Excerpt of Wicked Weekend by Gillian Archer

A bark of laughter drew her attention across the room. Her breath stalled in her chest at the sight of perfection. Standing in profile to her, and wearing a loose black T- shirt, baggy jeans and Doc Martens, was her fantasy man come to life. His dark brown hair teasingly hung over his forehead and moved as he gestured, waving his arms in the air while he talked to his friends. Lauren bit back a groan at the sight of his toned but not overly muscular arms. He was probably like that all over, too, judging by the way his clothes hung. She focused in on his ass and wished she could tell if the lower half matched the upper half. Damn baggy jeans.

Then she spotted the black handkerchief hanging from his left back pocket. Was he… He couldn’t be… Her eyes widened as she thought about the implications of that little addition. She knew about the hanky code, just never saw or noticed anyone flagging before. She tried to remember if there was a tell for straight or gay. She knew the left pocket meant top and the black color meant S&M, but was there a code for straight or gay?

With her luck it was the latter. Who was she kidding anyway? He wouldn’t choose her out of the bevy of blonde bimbo snowbunnies out tonight. She eyed his black hanky in longing. What delightful, wicked things would a man like that want to do?

Her gaze continued to rove his hard body as she dreamed about the possibilities. When she returned to his face, she discovered he was staring back at her. A slow cocky grin curved his lips. Oh God. He was every bit as gorgeous as she thought.

And he’d just caught her checking out his ass.

She ducked her head and focused on swirling her drink. The telltale burning in her cheeks meant she was bright red for the second time that night. Maybe she should take the hint and go up to her room and sleep. If she kept this up, she might actually die of mortification by the end of the night.

“Is this seat taken?” A smooth masculine voice spoke above her head.

Lauren looked up and right into the eyes of her Mr. Fantasy Man. How did he…? Why was he…? She looked between him and the magically empty barstool next to her. “I—I…uh… No, no one’s sitting there.”

“Great.” The stool screeched across the floor as he pulled it back to sit down next to her. Right next to her. So close she could feel his body heat on her side.

She closed her eyes and tried to calm the dancing, swirling butterflies in her stomach. “Uh, do you come here often?” Great. Just great. Mr. Hotness sits next to me and I do my lounge-lizard impersonation.

“No, not really. I can’t ski worth a damn. I’m Jamie by the way.” He held his hand out to her.

“Nice to meet you, Jamie.” She shook his hand and enjoyed its firm, work-roughened feel. She could easily imagine it spanking her bare bottom as she lay bent over his knees. Her thighs clenched at the thought.

“And your name is…”

She flinched, torn out of her naughty daydream. “L—Lauren Vaughn.”

“Nice to meet you, Lauren.”

She nodded and looked down at her drink. God, she was such a spaz.

“Can I have my hand back now?”

She jerked her hand away as if she had been burned. Lord knew her cheeks were. “Sorry.”

His lips quirked. “No problem. So do you come here often?” His eyes danced with mischief.