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Mouse over a cover image to view details. $0.21 Rewards Adobe Digital Edition [ 1.8 Mb ]Street Date: Tuesday, August 31, 2010 Adobe ePub [ 0.6 Mb ]Street Date: Tuesday, August 31, 2010 Chapter One “What do you mean she left me the embryos? I’m supposed to get the cat.” Pia O’Brian paused long enough to put her hand on her chest. The shock of hearing the details of Crystal’s will had been enough to stop the strongest of hearts and Pia’s was still bruised from the loss of her friend. She was relieved to find her heart still beating, although the rhythm qualified more as racing than slow. “It’s the cat,” she repeated, speaking as clearly as possible so the well-dressed attorney sitting across from her would understand. “His name is Jake. I’m not really a pet person, but we’ve made peace with each other. I think he likes me. It’s hard to tell—he keeps to himself. I guess most cats do.” Pia thought about offering to bring in the cat so the lawyer could see for herself, but wasn’t sure that would help. “Crystal would never leave me her babies,” Pia added with a whisper. Mostly because it was true. Pia had never had a maternal or nurturing thought in her life. Taking care of the cat had been a big step for her. “Ms. O’Brian,” the attorney said with a brief smile. “Crystal was very clear in her will. She and I spoke several times as her illness progressed. She wanted you to have her embryos. Only you.” “But I...” Pia swallowed. Embryos. Somewhere in a lab-like facility were frozen test tubes or other containers and inside of them were the potential babies her friend had so longed for. “I know this is a shock,” the lawyer, a forty-something elegant woman in a tailored suit, said. “Crystal debated telling you what she’d done. Apparently she decided against letting you know in advance.” “Probably because she knew I’d try to talk her out of it,” Pia muttered. “For now, you don’t have to do anything. The storage fees are paid for the next three years. There’s some paperwork to be filled out, but we can take care of it later.” Pia nodded. “Thank you,” she said and rose. A quick glance at her watch told her she was going to have to hurry or she would be late for her ten-thirty appointment back at her office. “Crystal picked you for a reason,” the attorney said as Pia walked toward the door. Pia gave the older woman a tight smile and headed for the stairs. Seconds later, she was outside, breathing deeply, wondering when the world was going to stop spinning. This was not happening, she told herself as she started walking. It couldn’t be. What had Crystal been thinking? There were dozens of other women she could have left the embryos to. Hundreds, probably. Women who were good with kids, who knew how to bake and comfort and test for a fever with the back of their hands. Pia couldn’t even keep a house plant alive. She was a lousy hugger. Her last boyfriend had complained she always let go first. Probably because being held too long made her feel trapped. Not exactly a sterling quality for a potential parent. Her stomach felt more than a little queasy. What had Crystal been thinking and why? Why her? That’s what she couldn’t get over. The fact that her friend had made such a crazy decision. And without ever mentioning it. Fool’s Gold was the kind of town where everyone knew everyone else and secrets were hard to keep. Apparently Crystal had managed to break with convention and keep some huge information to herself. Pia reached her office building. The first floor of the structure held several retail businesses. A card store, a gift shop with the most amazing fudge, and Morgan’s Bookstore. Her office was upstairs. She went through the plain wooden door off the side street and climbed to the second story. She could see a tall man standing by her locked office door. “Hi,” she called. “Sorry I’m late.” The man turned. There was a window behind him, so she couldn’t see his face, but she knew her schedule for the morning and the name of the man who was her next appointment. Raoul Moreno was tall, with huge shoulders. Despite the unusually cool September day, he hadn’t bothered with a coat. Instead he wore a vee-neck sweater over dark jeans. A man’s man, she thought unexpectedly. Which made sense. Raoul Moreno was a former professional football player. He’d been a quarterback with the Dallas Cowboys. After ten years in the game, he’d retired on top and had disappeared from public view. Last year he’d shown up in Fool’s Gold for a Pro-Am charity golf tournament. For reasons she couldn’t figure out, he’d stayed. As she got closer, she took in the large dark eyes, the handsome face. There was a scar on his cheek—probably from protecting an old lady during a mugging. He had a reputation for being nice. Pia made it a rule never to trust nice people. “Ms. O’Brian,” he began. “Thanks for seeing me.” She unlocked her office door and motioned for him to go inside. “Pia, please. My ‘Ms. O’Brian’ years are looming, but I’m not ready for them yet.” He was good looking enough that she should have been distracted. Under other circumstances, she probably would have been. But at the moment, she was wondering if the chemo treatments had scrambled Crystal’s brain. Her friend had always seemed so rational. Obviously that had been a façade. Pia motioned to the visitor chair in front of her desk and hung her coat on the rack by the door. Her office was small but functional. There was a good sized main room with a custom three year calendar covering most of one wall. The squares were half dry-erase material and half cork board. Posters for various Fool’s Gold festivals took up the rest of the wall space. She had a storage room and a half bath in the rear, several cabinets and a filing system that bordered on compulsively organized. As a rule she made it a point to visit rather than have people come to her, but scheduling wise, having Raoul stop by had made the most sense. Of course that had been before she’d found out she’d been left three very frozen potential children. She crossed to the small refrigerator in the corner. “I have diet soda and water.” She glanced over her shoulder. “You’re not the diet type.” One dark eyebrow rose. “Are you asking or telling?” She smiled. “Am I wrong?” “Water’s fine.” “I knew it.” She collected a bottle and a can, then returned to her desk. After handing him the bottle, she took a seat and stared at the yellow pad in front of her. There was writing on it, very possibly in English. She could sort of make out individual letters, but not words and certainly not sentences. They were supposed to have a meeting