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Just RightJust like that

Some rules just beg to be broken.

The Bradfords, Book 2

Sam Bradford knows a lot about women and a lot about sex. Considering how much time he's spent on both, it's no wonder he's regarded as something of an expert. So, when two women set him up with their sister for one purpose only-show her what great sex can really be like-he's definitely willing and able.

Danika Steffen can take care of herself. With the right tools she can fix anything-even her needs in the bedroom. But her sisters know that if they want her to have a happily ever after, they need to show her that there are very good reasons to let a guy closer than arm's length

This should all be a piece of cake for the notorious playboy. It won't even violate his one-night-only rule. Until a date with Danika Steffen ends not in her bed, but with a trip to the ER.

Danika may have a broken wrist, but Sam's the one suffering…an intense case of guilt. And instead of doing things to her, he only wants to do things for her. Which would drive her crazy if not for the sneaking suspicion that Sam needs a little TLC too. And damned if she doesn't want to be the one to give it...

Warning: Contains an I'll-do-it-myself girl who can fix anything, a commitment-phobic guy who can't fix anything, and a whole new way to look at butter. Yes, butter.


Samhain Publishing
June 2010
© copyright Erin Nicholas, 2010


"I'll check the wiring."

"You're going to check the wiring?" he said with a smile.

She raised an eyebrow. "Not if you're going to act like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you can't believe that a woman would know how to check the wiring in a ceiling fan."

"I guess while you're up on the table I can check out your butt."

"Good. Be chauvinistic. That will help."

He chuckled. "I was just kidding. What will it help?"

"Me not like you so much."

"You can't help liking me, Dani," he said, huskily, pulling her closer.

He was right. Unfortunately. "Get me a screwdriver already," she said, pushing him back before she got too comfortable up against him. "And don't call me Dani."

He let go of her, turning to rummage in the toolbox on the counter next to the microwave. "No one calls you Dani?"

"Men don't."

"Why not?"

"I don't let them." It was too familiar and she didn't like getting to the point of nicknames and endearments with the men she dated.

Sam said nothing to that and he did, indeed, stand behind her as she crawled up on the dining room table to check the ceiling fan. He shut off the electrical switch on the wall and then held the flashlight for her.

Along with the light coming from the kitchen it was plenty to see what she was doing. But she felt his gaze on the back of her skirt and her body heated and she had to force herself to focus on the job at hand.

"How do you know how to do that?" he finally asked.

"I make it a point to know how to do things for myself."

There was a long silence as she removed the cover from the center of the ceiling fan, then stripped the plastic coating back from the end of one wire where it had frayed and come unconnected, then reattached it to the one next to it. She lifted the cover back over the inner workings of the fan and inserted the tiny screw into the hole to hold the cover on.

"You already have a vibrator at home, don't you?"

She wobbled and dropped the screw. "What?"

What a way to break the silence.

"You didn't need that blue dildo, did you?"

Unable to come up with anything other than, "Um," Danika looked down at Sam. To find him looking at her butt, which was just about eye level for him.

He handed her the screw from where it had bounced across the table. "You said you haven't had an orgasm." He wrapped a big, warm hand around her calf to steady her and looked up. "But you just said that you make a point of knowing how to do things for yourself."

She quickly turned her attention back to the ceiling fan, which made a lot more sense than the riot of sensations that this virtual stranger was stirring up. "I said that I haven't been with a man who gave me an orgasm." She tried to turn the screw but it wouldn't go in straight, just as she couldn't ignore the way his touch seemed to tingle up her bare leg and a very specific spot higher.

"Have you had an orgasm with a woman?"

She wobbled, the screw hit the table again, and his grip tightened on her leg. "Excuse me?"

Sam stroked his hand up and down her calf. Slowly. Completely ignoring the screw this time. "If you haven't had an orgasm with a man, it was an obvious question to ask if you have with a woman."

She took a deep breath, trying to focus on what he'd said, versus the feel of his hand on her. They were talking about orgasms. Right. And women. Wrong.

