Excerpt from Fantasia, copyright 2010 by Meg Harris.
Cover copyright 2012 by Go On Write.
When he's all alone in the semidarkness of his empty, quiet living room, and it's late at night, his mind wanders down forbidden paths. He tries to keep his thoughts off strawberry blonde hair and a bright, happy smile, but he can't. No matter how hard he tries, he just can't.
He remembers the first time he saw her, three years ago. He’d been sitting in his cubicle, going through about his hundredth insurance application of the morning, when he looked up and saw his manager. And next to him was the most gorgeous woman in the world. Even under the unflattering light of fluorescent ceiling fixtures, she was stunning.
To prevent himself from drooling, he’d jumped to his feet and offered her his hand. “Nash Hall,” he’d said, somewhat astounded that he was able to produce words when his chin was dragging on the floor.
“Rae Farrell.” She’d offered him a warm, friendly smile and put her hand into his. It had been so warm and soft that he’d gotten chills on the spot. His chills had only increased when he’d learned she was the new hire, and that she’d be sitting in the cubicle right next to his. Somehow they’d wound up going out to lunch together, and discovered they had so many things in common—they were both twenty-five, they both rooted relentlessly for the Washington Redskins no matter how badly they played, and they both adored science fiction movies.
And to his immense dismay, he’d discovered she had a boyfriend. Which meant that no matter how much he liked her—and he liked her a lot—they could only be friends.
And so they had become friends. Close friends, who had lunch together every day, who called each other every evening, who went out for drinks every now and again.
But only friends.
And that’s why he shouldn’t be thinking about Rae this way right now, shouldn’t be thinking about her curves and her smile and the smooth satin of her skin, because she's just a friend. His best friend in the whole world, sure, but nevertheless just a friend. He should be able to lie down next to her naked and not get a hard-on. But the truth is he gets a hard-on when he's twenty feet away and she's wearing a freaking parka, so he has a feeling being naked next to her would cause a complete core meltdown.
He likes the idea of being naked next to her, though. He likes it a lot. They've never actually been naked together, unfortunately. The closest they've come to mutual nudity probably occurred on those occasions when they've swum together in his backyard pool.
He remembers swimming with her this summer, him in trunks and her in a one-piece. He hadn’t invited anyone else over, just her, so they'd had the place all to themselves, and if he weren't such a wuss he could have grabbed her by the waist and yanked her right up against him in the water. And he should have, because God she looked sexy in that dark blue swimsuit, with droplets of water sparkling all over her skin like diamonds. She likes modest swimsuits, so it wasn't a bikini or anything, but it still clung to her body, showing off her slim waist and her nice full breasts. It showed a little hint of butt cheek, too.
He likes her butt cheeks. Not that he's seen much of them. He hasn't touched them nearly enough, that's for sure. He's had his hands on her butt just once, the time they hung out on New Year’s Eve a couple of years ago, because her boyfriend was out of town. They’d both had a little too much champagne, and things had gotten a little out of control. She was wearing black jeans, and he'd slid his hands right down over her pretty curves, in a way he never would have dared to do if he wasn't buzzed. And the feel of her sweet round ass in his hands had made him totally wild.
God, he'd like to put his hands on her ass again.
He closes his eyes and leans his head back, thinking about the incredible glimpse he got of her ass yesterday. She'd been wearing a short skirt, standing right there in his living room, about two feet away from him. When she bent over to get a deck of cards out of the trunk that serves as his coffee table, he'd seen a brief flash of pale white flesh and barely-there purple panties that made his eyes bug out of their sockets. And then she'd straightened up and come back to the couch to play cards, apparently oblivious to his reaction.
He still has no idea if she gave him that view on purpose or not. In his saner moments, he's sure it was an accident. But she just broke up with her long-time boyfriend, about a month ago, and the idea that it might not have been accidental, that she deliberately bent over and gave him a glimpse of her ass, is making him crazy.
Well, crazier than usual.
Thinking about her ass is making him squirm restlessly on the leather-upholstered couch, so he tries to push his mind into more useful paths. Like her boobs. Well, okay, that's not exactly useful. But it's a damn nice path to wander on. He thinks about the lowcut shirts she likes to wear, the way they expose about half her breasts. He remembers stepping behind her the other day, looking down, and getting a glimpse of rose-pink nipple that made him hard in an instant.
Almost as hard as he is now.