about something. That much was clear. She handled the city festivals in town. There were over a dozen civic events that she ran every year. But her mind didn’t go any further than that. When she tried to remember why Raoul was here, she went blank. Her brain was filled with other things. Babies. Crystal had left her babies. Okay, embryos, but the implication was clear. Crystal wanted her children to be born. Which meant someone was going to have to get them implanted, grow them and later give birth. Although that was terrifying enough, there was also the further horror of raising them. Children weren’t like cats. She knew that much. They would need more than dry food, a bowl of water and a clean litter box. A lot more. “Oh, God, I can’t do this,” she whispered. Raoul frowned. “I don’t understand. Do you want to reschedule the meeting?” Meeting? Oh, right. He was here for something. His camp and he wanted her to... Her mind went blank, again. Right after the merciful emptiness, there was panic. Deep to the bone, intestine-wrenching, panic. She stood and wrapped her arms around her midsection, breathing hard and fast. “I can’t do this. It’s impossible. What was she thinking? She had to know better.” “Pia?” Her visitor rose. She turned to tell him that rescheduling was probably a good idea when the room began to spin. It turned and turned, darkening on the edges. The next thing she knew, she was in her chair, bent over at the waist, her head between her knees with something pressing down on the back of her neck. “This is uncomfortable,” she said. “Keep breathing.” “Easier said than done. Let go.” “A couple more breaths.” The pressure on the back of her neck lessened. Slowly, she straightened and blinked. Raoul Moreno was crouched next to her, his dark eyes cloudy with concern. She took another breath and realized he smelled really good. Clean, but with a hint of something else. “You all right?” he asked. “What happened?” “You started to faint.” Pia blinked at him. “I don’t faint. I never faint. I—” Her memory returned. “Oh, crap.” She covered her face with her hands. “I’m so not ready to be a mother.” Raoul moved with a speed that was a credit to his physical conditioning and nearly comical at the same time. “Man trouble?” he asked cautiously. “What?” She lowered her hands. “No. I’m not pregnant. That would require sex. Or not. Actually it wouldn’t, would it? This is so not happening.” “Okay.” He sounded nervous. “Should I call a doctor?” “No, but you can go if you want. I’m fine.” “You don’t look fine.” Now it was her turn to raise her eyebrows. “Are you commenting on my appearance?” He grinned. “I wouldn’t dare.” “That sounded almost critical.” “You know what I meant.” She did. “I’m okay. I’ve had a bit of a shock. A friend of mine died recently. She was married to a guy in the army. Before he was shipped off to Iraq, they decided to do in-vitro, just in case something happened to him. So she could have his kids.” “Sad, but it makes sense.” She nodded. “He was killed a couple of years ago. She took it really hard, but after a while, she decided she would have the babies. At least a part of him would live on, right?” Pia rose and paced the length of the office. Moving seemed to help. She took a couple of cautious breaths, to make sure she was going to stay conscious. Fainting? Impossible. Yet the world really had started to blur. She forced herself back to the topic at hand. “She went to the doctor for a routine physical,” she continued. “They discovered she had lymphoma. And not the good kind.” “There’s a good kind?” She shrugged. “There’s a kind that can usually be cured. She didn’t have that one. And then she was gone. I have her cat. I thought I’d be keeping him. We have a relationship. Sort of. It’s hard to tell with a cat.” “They keep to themselves.” There was something about the way he spoke. She glared at him. “Are you making fun of me?” “No.” She saw the corner of his mouth twitch. “Don’t mess with me,” she told him. “Or I’ll talk about my feelings.” “Anything but that.” She returned to her desk and sank into the chair. “She didn’t leave me the cat. She left me the embryos. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what she was thinking. Babies. God—anyone but me. And I can’t ignore it. Them. That’s what the attorney hinted at. That I could let it go for a while because the ‘fees’ are paid for three years.” She looked at him. “I guess that’s the frozen part. Maybe I should go see them.” “They’re embryos. What’s there to see?” “I don’t know. Something. Can’t they put them under a microscope? Maybe if I saw them, I would understand.” She stared at him as if he had the answer. “Why did she think I could raise her children?” “I’m sorry, Pia. I don’t know.” He looked uncomfortable. His gaze lingered on the door. Reality returned and with it, a sense of embarrassment. “Sorry,” she murmured, standing. “We’ll reschedule. I’ll compose myself and be much better next time. Let me look over my calendar and give you a call.” He reached for the door handle, then paused. “Are you sure you’re going to be all right?” No, she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure of anything. But that wasn’t Raoul’s problem. She forced a smile. “I’m great. Seriously, you should go. I’m going to call a couple of girlfriends and let them talk me down.” “Okay.” He hesitated. “You have my number?” “Uh huh.” She wasn’t sure if she did, but she was determined to let him escape while she still had a shred of dignity. “The next time you see me, I’ll be professionalism personified. I swear.” “Thanks. You take care.” “Bye.” He left. When the door closed, she sank back into her chair. After lowering her arms to the desk, she rested her head on them and did her best to keep breathing. Crystal had left her the embryos. There were only two questions that mattered. Why, and what the hell was Pia supposed to do now? # Raoul arrived at Ronan Elementary shortly before two. He parked in the lot by the playground. No surprise—his was the only Ferrari in the parking lot. He was a guy who liked his toys, so sue him. Before he could climb out of the car, his cell phone rang. He checked his watch—he had a few minutes before he was due inside—then the phone number on the screen. As he pushed the “talk” button, he grinned. “Hey, Coach.” “Hey, yourself,” Hawk, his former high school football coach, said. “Nicole hasn’t heard from you in a while and I’m calling to find out why.” Raoul laughed. “I talked to your beautiful wife last week, so I know that’s not why you’re calling.” “You got me. I’m checking on you. Making sure you’re moving on with your life.” That was