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Advance Search

The Portal

Published by: eXtasy Books

Author : Lark Westerly

ISBN :978-1-55410-667-7

Page :66

Word Count :16500

Publication Date :2011-06-19

Series : #

Heat Level :

Available Formats : The Portal (pdf) , The Portal (prc) , The Portal (epub) , The Portal (mobi)

Category : Contemporary Romance , Erotic Romance , Paranormal Romance , Romance

  • Product Code: 978-1-55410-667-7

Jillie’s life with Seamus O’Mara is perfect until the day she discovers his secret—he owns a neglected house he has never bothered to mention. Fired with a zeal for renovation, Jillie heads for a date with destiny. Who has set up a love nest in the attic? Who is the horny young man who stumbles out of the closet? Why is Seamus so determined to rescue Jillie from her very fulfilling adventure? And why does the sight of Jillie’s hair send her lover into a panic? These mysteries are perplexing, but even the diligent Jillie never expected to enjoy a threesome with two men utterly dedicated to her passions.

"Nathan Trent," confirmed the dry voice at the other end of the line.

"I'm telephoning for Seamus O'Mara," said Jillie. "You made a mistake. Seamus lives in an apartment in Kamdale."

"I know that," said Trent. "Ms.…?"

"Jillie Emmett," said Jillie. "Seamus doesn't have a house. He has never had a house. Please stop harassing him."

"He has owned this house ever since his great-uncle passed away eleven years ago. It is empty and going to ruin."

"But…he's never mentioned it."

"He wouldn't," said Trent. "If he'd rented it out or sold it ten years ago, it would have been a nice little investment, but now…frankly, the firm can no longer countenance disbursements when there is no reciprocal income. He must sell or make other arrangements."

"If there's a problem, it needs to be dealt with. I will deal with it."

"Mm, will you marry me?"

"No," said Jillie.

"I'll bring the keys and combinations around in an hour. No, half an hour, before you change your mind."

"But I have an appointment--"

A click told her she was talking to air. She felt she was standing on it as well.

She had first met Seamus at the supermarket where she worked a few shifts whenever clients were thin on the ground.

"That guy is stalking you," said Niamh, who worked at the adjacent till. "He never goes to any other checkout, and he only shows up on the days you have shifts."

Jillie didn't mind. No genuine stalker stared at his prey as unashamedly as the man in question, and anyway, it gave her license to stare back.

He was worth staring at. Not handsome, but sexy as hell, with sleek mahogany-colored hair, a roman nose, a stubborn chin, and hazel eyes with extravagant lashes.

"Do I know you?" he asked on the fourth day.

It was a terrible old chestnut, but the man who offered it had a voice to match his looks, so she smiled.

"Not as well as I'd like you to know me."

"It's not a line. I mean it. Have we met before?"

"No," she said. "I'd remember you if you were one of my clients."


She grinned. "I run a small renovation/decoration business--Can Do."

"How diligent of you," he said.

"I am diligent. Do you have a house in need of decoration?"

"I live in an apartment with a garden the size of a bedsheet."

She noted that his hands, as he hoisted his basket of steak, broccoli and potatoes onto the counter, were large and capable-looking, and his feet…

Jillie peeped over the edge of the counter while pretending to check the price of the oysters that hadn't blipped on her scanner. Yes, his feet were large as well.

"Big socks mean big cocks," her grandma always used to say when she got pissed on Christmas punch. Jillie believed it. Did he eat that much steak every day? As for the oysters… she thought about them slithering neatly over his tongue and almost had an orgasm on the spot. It was all she could do to give her professional till-jockey's smile and tell him to have a nice day.

"Here's my card," she added, as she handed over his docket. "In case you know anyone who needs a decorator."

He called her two days later.

"Seamus O'Mara."

She recognized his voice. "The man with the apartment."

"Do you decorate apartments?"

"Definitely," said Jillie. "When do you want me?"

The apartment had a just-decorated look about it, but Seamus paid without a blink for new papers and blinds, a bijou herb garden in terracotta and a sunburst trompe d'oeil painted on his bedroom ceiling.

"There's better scope in a house," she said when he came to inspect it. "What I really thirst for is an older place, with stairs and impossible angles, where I could create a whole room that isn't there."

"Sorry I can't oblige." He frowned, and tilted his head to admire the ceiling.

"You can see it better lying down," said Jillie. She removed her paint-spattered overall and flopped on the bed to show him.

Then she spread her legs wide to show him something else.

Seamus's pale skin flushed, and his pupils widened. "Is this part of the service?"

"Only for you," said Jillie. "Take me or leave me. I don't offer twice."

He took her.

And Grandma was right.

Jillie, rolling her head ecstatically on the pillow, dug her nails into his bum and squealed with anticipatory bliss. Seamus pulled back with an exclamation.

"What's wrong? Did you bite your tongue?" gasped Jillie.

He stared down at her. He was still wearing his shirt, unbuttoned, and his eyes were dilated with what she hoped was lust, but feared was horror.

"What?" she demanded.

He blinked. "Your hair…" he said in an odd voice. "Is that its natural color?"

"Yes. I've always been blonde. We're all blondes in my family."

"And it's always been long?"

Jillie frowned at him. "Are you some kind of hair-fetishist? It's quite okay if you are. I don't discriminate--"

"It's never been really short?"

"Seamus, what is this?" She sat up and pushed him away. "If you're going to freak, I'll leave."

"No!" He sounded alarmed. "I won't freak. I promise."

"Why did you, then? Apart from the sudden doubt about my true colors?"

"It was that noise you made."

"Noise?" Jillie was insulted. "If you're into bondage and gags, you ought to have said so. I can do that. I am," she added, "very accommodating. I'll try anything that doesn't do any damage."

"It's not that."

"What's wrong, then? One minute you've got your cock going for gold, and the next it's as limp as last week's celery."

"Nothing's wrong," he said. "It was déjà vu. Now, where were we?"

"You had your cock in my cunt and we were playing stuff the sausage, straight, missionary, steak-and-eggs. Do you need me to draw you a picture? I can do that."

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