without finishing what they’d started that night.
Rachel watched a tall redhead nearly fill the foyer as he came in the front door. Her
heart just about stopped. He was ruggedly beautiful, with bright, coppery-red hair
pulled into a short ponytail and eyes that were a rich, vivid blue she could see all the
way across the room. He was huge, broad-shouldered and long-limbed—just the kind
of man who could make a tall woman like herself feel like a delicate flower.
No sooner had she opened her mouth to tell Petra she hoped she got his keys later
that night than he stepped sideways out of the foyer. He turned to laugh with the guy
behind him and the words froze on her tongue. The blood rushed from her head and
her heart really did stop for a moment.
Ben Richards—not quite as tall or broad as the redhead but long and great
shouldered just the same—said something that made them both laugh harder as they
made quite the entrance into the room.
Just like that, seven years vanished. Rachel could vividly remember what it had
been like to be pinned beneath him on his couch, drowning in his mouth—both wildly
lush and utterly masculine—as he kissed her freakin’ socks off. She shivered as she
recalled the way his thick black hair felt clutched in her hands, and how he hadn’t
closed his rich gray eyes but watched her while they kissed. And the way his long
fingers had felt sliding under the hem her sweatshirt to skim over her skin had been
something she would never forget.
They’d been studying so long that night the sun had started to show through the
window of the tiny apartment he’d had just off campus. After hours of trying
everything he could imagine to help her understand something, anything, about the
chemistry class she was failing, work devolved into her collapsing in a fit of delirious
giggles. He’d grabbed her, probably out of frustration and his own need to blow off
some steam, and kissed her.
It was still the single hottest make-out session of her life.
And the last time she’d seen him.
To learn more about Jayne Kingston and her books, visit jaynekingston.com. And for a chance to win an epub copy of Key Party, just leave a comment below. Good luck!