She frowned. "No, I haven't had an orgasm with a woman."

"Too bad." He gave her a bone-melting grin. "I had some pretty good images going."

"I'll bet." She shook off his hand and bent to pick up the screw where it had bounced.

"But you've had one by yourself, right?"

She tossed her hair over her shoulder. What the heck? He knew plenty about her already. Which ensured that she was going to make a point of never seeing him again. "Yes. Several in fact."

"Good." He nodded, apparently pleased with her answer.


"No woman should go without orgasms completely."

She couldn't say why exactly, but that struck her as funny. She grinned. "If only everyone was so certain about their beliefs."

He winked at her and it hit her that he was good looking. And she needed to never see him again.

She straightened and fit the screw back into the tiny hole. Just then she felt the heat of Sam's hand on her calf again. She braced herself for the stroking that commenced. What she wasn't prepared for was the fact that his hand kept traveling up. And up.

She narrowed her eyes, concentrating on fitting the tip of the screwdriver into the star shaped notches on the screw. But when her eyes drifted shut as Sam's hand passed her knee and continued up, taking the hem of her skirt up with it, it was very difficult to see anything at all.

Move forward. Move out of reach.

Her legs had no idea what her brain was talking about. Why would she move away from such exquisite feelings?

You can not do this on the dining room table, that's probably been in the family for generations, of a sweet little woman who you don't even know.

Still, her legs pretended not to hear.

When Sam's lips met the skin in the middle of the back of her thigh, she felt the heat shoot straight up between her thighs and her knees wobbled.

Then his tongue touched the crease at the back of her knee and she melted.


She vaguely heard Sam gasp, "Danika!" but the next true sensation she was aware of was the sharp pain from where her knees hit the table, stealing her breath, and the hot knife that was seemingly dug into her right wrist.

She thought about gasping, or screaming, or swearing loudly, but her chest wouldn't expand.

Holy crap. That hurt.

# # #

Holy crap. She was hurt.


Shit, damn, fuck.

"Danika," he said earnestly. "Are you okay?"

Somehow, without even thinking, he'd gotten her up sitting on the edge of the table instead of on her hands and knees, not breathing and looking white as a sheet.

Now, a few minutes later, she was still not breathing deeply and was white as a sheet. But she was upright. Her pulse was strong, she wasn't bleeding, she hadn't hit her head. She was technically okay.


"Danika? Honey, are you hurt?"

Of course she was hurt. She'd hit the table hard. She'd gone forward, but her legs hadn't moved with her-since he'd had a hold of them-and she'd gone down onto all fours, her hands hitting just milliseconds before her knees.

It was all his fault.

She blinked long and slow three times before he was sure she was focused on his face.

"What the..." She reached to rub her right knee with her right hand, but instantly sucked in a quick, hard breath. "Damn!"

"Your knee?" Had she cracked her knee cap? That was a hell of an injury. His hands sandwiched her knee and he pressed a thumb against the center of the knee cap.

She winced but it didn't elicit an expletive, which had to be a good sign. She shook her head.

"Did I fall on a knife?"

He stared at her. He was positive she hadn't hit her head. "What do you mean?"

"Did I fall on a knife with my hand? It feels like it."

Oh, terrific. Her hand felt like she'd fallen on a knife when she most certainly had not. Sure, that was normal. And fine. Nothing to worry about at all. Dammit.

"Let me see." He took her hand gently. It was swelling. Shit. "Where?"

"All of it."

He started moving her fingers one by one. She winced with all of them, particularly when he moved her two middle fingers. He felt along each of the long bones of her hand, again with only slight wincing. But when he tried to move her wrist, she jerked back.


"The wrist?" He took her hand back gently. "I'll be easy. But I have to see what's going on."

"I just fell on it funny," she said. "It's just a strain."

"Let's check it," he said grimly. He pressed on the middle of the back of her wrist and she instantly jerked and tears filled her eyes.

He looked at her and sighed. "We have to go to the hospital, Danika. I think you broke your wrist."




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