A standalone title in Elora's Cave's Cougar Challenge series.
Darci-Rae Whitlam doesn't know which is more disturbing, receiving scads of obscene phone calls - or getting so turned-on by said phone calls. Then there's the email from her American friend, Rachel, taunting Darci with something called a Cougar Challenge. Just the thought of seducing a younger man is enough to permanently soak her knickers. No wonder her ever-disapproving sister thinks she's oversexed!Cybercrime Detective Jarrod St. James is investigating a case of stolen identity. He quickly learns the fiery redhead claiming to be Darci-Rae Whitlam is the real deal (his shoulder trapped in the jaws of her gargantuan dog might have sped that decision along). He really should go back to Sydney, continue tracking the imposter who's operating a phone-sex business in Darci's name...but the woman proves too tempting. Job be damned, he has to have her. The fact she's got a titillating challenge to complete only helps his case.
Darci just may be the fastest cougar to snag her cub yet. Being the victim of a crime has never been more fun!
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An Excerpt From: COPPING A FEEL
Copyright © LEXXIE COUPER, 2010
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
Pursuing a case of identity theft beyond the computer lab was exciting—but wasn’t meant to end up in a quiet street in coastal Newcastle. What kind of criminal mastermind lived in a neat little two-story surrounded by gum trees, wattle and tree ferns? With a 1996 Volvo in the driveway? A Volvo wearing a “Public Education. It’s Our Future” bumper sticker, no less?
Jarrod breathed another drawn-out sigh. Maybe he’d been too long in front of a computer after all. This couldn’t be right. This felt wrong.
“But this is the only address for someone claiming to be Darci-Rae Whitlam,” he muttered, scanning the front windows, the gauzy curtains and wide awnings concealing the interior from his inspection. “And it was someone claiming to be Darci-Rae Whitlam who spoke to you on the phone a mere three hours ago.”
With alarming ease, his cock twitched at the memory. The woman—whoever she really was—had the most amazing voice. A voice created to send a man wild. She’d said very little that could condemn her. Asked a very husky question about what he would do with his tongue after he brought her to orgasm with his fingers, wondered if he had staying power, pondered what it would be like to be tied up by him. But in that voice of hers, like smoke and velvet playing in the back of her throat…it was enough to set his groin on rock-hard alert and his pulse quickening beyond fast.
Is that the real reason you’re here? ’Cause a possible crook got you horny with just her voice?
For the third time he let out a protracted sigh, this one tainted with deprecating disgust. Fuck, what was he doing?
“Catching a criminal, Detective.” His growled whisper rumbled deep in his chest. “That’s it. Catching a criminal who’s stolen the real Ms. Whitlam’s life—and making her pay.”
He forced away the sensation of stirring steel in his cock, narrowed his stare on the front door of the house and crossed the front yard, the delicate perfume of the native violet ambling through the flowerbeds wafting into each breath he took.
Climbing the five steps leading to the front porch on silent feet, he unclipped the holster on his Glock, planted his feet slightly apart, squared his shoulders and raised his hand to knock on the door. Ready to take on whatever came—
The door flung open and a goddess with brilliant green eyes and wild, fiery-red hair smacked straight into him.
Followed immediately by a bear cleverly disguised as a dog. A growling dog.
He stumbled back a step, grabbing the goddess’s upper arms even as the bear—err, dog—slammed two paws roughly the size of the Opera House against his chest.
“Eep!” the goddess cried, and Jarrod’s balls prickled in instant interest as the sexiest voice he’d ever heard caressed his ears for the second time that day.
Still struggling under the dog’s massive force, he tightened his grip on her arms, his fingers telling him exactly what his mind had already decided. The goddess was smooth, warm and firm to the touch. Sex and sin and toned feminine strength in one incredible package. He could feel her triceps flex and coil beneath his hands, a realization that made his balls not just prickle with interest but rise up and grow heavy.
Fuck, he was in trouble.
The dog shoved him, teeth bared, muzzle wrinkled, and before his stupefied brain could process the situation, he fell backward, stumbling down the front porch steps, dog and goddess joining him—reluctantly, by the sounds of the dog’s snarls and the goddess’ surprised shout—in a very undignified free fall.
“Oof!”
The ground hit his ass, or more to the point, his ass hit the ground, at the exact moment the dog decided snarling just wouldn’t cut it anymore and the goddess decided she needed to slam into him with her entire weight. Wicked teeth latched onto his shoulder just as a slender, curved knee rammed into his crotch, followed by a palm heel to the solar plexus.
Jarrod’s groin and chest exploded in black stars of pain. He let out a shout that sounded like a croak, thanks in part to the strangled pain in his chest and the dog’s canines threateningly latched to his shoulder.
Yep, definitely been in front of a computer for too long, Jarrod.
The surreal thought flittered through his reeling mind, seconds before another palm heel struck him in the jaw.
“Let go of me, dickhead,” the husky voice growled, a dangerous caress. “Or I’ll let my dog eat you.”
“Wait, wait, wait!” Jarrod choked out, struggling under the massive dog’s rather insistent attack. Thank God for his thick cotton shirt, otherwise his shoulder would look as if it’d been through a cheese grater. He gripped the goddess’s arms tighter still, the base male part of his mind pointing out she reclined full stretch atop him now, her firm softness separated from his body by nothing more than two layers of clothing and a seriously protective mutt.
The thought sent a surge of eager blood through his veins, flooding his already semi-hard dick with wildly inappropriate intent. Unable to do anything else, Jarrod flipped the goddess and her hellhound, dislodging the dog’s teeth in the process, and straddled them both. “Wait!” he panted, staring down into eyes the color of raw emeralds. With an abrupt shift in position, he pressed his knee—gently but forcefully—on the dog’s neck, pinning the animal to the ground so the bloody thing couldn’t take any more bites out of his hide, and then grabbed the goddess’s wrists and pinned them to the ground beside her head.
“Get off me!” she snarled through clenched teeth, squirming beneath him. “Who the hell are you? Get off me, you prick.”
She bucked again and Jarrod bit back a groan. With all her thrashing and writhing, there was no way she would have missed the growing bulge in his jeans. Damn it, his bloody erection kept poking her in the belly every time she moved, contained by his jeans or not.
Way too long in front of a computer, Jarrod. Way too long.
“Wait,” he snapped one last time, and for a dizzying moment he wondered what the hell had happened to his vocabulary. Maybe he’d left it on the front porch along with his pride and professionalism.
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