Hawk, Raoul thought with equal parts frustration and appreciation. Cutting right to the heart of what was wrong. “You had some bad stuff happen,” the older man continued. “Don’t wallow.” “I’m not wallowing. I’m busy.” “You’re in your head too much. I know you. Find a cause. It’ll distract you. You can’t change what happened.” Raoul’s good humor faded. Hawk was right about that. The past couldn’t be undone. Those who were gone stayed gone. No amount of bargaining, no sum of money, made it better. “I can’t let it go,” he admitted. “You’ll have to. Maybe not today, but soon. Believe in the possibility of healing, Raoul. Right now, that’s enough.” It seemed impossible, but he’d been trusting Hawk for nearly twenty years. “I’ll do my best.” “Good. Call Nicole.” “I will.” They hung up. Raoul sat in his car for a few more seconds, thinking about what Hawk had told him. Get involved. Find a cause. What the other man didn’t know was how much Raoul wanted to avoid that. Getting involved is what had caused the problem in the first place. Life was much safer lived at a distance. He got out of his car and collected the small duffle he’d brought with him. Whenever he visited a school, he brought a few official NFL footballs and player cards. It made the kids happy, and that’s why he was here. To entertain and maybe slip in a little motivation when they weren’t looking. He glanced at the main school building. It was older but well-kept. He usually spoke to high school aged kids, but the principal and class teacher had both been persistent to the point of stalking. He was new to small town life and figuring out the rules as he went. As he planned to settle in Fool’s Gold permanently, he’d decided to err on the side of cooperation. He stepped toward the main walkway, then made his way into the building. Unlike the inner city schools he usually visited, there weren’t any metal detectors or even a guard. The double doors stood open, the halls were wide and well-lit, the walls free of graffiti. Like the rest of Fool’s Gold, the school was almost too good to be true. He followed the signs for the main office and found himself in a big open area, with a long counter. There were the usual bulletin boards with flyers for book drives and after school programs. A dark-haired woman sat at a desk, typing on an ancient looking computer. “Morning,” he said. The woman—probably in her mid-thirties—looked up. Her mouth fell open as she stood and waved her hands. “Oh, God. You’re here. You’re really here! I can’t believe it.” She hurried toward him. “Hi. I’m Rachel. My dad is a huge fan. He’s going to die when he finds out I met you.” “I hope not,” Raoul said easily, pulling a card out of the bag and reaching for a pen. “What?” “I hope he doesn’t die.” Rachel laughed. “He won’t, but he’ll be so jealous. I heard you were coming. And here you are. This is just so exciting. Raoul Moreno in our school.” “What’s your dad’s name?” “Norm.” He signed the card and passed it to her. “Maybe this will help him deal with his disappointment.” She took the paper reverently and placed a hand on her chest. “Thank you so much. This is wonderful.” She glanced at the clock, then sighed. “I suppose I have to take you to Mrs. Miller’s class now.” “I should probably get started talking to the kids.” “Right. That’s why you’re here. It’s been wonderful to meet you.” “You, too, Rachel.” She came out from behind the counter, then led him back into the hallway. As they walked, she chatted about the school and the town, all the while glancing at him with a combination of appreciation and flirtatiousness. It came with the territory and he’d learned a long time ago not to take the attention seriously. Mrs. Miller’s class was at the end of the hall. Rachel held the door open for him. “Good luck,” she said. “Thanks.” He entered the room alone. There were about twenty young kids, all staring wide-eyed, while their teacher, an attractive woman in her forties, fluttered. “Oh, Mr. Moreno, I can’t thank you enough for speaking with us today. It’s such a thrill.” Raoul smiled. “I’m always happy to come talk to kids in school.” He glanced at the class. “Morning.” A few of the students greeted him. A few more looked too excited to speak. At least the boys did. Most of the girls didn’t seem impressed at all. “Fourth grade, right?” he asked. A girl with glasses in the front row nodded. “We’re the accelerated group, reading above grade level.” “Uh oh,” he said, taking an exaggerated step back. “The smart kids. You going to ask me a math question?” Her mouth curved into a smile. “Do you like math?” “Yeah, I do.” He looked up at the class. “Who here really likes school a lot?” A few kids raised their hands. “School can change your life,” he said, settling one hip on the teacher’s desk. “When you grow up, you’re going to get jobs and work for a living. Today most of your responsibilities are about doing well in school. Who knows why we need to learn things like reading and math?” More hands went up. His usual talk was on staying motivated, finding a mentor, making a better life, but that seemed like a little much for the average nine year-old. So he was going to talk about how important it was to like school and do your best. Mrs. Miller hovered. “Do you need anything?” she asked in a whisper. “Can I get you something?” “I’m good.” He turned his attention back to the students. The girl in the front row stared at him. There was something intense about her gaze. Oddly enough—she reminded him of Pia. Maybe it was her obvious lack of interest in him as a person. Pia hadn’t gushed, either. She’d barely noticed him. Not a real surprise, given how her morning had started. But he’d noticed her. She’d been cute and funny, even without trying. He returned his attention to the students, drew in a breath and frowned. He inhaled again, smelling something odd. If this had been a high school, he would have assumed an experiment gone bad in the science lab. Or a batch of forgotten cookies in home ec. But elementary schools didn’t have those facilities. He turned to Mrs. Miller. “Do you smell that?” She nodded, her blue eyes concerned. “Maybe something happened in the cafeteria.” “Is there a fire?” one of the boys asked. “Everyone stay seated,” Mrs. Miller said firmly, as she walked toward the door. She placed a hand on it before slowly pulling it open. As she did, the smell of smoke got stronger. Seconds later, the fire alarms went off. She turned to him. “It’s only the second day of school. We haven’t practiced what to do. I think there really is a fire.” The kids were already standing up and looking scared. He knew they weren’t very far