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Copyright ©2013 Megan Slayer
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"Ten p.m., and all I want is a good fuck." Talia Sanderson shrugged out of her robe and stepped into the steamy shower. Hot water sluiced over her body as she shook out her hair from the clip. She rubbed her hands over her body and groaned. Thirty-six days since she'd seen him and the same number of days since she'd had sex.
"I miss Ryker." Ryker Thomas, voted sexiest man alive and the one man she gave up control to. She leaned against the shower wall and sighed. "Stupid tabloids. Let the guy have a life. He can be hot and in a relationship."
She palmed her breast and gave her nipple a pinch. If Ryker were there, he'd have her against the wall and open to his inspection. She shivered. God, he loved to fuck in the shower... the bed, the wall... his trailer, her trailer... anywhere they could have sex. Touching herself didn't have the same effect as being with her husband. He knew where to touch her and where to kiss to make her moan. She hurried to clean herself. Maybe he'd have the phone on so they could have phone sex or something. Anything was better than sitting in her trailer in the middle of the Nevada desert waiting for another day of filming to begin.
On the bed, her phone beeped. Her heart leapt. Only Ryker had the number. Talia pounced onto the mattress and pressed the buttons to retrieve the message.
I have a challenge for you.
She grinned and answered the text.
Her hands shook as she awaited the return message.
Get your trench coat. Wait for me on the bed.
Wait for him! She glanced around the trailer in search of her trench coat. Nervous giggles erupted from her throat.
An answer. She hadn't given him an answer. Shit.
Talia waited, but no response came. Sure, someone could be fucking with her and posing as Ryker, but she doubted it. The tabloids expected to know everything about him -- where he went, if he drank, who went with him and if anything illegal happened. Not much fun to be the sexiest man alive that way.
She donned the trench coat and considered what to pair with it. Despite having a teensy trailer to live in while she filmed Shades of Red, she insisted on having at least twenty pairs of shoes, mostly boots, on hand for any occasion. She grabbed her favorite pair of buckle-adorned, knee-high boots. Ryker didn't care what she wore as long as she was comfortable. "I love you in nothing at all."
A shiver went up her spine. Damn, she wished he were there. She plopped down onto the edge of the bed to zip the black stiletto boots, when a thought occurred. He said to wait, but for how long? Would he actually be the one to show up or would he send another decoy? She didn't want to leave with someone and hated playing games to keep the paparazzi at bay. For the last year, she and Ryker had denied having any sort of a relationship. Then again, he'd denied his relationship with Tristan was more than friendship. She knew better. Tristan and Ryker loved each other as much she loved Ryker.
"He's my husband," she grumbled. "I want to be with him no matter what."