Heroes Are My Weakness: A Novel

“I carefully inspect them. I run my hands over their bodies, check them for flaws—”

“Look at their teeth?”

“—assess them for strength and, most important, endurance.”

“Ah.”

“But I already know who I want. And I bring him up last.”

“I’ve never been so turned on and so horrified at the same time.”

“This man is magnificent. Exactly what I need. Thick, dark hair; a chiseled profile; hard muscles. Best of all, I can see by the intelligence in his eyes that he’s more than a stud. I select him.”

He rose from his chair and gave her a mocking nod. “Thank you.”

“No, not you.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “Unfortunately, the man I’ve chosen is already booked for the night. Then I take you.” She gave him a triumphant smile. “You’re not as expensive, and who can resist a bargain?”

“Apparently, not you.” The slight hoarseness in his voice ruined his attempt at humor.

She felt like Scheherazade. She lowered her pitch, taking it to the border of sultry but not quite crossing over. “I’m wearing a filmy piece of black lace. And all I have on underneath is a tiny pair of scarlet panties.”

“Bedroom!” he ordered. “Right now.” It was a command, but she pretended to think it over—for about three seconds until he grabbed her by the arm and hauled her there.

After he’d pulled her through the door, she planted her feet, not yet ready to give up her control. “The room has a large bed with fur-lined shackles dangling from the head and foot boards.”

“Just when you think you know someone . . .”

“And a wall of glass-fronted cabinets displaying every sex toy imaginable.”

“I am way out of my league here.” But the smoke mingling with the amusement in his eyes said that wasn’t quite true.

“Except for those creepy gag-things,” she said quickly. “You know the ones.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Well, they’re disgusting.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

She gestured toward the imaginary display cabinets. “Everything is tastefully arranged.”

“And why not? It’s a first-rate establishment.”

She took a few steps away from him. “We open the glass doors and examine each item together.”

“Taking our time . . .”

“You pull several out,” she said.

“Which ones?”

“The ones you’ve noticed I’ve looked at the longest.”

“Which would be . . .”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I gesture toward the display of whips.”

“I am not whipping you!”

She ignored his outrage, which might or might not be phony. “You get the whip I’ve selected and bring it to me.” She pulled at her bottom lip with her teeth. “I take it from you.”

“Like hell you do!” The devil inside him took over. “Unknown to you,” he said, closing the distance between them, “I am not just any highly paid male prostitute. I am the king of male prostitutes. And now I’m taking over.”

She wasn’t certain how she felt about that.

He twisted a long strand of her hair around his fingers. “I yank one strip of leather free from the whip.”

She stopped breathing.

“I use it to tie up your hair . . .”

Goose bumps skittered down her spine. “I’m not sure I like where this is going.” She loved where this was going.

He brushed the nape of her neck with his lips, then lightly nipped the flesh. “Oh, you like it. You like it a lot.” He released her hair. “Especially when I use the butt of the whip to open your legs.”

Her clothes were burning her up. She had to get them off. Right now.

“I run it up your calf . . .” He moved his fingers along the inseam of her jeans. “Then up the inside of your thigh . . .”

“Take off your clothes!” She yanked her sweater over her head.

He crossed his arms over his chest and she did the same, then locked his eyes with hers. “I make you take off your clothes.”

“You cad.”

She was undressed first, which gave her time to drink in the sight of his body. The muscle and tendon, ridges and hollows. He was perfect, and if she wasn’t, she didn’t care. Apparently, neither did he.

“What happened to that whip?” she inquired. Just in case he’d forgotten . . .

“I’m glad you asked.” He tilted his head. “You. On the bed.”

It was only a game, but she’d never felt more desirable. She sauntered over, Sex Queen of the World, and knelt on the mattress to watch him approach.

In all his magnificent glory . . .

She sat back on her heels. The gleam in his eyes told her he was enjoying this as much as she. But was he enjoying it too much? This was, after all, a man who’d built a career on sadism.

He pushed her to her back. As he explored her body, he whispered all the perverted, crude . . . and absolutely thrilling things he intended to do to her.

She struggled to find enough air to whisper back, “And I say nothing. I let you do whatever you want, touch whatever you want. I’m completely submissive.” She dug her fingernails hard into his buttocks. “Until I’m not.”

And the Sex Queen of the World took over.

It was glorious.

Their role-playing liberated them. Stripped away their seriousness. Let them snarl and play and threaten and tussle. They had no scruples and every scruple. The blankets tangled around them as their threats grew more dire, their caresses more thrilling.

Outside the window of their erotic cave, fresh snow began to fall. Inside, they were lost in the wildness they’d unleashed.


THEO HAD NEVER BEEN so foolish with a woman. As he lay back in the pillows, he tried on the unfamiliar notion that sex could be fun. A sharp elbow jabbed him in the ribs. “I’m done with you,” she said. “Out.”

Kenley could never get enough of him. She’d wanted him with her every second. And all he’d wanted was to get away. “I’m too tired to move,” he murmured.

“Fine.” She flipped out of bed and flounced from the room. She’d meant what she said about not sleeping together. He should have been a gentleman and done what she’d asked, but he was feeling ill used, and he stayed where he was.

Much later, when he still hadn’t fallen back asleep, he found her curled in his bed in the studio. He resisted the urge to crawl in with her and got his laptop instead. He carried it out into the living room and settled down to write. But he kept thinking about Diggity Swift. He’d killed off the kid on the page, but not in his head, and he didn’t like that. Disgusted with himself, he set the laptop aside, stared out the window, and watched the snow fall.


AFTER ANNIE HAD SHOWERED AND dressed for the day in jeans and her green sweater, she found Theo in the kitchen.

“Would you like another cup of coffee?” he asked.

“No, thank you. But thank you for offering.”

“My pleasure.”

He’d showered before her, and he, too, was fully dressed. They had their best manners on display, making up for last night’s debauchery with Old World courtesy, as if they needed to reclaim their dignity and prove they were, indeed, civilized.

As he retired to the table with his coffee, she found an old sheet, located a can of black paint in the storage closet, and carried it all into the studio where there were enough splatters on the floor not to make a difference. Half an hour later, Theo stood in the fresh snow and gazed at the banner she’d hung on the front of the cottage.