from panic. “You know where we’re supposed to go?” he asked. “The way out?” “Of course.” “Good.” He turned to the students. “Who’s in charge here?” he asked in a voice loud enough to be heard over the bells. “Mrs. Miller,” someone yelled. “Exactly. Everyone get in line and follow Mrs. Miller as we go into the hall. There are going to be a lot of kids out there. Stay calm. I’ll go last and make sure you all get out of the building.” Mrs. Miller motioned for her students to move toward the door. “Follow me,” she said. “We’ll go quickly. Everyone hold hands. Don’t let go. Everything is fine. Just stay together.” Mrs. Miller went out the door. The children began to follow her. Raoul waited to make sure everyone left. One little boy seemed to hesitate before leaving. “It’s okay,” Raoul told him, his voice deliberately calm. He reached for the boy’s hand, but the child flinched, as if expecting to be hit. The kid—all red hair and freckles—ducked out before Raoul could say anything. Raoul went into the hall. The smell of smoke was more intense. Several kids were crying. A few stood in the middle of the hallway, their hands over their ears. The bells rang endlessly as teacher called for the students to follow them outside. “Come on,” he said, scooping the nearest little girl into his arms. “Let’s go.” “I’m scared,” she said. “I’m big enough to keep you safe.” Another little boy grabbed hold of his arm. Tears filled the kid’s eyes. “It’s too loud.” “Then let’s go outside, where it’s quieter.” He walked quickly, herding kids as he went. Teachers ran back and forth, counting heads, checking to make sure no one was left behind. When Raoul and his group of kids reached the main doors leading outside, the children took off at a run. He put down the girl he’d been carrying and she raced toward her teacher. He could see smoke pouring into the sky, a white-gray cloud covering the brilliant blue. Students flowed out around him. Names were called. Teachers sorted the groups by grades, then classes. Raoul turned and went back into the building. Now he could do more than smell smoke. He could see it. The air was thick and getting darker, making it hard to breathe. He went room by room, pushing open doors, checking under the large teacher desks in front, scanning to make sure no one was left behind. He found a tiny little girl in a corner of the third room he entered, her face wet with tears. She was coughing and sobbing. He picked her up, turned and almost ran into a firefighter. “I’ll take her,” the woman said, looking at him from behind a mask and grabbing the girl. “Get the hell out of here. The building is nearly seventy years old. God knows what cocktail of chemicals is in the air.” “There might be more kids.” “I know, and the longer we stand here talking, the more danger they’re in. Now move.” He followed the firefighter out of the building. It wasn’t until he was outside, that he realized he was coughing and choking. He bent over, trying to catch his breath. When he could breathe again, he straightened. The scene was controlled chaos. Three fire trucks stood in front of the school. Students huddled together on the lawn, well back from the building. Smoke poured out in all directions. A few people screamed and pointed. Raoul turned and saw flames licking through the roof at the far end of the school. He turned to head back in. A firefighter grabbed him by the arm. “Don’t even think about it,” the woman told him. “Leave this to the professionals.” He nodded, then started coughing again. She shook her head. “You went back inside, didn’t you? Civilians. Do you think we wear the masks because they’re pretty? Medic!” She yelled the last word and pointed at him. “I’m fine,” Raoul managed, his chest tight. “Let me guess. You’re a doctor, too. Cooperate with the nice lady or I’ll tell her you need an enema.” ![]() $6.99
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Street Date: Tuesday, September 7, 2010 Street Date: Tuesday, September 7, 2010 “Dance with me, cowboy.”
Bo Crenshaw didn’t know what surprised him more. Her wanting to dance—or her asking him. She always cringed over her inability to master a simple two-step, and she usually avoided him like the plague in public.
But he wasn’t arguing. It was Friday night after a long week of wrangling cattle. He wanted to replace the musky smell in his nostrils with something a whole lot sweeter. Giving his drinking buddy a shrug, he let Shanna Davies tug his hand and lead him onto the dance floor, pretending a reluctance he didn’t feel.
Not that dancing with Shanna wasn’t pleasurable—if a little painful. She danced the same way she lived—a little too fast and completely out of synch with everyone around her.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, but her head was tilted as she peeked around his shoulder. “Let’s go this way.” She bumped his knees, and they scooted backward toward her destination.
He pulled in her hips to slide a knee between her lethal knobs and circled so he had a view of what had caught her attention. Eyeing one particular trio of dancers at the far edge of the parquet floor, he thought he knew what had Shanna so intensely curious.
“Get me closer,” she hissed.
“What’re you doin’?” he asked, his tone dry.
“Tryin’ to see.”
“See what?”
“Them. Oops.” She ducked her head and stared at his chest. “He knows I’m watchin’.”
“Who?” he asked, pretending confusion.
“Justin Cruz.”
Bo leaned closer to whisper in her ear and bury his nose in her fragrant hair, feeling sure she’d allow it—seeing as how she was trying to pretend she wasn’t there to spy. “How do you know he knows?”
“He winked at me.” She lifted her head and gave him a glare.
Bo suppressed a grin. “You’re really curious about them.”
She slid her hand down to twist his nipple through his shirt, and he winced.
“Don’t make fun of me.” She blew out a deep breath, frustration turning down the corners of her mouth. “Most exciting thing to happen around these parts, a real ménage à trios, and I can’t get close enough to see.”
“See what?”
She shrugged. “I’d like to see how they all dance together like that. For starters.”
Bo chuckled, and then hissed when she twisted his nipple again. He’d be bruised. Worth it, though. He’d missed holding her close.
“Oh hell, they’re leaving. You wanna get outta here?” she whispered.
Bo grunted and pulled her tall, slender body closer, rubbing his belly against hers. “You want to see if they do it in the parking lot, or are you horny? Thought you said we weren’t gonna do that anymore—use each other.” He ground out the last because the way she’d described their last sexual rendezvous still stuck in his craw.
