By Appointment Only by Janice Maynard Page B

think about tomorrow.
    At ten she showered and climbed into bed. She read for a little while, but the book, which was supposed to be a page-turner, couldn’t hold her attention. Finally, she got up and rummaged in her closet until she found the hatbox at the rear. She pulled out the vibrator Morgan had never seen and got back into bed.
    Deliberately, she closed her eyes and summoned up an image of Hugh Jackman. Nope. Not tonight. How about that country singer with the cute smile? Nothing.
    Well, she could at least imagine herself in bed with her own yummy fiancé. If Morgan were here, he’d be under the covers already, with his head buried between her legs. Ah, that was it. She slowed her breathing, concentrating on the feel of the gentle ripples against her sensitive flesh. Would they be doing weird things in that room tomorrow, or simply concentrating on good sex?
    Honestly, she couldn’t imagine much improvement in that area. Morgan was everything a woman could ask for when it came to the bedroom. He was inventive and funny and generous with his attention to her needs.
    And his body . . . well, hot damn. The first time she had seen him naked, her heart had turned over in her chest. The physical nature of his job kept him fit and hard and tanned all over except for a strip of white at his hips.
    His penis was above average, at least in her somewhat limited experience. After that one dismal youthful debacle, she’d been with only two other men before Morgan. And neither of them had been particularly exciting between the sheets. One had been unable to give her an orgasm, and the other one had been so quick off the mark every time that it had been embarrassing for them both.
    She hadn’t thought much of sex until Morgan had shown her how good things could be between a man and a woman. He’d coaxed her into being less reserved in the bedroom. Despite her reckless nature in other areas of her life, when it came to physical intimacy, she had definitely been the cautious type.
    But no more. He’d made her have sex in the daytime. He’d made her have sex with the lights on. He’d made her have sex in front of mirrors . . . or outside in the dark. Even once in his trailer after hours out at the work site.
    And each time had made her feel a bit more free, more confident, more comfortable as a woman. More aware of her femininity, her desirability.
    She eased the vibrator a couple of inches into her throbbing sex, wishing fervently that Morgan were there to assuage the ache. She bit her bottom lip and increased the speed of the vibrations.
    With her free hand, she toyed with her clit, rubbing it lightly, concentrating fiercely on the heat gathering deep in her womb. She imagined Morgan’s fingers there, teasing her, playing with her until she begged for mercy. She moved the vibrator deeper, clamping down on it, her breath coming harshly now, her eyes squeezed shut.
    She pictured his erection, glistening with moisture at the tip, waiting to take her. Shivers of arousal spread from her center into her stomach, her thighs, her breasts. She groaned and moved her hands more swiftly. The sudden jolt of fiery heat dragged a shocked cry from her throat, and she arched her back, dug her heels into the mattress, and came in wave after of wave of clenching pleasure that left her drained and spent in her lonely bed.
    The sudden ring of the telephone was a rude shock. She was still gasping for breath when she rolled over and picked up the handset. “Hello?”
    There was a split second of silence and then Morgan’s voice, laden with suspicion came on the line. “What in the devil are you doing?”
    She clenched her thighs together. “What do you mean?”
    Something in her thick voice tipped him off. “My God. You just made yourself come.”
    She thought about denying it, but what was the point? “I miss you,” she said softly, every ounce of yearning she felt in her voice.
    She heard him curse long and low, a string of words that