A Quick Bite by Lynsay Sands Read Free Book Online

dinner? The idea was enough to knock every last distracting lusty thought right out of his head. Birthday dinner? Were they cannibals?
    Good Lord, she’d nipped at his neck after kissing him, but just a little nip, then she’d settled into sucking, no doubt giving him a huge hickey he’d spend a week trying to hide, or maybe more. Greg wasn’t sure. He’d only ever had a hickey once before, and that was when he was a teenager. He couldn’t recall how long it had taken to fade. He also didn’t recall getting it to be quite as enjoyable as this experience had been either, yet he’d have been happy to let the blonde suck on his neck all she wanted, or any other body part she took a liking to. Being birthday dinner, however, didn’t sound quite as enjoyable. Dear God, leave it to him to climb into the trunk of a cannibal. He really would prefer the sex slave scenario. It definitely sounded more enjoyable.
    Greg rolled his eyes and had to mentally shake his head at his own thoughts. He sounded like a man desperate to get laid. Actually, that wasn’t far from the truth. Despite his family’s best matchmaking efforts, he hadn’t had sex in almost a year. While the women his familytended to set him up with were all lovely, none of them had stirred much interest in him, at least not enough to drag his attention away from work for any length of time.
    It hadn’t worried Greg much; he had a full and busy life. He always told himself that the day he found a woman as fascinating as his career was the day he’d know he’d found his Ms. Right. In the meantime, his family—ever hopeful—continued to set him up with every single female they knew, and Greg continued to avoid bedding the women to avoid messy entanglements with family friends that might cause hard feelings. That meant he was restricted to cavorting sexually with women he managed to meet on his own when he wasn’t escorting family friends to various meals or functions.
    The last time Greg had managed to hook up with anyone, it had been with an ice blond psychiatrist from British Columbia. They’d met at the mental health conference last winter, gone for a drink after one of the lectures, then he’d walked her back to her room, she’d invited him in, and very politely and clinically had sex with him. It had been cold and functional and terribly unexciting…rather like taking Metamucil. It got the job done, cleaned the pipes, but left a bad taste in the mouth. Greg was relatively certain this blonde would not leave a bad taste in his mouth. He was also sure she’d do a lot more than clean his pipes.
    “You brought him here to treat my phobia?”
    Greg glanced at the blonde as she asked the question, noting for the first time that she, too, seemed rather disappointed by the news.
    “Yes, dear.”
    “He’s not—?”
    “No,” the brunette interrupted firmly, then frowned atthe blonde’s obvious lack of enthusiasm for her gift. “Darling, this is a good thing. I thought you would be pleased. I thought it was perfect. He can cure your phobia, allowing you to live a normal life. One without the inconvenience of night care or the risk of your stumbling home drunk two or three times a week.”
    Greg’s eyebrows rose, and he tried to figure out in his mind what kind of phobia might lead to someone getting drunk.
    “So”—the brunette turned a bright smile his way—“do it.”
    Greg stared at her blankly. “Excuse me?”
    “Cure my Lissianna of her phobia,” she said patiently.
    Greg turned from the expectant expression in those old, wise eyes to the brighter eyes of the daughter. They were as blue and clear as a cloudless sky, but with the same metallic silver shine as the mother’s. Lovely, Greg thought, and just wished they weren’t contacts. It bothered him that she felt she needed the artifice to add to her beauty.
    “They aren’t contacts,” the brunette suddenly announced, and Greg gave a start. Surely she hadn’t just read his