Shanna grimaced in dismay but her brown eyes glittered with humor. “Did I make it sound that way? I’m sorry,” she said, her tone anything but apologetic. “It’s not that the sex isn’t great, but…”
He couldn’t help his impatient snort. “I know. You’re blowin’ this town as soon as you have the cash.” Bo turned around on the floor again, fighting her for the lead and winning. He danced them into the darkest corner of the dance floor. “Hell, see what you did now?” he grumbled, pushing her hand down to the front of his blue jeans.
She cupped his erection, running her palm up and down his length, and then tossed back her dark honey-colored curls. Her laughter was low and dirty. “Guess since it’s my fault, I should do something about it, shouldn’t I?”
“Promises, promises,” he muttered, acting like he wasn’t so excited his head and heart were pounding faster and heavier than the band. “You bring a purse?”
“Do I ever?”
“Then let’s go.”
He dropped his arms and resisted the urge to snag her hand inside his. They walked out of the bar and into the gravel parking lot, making a beeline for his truck—but not before she’d darted a glance around the rows for the threesome’s vehicle.
When her shoulders sagged, Bo opened the cab door. “Hop up.”
As he climbed in behind the steering wheel, she raked a hand through her hair. “We don’t have to go far.”
“You in a hurry?” He turned the key and the engine rumbled to life, growling like he wanted to. He was pretty sure Shanna was right there with him by the way she clenched together her thighs.
“Don’t be a shit,” she said, punching his arm.
He let a grin slide across his face. “Sweetheart, I know just the place.”
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Drawing a breath, Adam Gresham stroked a hand along Mallory’s arm, and met her sorrowful, sea-colored gaze. “I can tell you without hesitation that Michael Hargreaves wouldn’t want you to be sad either. He would want you to live and have a happy life. He’s found his own peace. Give yourself the right to find yours.” Mallory trembled, something shattering on her face. “But I’m afraid I’ll forget him,” she confessed on a whisper, as more tears slid free. “We had such a short time together before he was sent away to fight. I worry if I go back to my old life that it will be as if he never existed. As if I’ve abandoned him somehow.” Adam curved an arm around her back and drew her close. “You haven’t abandoned him and you will never forget. You loved him. Real love never fades.” He pressed a handkerchief into her hand and offered what comfort he could, as she buried her face against his chest and cried. He didn’t speak as he held her, fighting the jealousy that twisted inside him while she sobbed out her love and grief for another man. It was an emotion unworthy of him and one he knew he should not feel. Still, he wasn’t a saint, far from it. He was only human, only a man. And despite his best efforts to be noble and self-sacrificing, a small, selfish part of him couldn’t help but resent the hold Hargreaves had on Mallory––even from beyond the grave. At length, her tears ceased, her sobs turning to shaky inhalations and weary sighs, as she leaned against him. Using the damp silk handkerchief she held balled up inside her fist, she blew her nose and blotted her tearstained eyes. Reaching into his pocket, he produced a fresh handkerchief. “Here, have another.” She drew a hiccupping breath, and tried, but didn’t quite manage to smile. “You’re right, I have rather used this first one up, haven’t I?” Accepting the second square of white silk, she pressed the dry cloth to her eyes and cheeks and nose, pausing at his gentle urging to give “one more good blow” despite the inelegance of such behavior. But he and Mallory had known each other for far too many years to stand on formality at this point. If they had, she would never have cried in his arms today at all, he realized. “Gracious,” she declared, straightening slightly inside his embrace. “I must look a sight.” But she didn’t, she looked beautiful, he thought. Her lashes framed her luminous aquamarine eyes in dark, spiky rings, while her cheeks were burnished as red as a crisp fall apple. As for her lips, they were swollen from her crying––plump and full and lusciously moist. Sweet as candy, he thought. And every bit as delicious, he was sure. “No,” he murmured in answer to her query. “You look lovely as always.” Then, before he even knew what he was doing, he bent and touched his mouth to hers, desperate for a taste, however brief it might be. But a taste couldn’t begin to be enough, yearning roaring to life inside him, burning in his veins as blood beat between his temples and pooled lower in his belly and between his thighs. She gave a clearly startled whimper, but didn’t try to push him away. If she had, perhaps he would have stopped. Instead, desire urged him on, encouraging him to take more. He’d waited years to hold her like this and kiss her. He’d dreamt countless times of how her lips would feel against his and the way her small, supple body would curve into his own much taller one. Yet his imagination was as insipid as water to wine when compared with reality––the sensations, scents, and flavors more divine than anything his mind could create. Mallory, my love, he whispered in his head, as he gave in to what he craved and deepened the kiss. Parting her mouth, he claimed her with a long, slow, sultry ease that was just this side of heaven. She whimpered again, this time with confused hesitation, the relative inexperience of her touch impressing itself upon him as nothing else could have done. She might have been kissed before, he realized, but she was still a novice when it came to sex and the sensual arts. He, on the other hand, was experienced––extremely experienced––with a knowledge of things that would have set her blushing from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. Compared to him, Mallory was a dewy-eyed lamb wandering unaware in a peaceful meadow, while he was the hungry, ravening wolf lying in wait just over the nearest rise. Suddenly aware of exactly what he was doing, he broke their kiss. She swayed slightly in his grasp, her eyes closed as breath puffed in tiny gusts from her mouth. “Oh,” she sighed. “Oh” didn’t begin to describe it. Taking a step back, he made sure she was steady on her feet, then he let her go. Her eyes popped open and immediately fixed on his. “W-what was that?” Rather than responding, he lifted a brow, schooling his features into a calmness that hid the violent need still coursing through his body. “I-I mean I know what it was,” she went on in a breathless voice that made shivers run down his spine. “But why? Why did you k-kiss me?” She looked utterly and completely