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just my typejust my type


Warning: Contains hot sex at the beach, kinky online shopping and yes, cotton candy flavored body powder does exist.


There's only one problem with the woman Jason Mac Gordon wants: she wants him back. But she's off limits. Way off limits. She's his best friend's little sister, she's too young and too innocent for him. Mac knows from past experience to hide his not-so-nice preferences from the nice girls he seems to attract. That definitely includes the woman he's thought of as a sister for years. At least until recently...

Sara Bradford always gets what she wants, which is partly Mac's fault. He's helped spoil her for years. So she has no intention of taking no for an answer from him on anything—including his refusal to sleep with her. If he thinks she's too innocent, then she's just going to have to get un–innocent and show Mac that she wants him—the good, the bad and the sex toys.

But will Mac prove that he's not the guy she thinks he is or will she convince him that she's just his type after all?

Samhain Publishing
September 2010
© copyright Erin Nicholas, 2010


"So if they didn't send you, you came all on your own?"


"Why?" she demanded. He cared about her, dammit, and she was going to make him admit it.

"To make sure you don't do something stupid."

She spun to face him. "For instance?"

"Ending up arrested. Or kidnapped. Or dead."

She puffed out a frustrated breath. Big brother obligation. That was what this was in his mind. Not I-can't-live-without-you-for-even-a-moment. Instead no-one-else-could-come-so-I'm-here.

She scowled at him. "Well, thanks. And as you can see, I'm not in jail, tied up in a trunk, or six feet under. You can go now."

When she tried to turn back to her drink, Mac's hand went to her elbow and though his hold was firm, it was gentle. The look in his eyes was not.

"I'm not leaving without you."

"Mac, that isn't necessary. I'm going to have a little fun and then..."

"A little fun?" he repeated. "I read your note. If you want to keep up with me, there's nothing little about it."

Heat swept over and through her. He was mad, clearly. She wasn't even sure he meant it the way she'd taken it. Still, his words made her want to respond with prove it.

"Pretty big talk in your letter, Princess."

She made herself lift her chin. "I know. I meant it."

"If you wanna be a woman I pay attention to, you're gonna to have to get into some trouble."

His lazy near-drawl didn't fool her. He was angry about what she'd written. Well, she'd wanted to bait him a bit. She wanted him thinking about her in a new light. It looked like she'd at least gotten his attention.

"I know about your women, Mac." And she did. Too well. She'd been observing Mac, listening to him, learning about him for thirteen years. Even before she'd realized she wanted more from him than her favorite ice cream he would drive out of his way to get for her, she'd been mentally cataloging facts about him. The women that turned his eye were generally toned, dark skinned-created by regular visits to a tanning bed or by the good Lord, it didn't matter- dark haired and gorgeous.

They were practically the opposite of Sara in every way. Her sister was brunette, but Sara and Sam were blond. Sara's hair fell in natural spiral curls, she had a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, she rarely wore makeup because she didn't need it and she couldn't walk past a tanning bed without burning. She knew sweet was the word most often used to describe her. Up until a few years ago, she'd taken pride in that.

Until she'd realized Mac didn't want sweet.

He wanted wild. Sophisticated. Experienced.

She could be those things. Would be those things. With some practice.

"I don't think you know all about my women," Mac said.

"I know enough." She took another sip of her drink. She didn't want to think about his women. Except they were all she'd been able to think about since realizing she was going to have to do something drastic to convince Mac she was what he wanted.

"I'm not sure you do." His spun the seat of her stool until she faced him. "You think you know what you're getting into?"

She really didn't. Her sexual experiences thus far had been pretty conventional and not all that amazing. Nothing that gave her tingles thinking about it later. Not like Mac did. They hadn't even had sex, but she could think of him and get warm and tingly just like that.

"Are you going to tell me?" It was the strangest thing, but her heart began racing at the thought of Mac teaching her all the things he liked and wanted. It was fear in part, along with a healthy dose of excitement. She didn't know if Mac liked leather or orgies or some other things she hadn't even heard of, but what she did know was that Mac would never do anything that would scare or hurt her.

"Of course not."

She pretty much expected that. "Why not?"

"Sam would kick my ass."

Yeah, probably. But she should be worth it, dammit.

She picked up her half full glass, considered dumping it on him, and instead removed the umbrella and tipped it back, swallowing the contents in three consecutive swallows. She set the glass back on the bar and swiveled her stool around to face the beach, having to push his knees out of the way. "I guess I'll have to stick with my videos and books. And the Internet, of course." She slid off the stool.

