Excerpt of Never Too Much by Lori Foster

The damp, sultry night air felt thick with the threat of a
violent storm. Not a single star glimmered through the
ominous gray clouds gently crowding the dark sky. It was
the type of night that stirred a man’s blood, made him
think of warm mussed sheets and a warmer, mussed woman.

Ben Badwin needed a woman, and he needed her now. Tonight.

Breathing slow and deep, Ben let his mind wander to the
carnal image of uncontrolled sex, of raging lust. His
muscles tensed as he dredged up several female
possibilities, but he dismissed them all as not quite
right. A muggy breeze ruffled his hair, drifted against
his heated skin through the open collar of his shirt. Ben
turned his face up to the night and smiled. He knew what
he wanted.

A challenge.

Lately, the thrill of the chase, the chance to seduce, had
been missing in his life. But he was a man, and damn it,
he liked the chase. He liked testing himself and coming
out the conqueror. He liked being a dominant male.

Tonight, the bar and grill attached to his motel was
packed. Not only were registered guests eating, playing
pool, or drinking, but a lot of truckers had stopped in,
as well as some locals who often frequented the bar.

For the most part the crowd remained friendly and free
spending, allowing Ben to take a moment to himself. He
stood just outside the entry door and surveyed the parking
lot. Flood lamps lit the area, showing a collection of
shadowed cars and trucks. Business was good, booming even.
On that level, at least, Ben was very satisfied.

On another, he burned with edginess.

A little ways down, in one of the ground floor rooms, a
door opened. Two attractive, chatty women, probably in
their early thirties, emerged. They laughed together as
they moseyed toward the bar along the covered walkway.
From all indications, they’d already been drinking. They
neared Ben, and one with short, stylish blonde hair winked
and gave a three-finger wave.

Ben smiled back, typically polite, charmed as always, yet
uninterested. “Ladies.”

A leggy brunette cocked out her shapely hip. “ Helluva
night to be hanging outside.” She eyed him up and down and
up again with lascivious significance. A long scarlet
fingernail touched his naked chest just inside his open
shirt. “You should come on in and let me buy you a drink.”

Wishing he felt even a spark of interest, Ben raised his
arms in mock regret. “An offer that sweet is hard to
refuse, but refuse I must.”

She leaned forward, showing an impressive bosom to
advantage. “I promise not to bite.”

Ben couldn’t help grinning. He adored women and their
antics, how they flirted and the games they played – the
games he always won. “Sweetheart, I don’t believe that for
a second.”

The women laughed in delight. “You sure you don’t want to
join us?”

The blonde added, “It’ll be fun.”

“Can’t.” Ben shook his head, and lied. “My time is already
taken.”

“Your loss.”

“I’m sure it is.”

They went inside and promptly found new game. Amused, Ben
crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against
the clapboard wall. He enjoyed the business, he definitely
enjoyed the female attention.

But these days he simply needed more, and he refused to
settle for less.

A low rumble, probably thunder from the approaching storm,
stirred the air. Ben looked to the sky for lightning, but
saw none. The rumbling increased and seconds later the
headlights of an ancient truck came around the curve,
briefly flashing into Ben’s face before swerving into the
landscaping business directly across the street.

A few weeks ago Ben had noticed that the shop, after being
abandoned for several months, was turning operational
again. He’d noticed new paint, repaired shudders, a clean
sweep of the cluttered gravel lot. Truckloads of mulch and
plants and such had been delivered and arranged into neat
rows.

Ben watched the old battered truck come to a jarring halt
with grinding gears and a spattering of the loose rock and
dirt. The headlights died, followed by a slamming door. He
stared through the darkness, strangely alert.

Inside Ben’s bar, someone started the jukebox, and the
rousing tune of “Bad to the Bone” emerged. The base was
low and thrumming, reverberating in his chest, in his
head.

That’s when Ben saw her.

She came out of the shadows and started across the street
toward him. Spellbound, Ben watched as fog seemed to part
around her, giving her an ethereal appearance. Somehow her
steps, slow and rhythmic, matched the beat of the music,
and the beat of his heart.

The reflection of a street lamp glinted off her reddish
brown hair. It was tied into a high ponytail that might
have been neat at one point during the day but now
straggled loose and sloppy around her face. A fringe of
bangs, stringy with sweat, hung half in her eyes. She wore
a dusty white sleeveless shirt under a pair of coverall
shorts with unraveled hems and a pair of brown lace-up
work boots over rolled gray socks.

Ben wouldn’t call it feminine attire, but maybe fetish
attire? Whatever. She sure got his attention.

He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of panties a woman
wore under a get-up like that.

Despite being midnight and hotter than Hades, her stride
was long and sure and fluid, matching that provocative
music. Bad to the Bone.

She had the walk of a satisfied woman, and it turned Ben
on. He’d always found confidence to be very sexy.

Because he stood in the shadows, she didn’t notice him
until the last moment, when she was a mere three feet
away. Their eyes met, their gazes caught and held. She
faltered, then slowly, intently, surveyed him. Her lips
parted in surprise.

Ben didn’t move, didn’t alter his relaxed pose against the
building. But inside, interest roiled, kicked up his
heartbeat and sent his senses – and his male parts - on
full alert.

Knowing he looked too enthralled, Ben managed a more
casual nod – just barely.

At his acknowledgment, the woman inched closer, but now
her every step seemed weighted with caution and curiosity,
as if she didn’t want to look at him, but couldn’t quite
help herself. When she was directly in front of Ben, her
wide, lush mouth tilted and her eyes smiled. She shook her
head, as if bemused.

Or disbelieving.

“You ought to be illegal.” Her laughing comment, low and
throaty, broke the spell. “It’s a good thing I have a
stout heart.”

With that strange, yet provocative remark, she strode on
past and into the building.