bewildered. “Because, my sweet,” he drawled in a smooth tone, “you looked as if you needed to be.” Mallory stared, her heart racing frantically in her chest. Stars and garters, she thought, Adam just kissed me. And not a peck either but a full-blown, passionate claiming that was unlike any kiss she’d ever had before. Even Michael had never kissed her like that and he’d been her fiancé. She paused suddenly at the thought of Michael, yet she was so dazed, so mesmerized, that the usual melancholy she felt when she thought of him didn’t appear. All she could do was stand there, her entire body tingling with heat and pleasure. For years, she’d been aware of the rumors about Adam’s prowess and reports of all the women who secretly––and not so secretly––clamored to share his bed. Once at a party in London, she’d accidentally overheard a pair of women––one a widow and another who wished she were––comparing a list of their lovers. None of them, the widow told her friend, came close to the ecstasy she’d found in Adam Gresham’s arms. Then she’d gone on to bemoan the fact that she’d only been with him once and that despite her best efforts to win him back, he wasn’t interested. Apparently, Adam had a habit of never staying with any one woman for long, his elusive behavior seeming only to enhance his already formidable appeal among the fairer sex. And now that she’d experienced his kiss, she could see that his reputation for pleasuring women was in no way an exaggeration. Fully two minutes had passed since he’d ended their own kiss and she was still worried the top of her head might blow off, her riding hat along with it. Hungry? How could he possibly think of food at a moment like this? Then she recalled why he said he’d kissed her. Because, sweetheart, you looked as if you needed to be. So it had been a sympathy kiss, had it? His embrace driven not out of any real sense of desire for her, but rather from a need to distract and cheer her. What a lowering realization. And yet, she knew he’d meant it in a kindly way and was only acting as her friend. Obviously, he was willing to do whatever it might take to rally her spirits, even if that might require shocking her out of her gloom with an unexpected embrace. One that had clearly dazzled her more than Adam. All she had to do was look at him to confirm that fact, since he seemed his usual calm, sophisticated self, unruffled and apparently unaffected as well. Considering all the women he must have kissed in his two-and-thirty years, why should she be surprised? She was just one among many, she supposed, memorable only by virtue of the fact that she was his long-time friend. No wonder he was so unfazed. For all she knew, maybe he hadn’t enjoyed their kiss at all. And if that were true, what must his touch be like when he really wanted a woman? Adam cocked his head. “Shall we stay and eat or would you rather ride home?” A mere half an hour ago, she would have opted to ride straight home. But a strange restfulness seemed to have invaded her system, along with a sense of shared understanding. Adam knew what it was to grieve. He’d experienced loss and come out the other side. As for his rather high-handed kiss, she supposed she couldn’t hold it against him, not when she knew his intentions had been good. Besides, she’d left the house again this morning without eating breakfast and quite suddenly she realized she was starving. “A light meal wouldn’t go amiss,” she admitted. “But don’t think we’re going to make a habit of riding together and sharing a meal in this spot every morning.” “Of course not,” he said solemnly. Then he ruined the effect by smiling, his face so handsome her breath caught at the sight. It’s only the kiss, she told herself, and she would forget it in a trice. She and Adam were friends, no more, no less, and he was only devoting himself to her at present because of that friendship. For now she would let herself take advantage of his kindness and hope it helped her heal. Beyond that, she didn’t know. She would deal with each day as it came and care naught for the future. ![]() $6.99
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Street Date: Sunday, August 1, 2010 Street Date: Sunday, August 1, 2010
His swirling cloak was what caught her eye, but even from across the crowded park, his aura of sadness and regret went straight to her heart. A little girl ran after him as he walked away, and when he stopped and knelt beside her, she held out her hand, offering him something. His long curling hair fell forward as he accepted it, revealing a streak of orange in the otherwise black locks. There was a brief exchange that Micayla couldn’t hear, but whatever the girl had given him must have been quite a treat, for his smile after tasting it was a mixture of wistfulness and delight. Micayla had never seen him before, but, being a newcomer to Orleon Station, this wasn’t surprising. So far, Windura was the only one she saw on other than a coworker basis, and that was mainly because their quarters were next door to one another. “Hey, Micayla,” Windura called out from the corridor behind her. “Let’s meet for lunch, okay?" “Yeah, sure,” Micayla replied. Tearing her eyes away from the man, she turned to greet her Vessonian friend. “Lunch would be great.” “The main dining hall at eleven hundred?” “Fine,” Micayla replied, forcing herself to smile. Glancing over her shoulder, to her dismay she saw that the man had already gone. She strained her eyes to find him among the huge potted plants and benches of the space station’s “park.” “Did you see that guy—the one in the cloak with the long black hair?” “A cloak?” Windura echoed. “Why would anyone be wearing a cloak? It’s hot as hell in here!” It wasn’t the first time she’d heard Windura complain about the heat, but then catering to the preferences of a variety of different beings made the choice of ambient temperature difficult. “Maybe so,” she said doubtfully. “But some people are just cold-natured…” She stared off in the direction he must have taken. “What’s back that way?” “Some of the more disreputable parts of the station,” Windura replied, flipping her long blond hair over her shoulder. “You’re better off not going down there.” Micayla nodded absently. “I’m sure you’re right,” she said, but something about him was so compelling that if Windura hadn’t intervened, she’d have gone running after him in a heartbeat. “We’ve got to get you better oriented to this place,” Windura went on. “A girl like you needs to know the ropes.” Micayla frowned. “What makes you say that?” Shaking her head, Windura replied, “If you don’t know that by now, then I can’t help you.” With a quick grin, she added, “See you at eleven,” and was gone. Micayla stood gazing blankly at the throng of