Excerpt of Guitar Man by Marie Treanor

While Chris lounged on the bed, tuning the guitar and strumming vaguely, I strolled around the room, examining his books—a diverse collection of music, politics, literature and popular fiction. Although I tried to squash it, I was very aware of him sprawling there on the suddenly inviting bed. He looked lean and sexy and totally natural, the golden skin of his arms rippling as he played. I found myself humming along with the melody, although I didn’t recognize it. I opened my mouth to ask him what it was, when it suddenly changed into a different tune, discordant yet weirdly hypnotic.

"Chris, that’s horrible!" I chided. "Play something else."

Since he didn’t, I threw my head back in mock outrage and announced I was going to make more coffee. If nothing else, the break would refocus my wayward thoughts away from his undoubted physical attractions. Chris didn’t object as I swept dramatically past the foot of the bed but at the last minute he moved with startling speed.

Hanging on to the guitar with one hand, he launched his body across the entire length of the bed and reached out to grip my thigh.

Stunned, I stood quite still, staring at his hand. It was warm, its grip too firm around the top of my leg, the palm secure around my inner thigh. I knew I would have difficulty removing it, at least by normal means. I didn’t want to. I liked Chris’s hands. He had never been short on boldness and I supposed I had been enticed up here for a reason. My ego wasn’t sorry about that, either. His fingers dug almost painfully into my flesh and yet treacherous tinglings snaked upward from his fingers to my pussy. I felt suddenly hot and moist. His fingers moved, rhythmically kneading, sliding higher to the crease at the top of my thigh. His knuckles touched my damp pussy.

I swallowed. Slowly, almost afraid, I lifted my gaze from his rigid hand to his face. His blue eyes gleamed. But he wasn’t smiling. This was a new Chris to me, dominating, determined, almost…scary. His caress was rough, forceful rather than seductive. Somehow, this excited me and yet I knew that if it’d been anyone else’s fingers reaching so greedily for my pussy—

He said, "Fuck the coffee. Sit on my cock and screw me."

Shocked, I reacted from instinct. I hurled an unnecessary amount of force at his fingers, prizing them loose with my mind. In less than a second, I was out the bedroom door and running for the stairs. Stupidly, I could feel the ache of tears desperate to be shed and I didn’t even know why.

Chris had never been mealy mouthed. I wasn’t exactly a shrinking rose myself. In Pisa, part of his charm had been his directness. It had been exciting, compelling. Yet here, I felt…abused. And by a man I was beginning to like a lot.

My mobile phone chose that minute to go off.

I heard it from the stairs. Dashing into the living room where I’d left my bag, I grabbed the phone out of it.

It was Jenny, damn her. "Not a good…" I began but she interrupted me, her voice high and harsh.

"Ellie, are you okay?"

"Okay? Yes," I mumbled in bewilderment. Was I?

"Get out of there, Ellie. Now. The readings are off the scale."

***

I grabbed my jacket and my bag and bolted for the living room door, trying to stuff the phone back into my bag with shaking fingers as I went. A shadow fell over me, bringing me to an abrupt halt. My heart thundered in my ears. Slowly, I raised my eyes.

Chris stood in the doorway, distractedly rubbing the fingers of his right hand