Luke pinned Jane against the kitchen counter with his hips
“I’ll prove all men aren’t just sex-obsessed morons,” he whispered as he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her deeply.
“I fail to see how this will cast mankind in a more positive light,” Jane said breathlessly.
He slid his thigh between her legs until he knew he was putting pressure where it mattered most. “I don’t expect to change your mind in one night.”
Jane let her gaze fall to his jeans. “How many nights will it take?”
“It depends on how stubborn you are about changing your mind,” Luke said as he trailed his hand down her hip and over her thigh, up her skirt.
Her eyelids fluttered shut as he explored her flesh. “That’s not fair.”
Luke dipped his fingers along the edge of her panties, teasing her. “I never said I’d keep it above the belt….”
Dear Reader,
Aren’t we all looking for answers? We turn to self-help books to find out how to be happier, thinner, prettier, smarter, more spiritually centered…. The list goes on. Jane Langston, the heroine of this story, thinks she has all the answers when it comes to sex and relationships, and she’s written a bestselling self-help book to prove it. But then she encounters Luke Nicoletti, the one man who turns her sexual-relationship theories upside down. Suddenly the expert who has advised women across America to say no to sex finds herself unable to say anything but yes to her outrageously gorgeous bodyguard’s advances.
I had a great time exploring how easy it is to lose self-control when presented with our greatest temptation—be it chocolate, a great pair of shoes or a hot guy. Luke and Jane are two of my favorite characters and I hope you enjoy their steamy tale as much as I have.
I love to hear from readers, so please write and tell me what you think of What a Girl Wants. You can reach me via my Web site, www.jamiesobrato.com, or drop me an e-mail at [email protected]
Sincerely,
Jamie Sobrato
1
A girl has to put her own emotional needs above the urges of the guy trying to get in her pants.
—Jane Langston, in the January issue of Excess, magazine
JANE LANGSTON WAS eight years old when she first understood the biological advantages of being skinny and blond. Neither particularly thin nor fair-headed, she saw her place in the world that day, upon observing the astounding differences between herself and her Barbie doll. She’d been enacting a romantic tryst between Barbie and Ken when the realization struck that she and her long-legged plastic companion could hardly be the same species of female, and that Jane, with her tomboy figure and wiry brown hair, was the less desirable of the two.
Even now, at the supposedly enlightened age of thirty, sitting in a room next to two outrageously proportioned blond porn stars didn’t exactly soothe Jane’s ego. It was only a slight comfort that both women claimed to be lesbians.
How she’d found herself here in the waiting room of The Jax Reed Show was a longer story than Jane cared to recall. Jax Reed was Dallas’s crude, loudmouthed, lesbian-loving shock jock, and Jane was about to be interviewed to promote her book, The Sex Factor. Her publicist claimed she was the one woman who could put Jax Reed in his place, but Jane, sitting near four of the largest breasts she’d ever seen, had her doubts.
A producer wearing headphones appeared in the doorway, pointed to Jane, and said, “You’re up in three minutes. Come on into the studio.”
With her stomach clenched into a tennis ball, Jane rose and followed. Gina Lynn and Mona Rivers wished her luck as she left the waiting room.
The radio show was playing live over speakers throughout the building, and Jane listened to Jax introduce her as his next guest after the commercial break.
“She’s the author of that crazy book chicks everywhere are reading, The Sex Factor. So listen up, guys, if you’ve got a bone to pick—no pun intended—with the woman who’s single-handedly ruined the sex lives of men across America, here’s your chance to call in.”
Oh, joy. As if she hadn’t taken enough criticism, now she’d get to do it on live radio.
Jane had never intended to become the guru of born-again virginity. Until a few months ago, she’d simply been a normal writer with a largely anonymous existence. Sure, some people knew her as the infamous tell-it-like-it-is advice columnist for Excess magazine. But her infamy had been limited mostly to readers of her column, and the occasional angry letters she received had always been good for a laugh.
The readership of Excess—a magazine devoted to pressing men’s issues like who the hottest starlets are, which cars are the fastest and how to improve sexual performance—was made up of enough boneheads to inspire any woman to write The Sex Factor. She’d simply written a book that told women exactly how they were screwing up their lives through sexual relationships, and how to remedy the problem.