children, unable to recall why she had gone to the park in the first place. Ordinarily it would’ve been a cold day in hell, let alone Orleon Station, when a man distracted her that much, but then she remembered: Tea. You’re here to get tea. Getting in line at Starbucks, she ordered a tall cup of hot, foaming chai and then headed off to work. The communications center was a hive of bustling activity, and Micayla had to squeeze past several other officers to get to her station, nearly spilling her tea as she finally plunked down in her seat. The guy from the previous shift had left his candy wrappers scattered about, and she gathered them up, grumbling as one of them stuck to the console. “Sorry about that,” he said from behind her. Reaching over her shoulder, he retrieved the last of them, his chest pressing lightly against her back. Micayla shifted away from him slightly. Scott was Terran and an attractive fellow with a terrific smile, but he was getting a little too… chummy. As a female of an unknown species, if there was one thing Micayla had learned, it was that Terrans and whatever she was weren’t compatible—at least, none she’d met so far—and having grown up on Earth, she’d met quite a few. “That’s okay, Scott,” she said. “I’m sure I leave tea stains for Xantric to wipe up when she comes on duty.” “Not sure she’d notice,” Scott said with a shrug. “And if she did, you’d never know it. Twilanans never complain about anything.” He turned to leave, but then paused, adding, “Not much traffic on the system for the past couple of hours, but I’m sure it’ll pick up for you.” Micayla took a sip of her tea and nodded. “It always does,” she agreed. “Get some sleep.” Scott sighed. “Too bad you and I work different shifts. Otherwise, we could spend a little more time together—instead of me just going back to my quarters and dreaming about you.” Micayla felt a pang near her heart and wished she could have felt something other than regret when a man said such things to her. Steeling herself against his inevitable reaction, she purposely avoided his eyes, focusing instead on resetting the instrument panel with her fingerprint on the log entry. “Dreams will have to suffice, big guy,” she said. “I’m not looking for a boyfriend.” “You always say that,” Scott grumbled. “Sure I can’t talk you out of it?” “You could try,” she said, wishing it really would work, just once, “but it probably won’t do you any good.” “Ice Queen,” he muttered. “I’ve been called that before,” she said wearily. “Treacherous Temptress?” “Been called that too.” “You’re kidding me, right?” “You’d be surprised.” Micayla sighed. “And believe me, it’s nothing personal, Scott. I have no problem with being friends, but if you want more than that, I’m simply the wrong species.” Seeming to take this as an invitation, Scott turned and leaned against the partition that divided the workstations. “What are you, anyway?” “No idea,” she replied. “But I’m not human, that’s for sure.” “No shit,” Scott said. “You’re better looking than any Terran I’ve ever seen. I love those cat-like eyes of yours. The elfin ears are nice too, and the fangs…” His voice trailed off there as though indulging in some erotic fantasy. “The better to bite you with, my dear,” Micayla quoted. When her stepmother had first read her that story, she probably never realized that Micayla identified much more with the wolf than with Little Red Riding Hood—though, in truth, she looked more like a lion or a panther than a wolf. If Scott’s response was any indication, being savaged by a lioness was the answer to his wildest imaginings. “Would you?” he asked eagerly. “Please? Pretty please?” “Absolutely not,” Micayla said firmly as a hail came through the system. “Get going, now,” she added, shooing him away. “I’ve got work to do.” Scott withdrew with obvious reluctance, mumbling imprecations under his breath as he went. Micayla redirected the hail and wondered if it would be worth it to try to spend a little more time with Scott. He was a nice guy and it would take no encouragement whatsoever to—no, she decided. It wasn’t worth the pain. Her lack of interest in the opposite sex wasn’t her fault, but he would end up despising her for it and then she’d be right back where she started. Her attitude wasn’t precisely a lack of interest, however; it was more a lack of desire, and though she knew what desire was supposed to feel like—she had one fantasy that never failed to elicit that response—it never seemed to work with a flesh and blood man. The man she’d seen in the park might have been different, though; she’d at least felt something for him, if only compassion. Had the little girl been his daughter, telling him good-bye as he left on a journey through space? Was she a friend or a complete stranger? Micayla had no way of knowing, but the more she thought about it, the more she itched to find out. She glanced up as Dana took her seat at the next station, apologizing to Roxanne for being late. “I had such a tough time getting Cara out of the park!” Dana was saying. “She started talking to someone and didn’t want to leave. I’m surprised she didn’t go running after him.” ![]() $0.11 Rewards
Street Date: Tuesday, September 7, 2010 Street Date: Tuesday, September 7, 2010 The first time Jason “Ranger” Diver laid his eyes on Sissy Kolchek he couldn’t help but admire the unique way she made friends.
It was only two weeks into the new school year and an unscheduled fire drill had emptied both the high and middle schools leaving seven hundred students waiting in the morning sun. The unmistakable sound of flesh meeting flesh followed by a tremendous splash brought the mass of chattering kids to a halt.
Jace gaped at the sight of Brian Harding, one of his classmates, sitting in the foot-deep water of the fountain in front of the administration building across the street from the schools. Standing over him on the rim was a painfully skinny young girl. With her long white-gold hair pulled back into an uneven braid and tennis shoes held together with silver duct tape, she resembled a rag doll his little sister carried everywhere. Her big, gray eyes threw daggers at the wet sophomore, and her face was flushed with anger.
“Who ya callin’ Prissy Sissy, mama’s boy?” Her heavy southern accent sounded oddly exotic to his Midwestern ears. “You evah call me that agin, I’ll kick yer butt.”
His eyes widened. Harding was a bully and a braggart just like his father, Big Jim, a successful businessman in the town of Haven. Most of the kids had been subjected to Junior’s threats or temper at one time or another, and Jace was tickled to see that a girl had just taken him down, a feat even the senior class didn’t dare attempt. He grinned. It couldn’t have happened to a more deserving guy.