She heard him choke slightly and smiled, refusing to turn around. Three seconds later, she felt his hand grab her arm and spin her around.


She just looked at him.

"What videos, Sara?"

"The videos I'm using to learn about sex."

He grimaced. "Books?"

"And a few magazines."

"Such as?" His voice was gravelly.

She fought a smile. "Most of the books are about understanding men and relationships, but there are a couple about sex too."

"I don't have to ask about the Internet."

She did smile then. "Lots of information there."

"Yeah," he muttered.

"So I'm sure I'm bound to stumble across something you like eventually."

"What the hell is going on, Sara?"

"I'm working on becoming a woman you want."

He cleared his throat. Then he shook his head. "No."

"No?" she repeated. Interesting response. "It's not up for a vote, Mac."

"It, um..." He cleared his throat again. "It won't matter what you learn."

It was her turn to frown at him. "Is that right?"


"Then I guess I'll have to use my new skills on someone else."

"The hell if you will," he growled.

Ah, ha. Not as nonchalant as he'd like her to think.

"Tell you what. I'll focus on learning it all right now. We can worry about who else gets to benefit later. I have other things to do too. I've never been drunk, I've never stayed up all night, I've never skinny dipped..."

He closed his eyes, tipped his head back and pulled a long breath in through his nose.

"I should just throw you on a plane home right now," he said to the sky.

"You're not going to?"

He kept his head back. "No. As damned stupid as that is."

He smelled so good. Sara was momentarily distracted by the scent of his laundry detergent, the tic tacs he ate to keep from smoking and the underlying scent that was all Mac. He'd hugged her, sat next to her, even danced with her, often enough in the past ten years she would know that scent even in a pitch black room with fifty other men.

"Why not?"

He frowned down at her. She knew a lot of people found Mac intimidating when he frowned like that. Which was helpful when he was facing down a drunk, angry, abusive husband on a domestic violence call. With her it had never worked. Probably because she knew Mac was one of the biggest softies ever made.

"You'd find another way or time of doing... this. And you might not tell me about it next time. Especially if I tell your brother. You want to let loose and be crazy? Go ahead. No problem. I'll be here to be sure you're okay."

It was so not-liberated, but she loved the protective tone in his voice and the look in his eyes. "Does that mean cutting in every time I'm dancing with a guy?"

"Depends on the guy."

"You get to be the judge?"

"Yes." He said it in no uncertain terms.

"And what are we looking for in this guy?"

"Someone who keeps his hands to himself, for starters."

She tipped her head and focused on his mouth for a long moment. Then she licked her lips. "That's going to make things difficult."

He tipped her chin up so her eyes were on his. "It will make things easier on my blood pressure."

"It's going to be difficult to have multiple orgasms if he keeps his hands to himself."

The grip on her elbow tightened. "Excuse me?"

"I told you I was coming down here to get a little crazy."

"Drinking, dancing, wearing... " His eyes drug up and down her body, "almost nothing."

Sara felt her breath hitch as his eyes traveled over the skin exposed by her tiny top and short skirt. "And having sex." Her voice sounded like she had a bad chest cold. "Lots of sex."

"No sex," he said firmly.

"Listen, Mac," she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "I'm not going home without trying some of that stuff on the Internet. Period. That leaves us two options."

"Two?" he asked, his scowl deepening. "You willing to entertain the option of experiencing multiple orgasms with another woman?"

She couldn't help it. She smiled. "Would that make it better?"

He growled. Actually growled. A low, deep sound from the back of his throat.

In spite of the fact it was a sound of frustration, Sara felt like she'd touched a live wire. Every cell in her body seemed to stand at attention in response to that masculine sound.

"It would be... not better," he managed to grind out between his gritted teeth. "Not much better anyway."

She put her hand on his chest.

She'd touched him. Many times. Hugs, holding hands even. She'd even kissed him on the cheek a few times and once on the mouth on New Year's Eve... and then the other night at the reception. She shivered remembering the heat of that kiss. The kiss that had made her imagine all the other things she wanted Mac to do to her, the kiss that had given her hope.

Now, her hand on his chest felt different. She could feel the rapid rise and fall as he breathed in and out and the pounding of his heart. The hot, firm muscle under the soft cotton. That wide, strong chest made her feel so feminine and small and protected.

"The options are, one, I find a guy here and finally have not-blah sex," she said. "Or two." She stroked her hand over his left pec. "You do it." She let that sink in for a few seconds. "Either way, I'm not leaving here until I've had an orgasm I didn't have to do myself."




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