Tracy Wolff collects books, English degrees and lipsticks and has been known to forget where—and sometimes who—she is when immersed in a great novel. At six she wrote her first short story—something with a rainbow and a prince—and at seven she forayed into the wonderful world of girls lit with her first Judy Blume novel. By ten she’d read everything in the young adult and classics sections of her local bookstore, so in desperation her mom started her on romance novels. And from the first page of the first book, Tracy knew she’d found her life-long love. Now an English professor at her local community college, she writes romances that run the gamut from contemporary to paranormal to erotic suspense.
And for all of those who want the unedited version:
Tracy Wolff lives with four men, teaches writing to local college students and spends as much time as she can manage immersed in worlds of her own creation. Married to the alpha hero of her dreams for twelve years, she is the mother of three young sons who spend most of their time trying to make her as crazy as possible.
Tracy also writes under the pseudonym Tessa Adams.
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Tease Me The “edgy and erotic” (Shannon McKenna, New York Times bestselling author of Tasting Fear) author of Tie Me Down and Full Exposure offers another steamy novel of sex, lies, and sultry games.
Burned once too often, true crime writer Lacey Richards has sworn off love. Instead, she explores her deepest desires through her anonymous- and very provocative-blog. Anonymous, that is, until her dark and ultrasexy neighbor discovers her dirty secret.
Stockbrocker-turned-carpenter Byron Hawthorne gave up life in the fast lane, hoping to start over in a new city. When he learns his alluring neighbor is the one writing the sizzling blog that keeps him up all night, he can’t resist offering to fulfill her fantasies in the flesh. But Byron isn’t the only man provoked by Lacey’s writing. Now Lacey doesn’t know who she can trust-and who she can dare to tease.
Excerpt Lacey shivered, despite the heat, her body trembling under her neighbor’s intense scrutiny. Part of her wanted to look away, wanted to pick up her water glass and head indoors. But she couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Could barely breathe as her entire body lit up from the inside.
What was it about this man, with his black eyes and roguish grin that turned her on so much? That held her transfixed on her balcony when she should be doing anything but this? She knew better—had known better since Curtis had used and abused her—and yet she here she was, unable to look away. Worse, she was enjoying every second of watching him watch her. Was reveling in the arousal arcing through her body.
In the distance, lightning flashed. Once, twice, followed quickly by the sharp crack of rumbling thunder. The air around her grew heavier, wetter—as did her body at this sudden advent of the storm. The wind picked up, whipped through her loose hair and down her bare arms. Lifted her skirt and flirted with the soft, damp skin of her upper thighs.
And she let it.
Then watched, fascinated, as—across the courtyard– her neighbor’s eyes narrowed dangerously. She nearly grinned as he focused on her open thighs—and, she hoped, the small scrap of pink lace that was the only thing separating her from his view.
Desire escalated to need and she felt her breath catch. Sweat bloomed on her skin, ran in rivulets between her breasts and down her back and still she didn’t go inside. Didn’t cover herself. Didn’t so much as move.
She couldn’t.
Watching him watch her was the most erotic experience she’d ever had.
The breeze felt good as it caressed her thighs, as it slid between her breasts and crept softly down her neck. She imagined it was his hands touching her–that it was his long fingers trailing so languorously over her most private parts– and nearly whimpered.
Biting her lip to keep the sound from escaping, she watched as his jaw clenched at the tell-tale movement. Watched as his entire body tensed.
He knew exactly how she was feeling, knew exactly how turned on she was. His knowledge was dangerous, disconcerting and would have been completely unbearable—after all knowledge was power when it came to love and war—except for the fact that he was as turned on as she was.
Maybe more—although Lacey wasn’t sure that was possible.
The wind picked up, its caresses growing stronger. If she closed her eyes she could pretend that it was him teasing and tormenting her. That it was him bringing her one step closer to crazy.
But she couldn’t look away, couldn’t let her eyelids fall. His hands, clenched on the iron railing, had the muscles of his forearms standing out in stark relief—a silent testament to the fact that he was burning as she was.
The need was building in her—teasing her, tantalizing her, taking her over with the promise of sensual satisfaction. Suddenly her nipples were so tight that even the light fabric of her tank top chafed them and her lower body ached with the need to be filled. To be taken after so many long months of celibacy.
This time she couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped, any more than she could stop herself from stroking the back of her hand down her neck and over her chest. With a sigh, she moved her hand even lower until she was cupping her left breast—massaging slowly and firmly as her thumb glanced across her nipple. Once, twice. Then again and again as her body spiraled up and nearly out of her control.
And still she watched him. Still she maintained eye contact as his body stiffened and his hands clutched the wrought-iron railing with the desperation of an addict looking for a much-delayed fix.
Setting her water glass down on the table beside her, she brought her right hand to her stomach. Lifted the soft cotton of her camisole so that she could trail her fingers up and down the sensitive skin of her stomach. She shivered at the first touch of cold fingers on hot skin, but the chill didn’t last long. It couldn’t—not when her neighbor stared at her with fiery eyes. Not when her own need was growing more desperate with every second that passed.
As she moved her hand lower, skimming it over the bare skin of her upper thighs, a little voice in the back of her head started clamoring. What was she doing, it asked. Was she insane? She didn’t know this man, didn’t know anything about him. And she was out in the open, where any of her neighbors could see.
Out in the open, where anyone could see.She tuned the voice out, didn’t listen. Couldn’t listen as her body continued to operate on a frequency her conscious mind no longer reached. She was too far gone, desire and need and the months of self-denial all tied together as her body searched for the release it was desperate for. She’d deal with the consequences later, put up with his knowing looks and sly smiles if she had to. Right now she needed to come and for reasons completely unknown to her, it had to be here.
Had to be in front of his passion-glazed eyes.
Had to be with this man, whose desire was making hers burn hotter and brighter than it ever had before.
With a sigh, she let her head fall back against the lounge, then let the chaise take the weight of her upper body as she skimmed her fingers closer and closer to her inner thighs. Part of her wanted to just do it, to rush for the prize—the sweet release—that was only a few finger strokes away.
But there was something addictive about the power she felt in these moments, about the incredible raptness she was inspiring in her audience of one. His gaze was rapt, intense, his jaw rigid. His muscles so tight that she could see them bunch and ripple even across the courtyard. The knowledge that he was as captivated by her as she was by him, moved through her—right now a bomb could go off and he wouldn’t flinch, wouldn’t move. Hell, he probably wouldn’t even hear it. That’s how intent he was on her.
After months—years—of being the good little girl, it felt good to be wanted. After a lifetime of playing the innocent for men like Curtis—and taking whatever they gave her—it was fabulous to wield total control over her own pleasure.
And over his.