Jace’s twin brother, Jeff, nudged him with his elbow. “Who’s that?”
He shrugged.
“Miss Kolchek!” Mrs. Wolfe, the middle school librarian, hurried over to the girl. He winced when she pulled the blonde off the fountain none too gently.
“She’s gonna get it now,” someone behind him whispered.
“Young ladies do not use that kind of language, little miss. Threatening others with bodily harm is a sign of ignorance and poor breeding,” the librarian was saying. “You don’t want people thinking you’re uneducated, do you?”
The girl looked confused, her face scrunched up in concentration, then she smiled. “Well, ma’am, I doan rightly know much ’bout breedin’ an’ all an’ I hope to learn ’bout it in school.” She looked down at Brian. “What I do know is if’n he calls me prissy again, I’m gonna kick his ass.”
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Adobe ePub [ 0.3 Mb ]Street Date: Tuesday, August 31, 2010 “Rhys,” she said softly, reaching for him. He yanked away from her hand and got up from the bed, pacing to the window and pulling the curtain back to look outside. In profile, she saw his scowl, though all his angry emotions seemed to be self-directed. “I can’t, Anne. I already told you I can’t make love to you,” he said, his voice strained with tension and emotions he normally hid. She sat up, covering her breasts with the tangled bedcovers. “Because you don’t want me?” she asked, unable to mask her hurt as easily as he seemed to mask his own. He spun on her and now she felt some of the anger in his stare. In a long stride, he came to the edge of the bed and caught her hand. He jerked her fingers to his pant front and pressed them against the hard length of his erection that remained outlined there. “I want you,” he whispered, his voice harsh. “But I can’t have you. I’ve told you why.” Anne squeezed her eyes shut, fighting tears, fighting frustration and resentment at his repeated denials of the future she had so carefully planned. Finally, he sighed. “I need to leave you now.” Anne’s eyes flew open and she stared at him in terror. “Leave me?” she repeated, thinking of the horrible days she had spent searching for him. He shook his head. “Just for a while. I’ll return, Anne, I promise you that.” She opened her mouth to answer, but he turned his back on her and left the cottage before she could speak, slamming the door behind him... ![]() $0.11 Rewards
Street Date: Tuesday, June 22, 2010 Street Date: Tuesday, June 22, 2010
The man had started undressing right in the middle of her living room, and she’d panicked. Worried he was rushing things, extra worried she gave off the wrong vibe. Jenna was interested but she wasn’t easy and she didn’t want him thinking he could come up to her apartment, strip naked and get his groove on within minutes of arriving.
Though if she was being honest, the idea did hold a spark of appeal…
No, no. She shook her head, appalled at her wayward thoughts. She couldn’t make it that easy for him.
But then she realized he was just getting out of his wet clothes and that he wore a white T-shirt underneath. The T-shirt clung to his broad shoulders and bulging biceps, stretched across his wide chest and flat stomach, emphasizing the sheer size of him, which was impressive.
He was majorly sexy.
“You, uh, want a towel maybe?” Oh, she sounded so confident. Ugh.
“That would be great,” he said just before flashing her a slow, bone-melting grin.
Goodness, the man was going to send her into heart palpitations. She headed toward the bathroom and he followed her. Her apartment was small, only one bedroom and the single bathroom connected to her bedroom. Which meant they had to walk through her bedroom to get to the bathroom.
Thankfully, she’d made the bed this morning and had just done the laundry a couple of days ago. Normally, the room looked like a clothes bomb went off.
Her messy ways were a secret she told no one. It was tough picking out an outfit for work in the morning. Tossing bad options over her shoulder as she searched through her closet usually worked best.
“Your apartment is nice,” he commented as he strolled after her into the bathroom.
“Thanks.” She glanced at him, appreciating yet again the way the T-shirt fit to his fine body. Mmm, just looking at him made all her special girly places start to hum. “So are you a firefighter?”
She’d noticed the badge and the nametag when he’d taken off his coat.
“I am.” He took the towel she offered and immediately began drying his head, rumpling his dark hair until it stuck up everywhere.
He looked adorable.
“How exciting.” He was a true hero. A man who ran into burning buildings to save lives. She found his profession arousing.
Oh, who was she kidding? Everything about the man was arousing. She had a serious thing for him, and she’d only known him fifteen minutes, tops.
This was so unlike her and she found it dumbfounding. Shocking. Had she ever behaved like this? Ever?
The answer would have to be no.
“It has its moments. Sometimes it can be boring. Trust me.” He handed her the towel, which she hung on a hook. “Thanks.”
They stood close together since her bathroom was more on the cramped side, and she glanced up at him, caught the heat that flared in his eyes as he studied her. He filled the bathroom, overwhelming her with his closeness, the intensity of his gaze. Their breathing became deeper, heavier, filling the small room with warmth, and she realized they were starting to fog the mirror.
“Maybe you want something to drink?” She nibbled on her lower lip, unable to snag her gaze away from his.
He shook his head and took a step closer. Her eyes drifted down, studied the snowy whiteness of his shirt, and the urge to reach out and touch was so strong she clenched her hands into fists to control herself.
It just barely worked.
“Something to eat, maybe? I’m not a big cook but I’m sure I could dig something up.” She had chips and salsa, a box of most likely stale crackers in her cupboard. She really needed to go grocery shopping.
“I’m not hungry,” he murmured, his deep voice husky, sexy. The sound of it sent a little shiver down her spine, and she backed up until her butt hit the edge of the counter.
“Well, um, then uh…” She didn’t know what to say, it really didn’t matter what she said because he cupped her cheeks with his big, masculine hands and lifted her face. His rough fingertips skimmed across her skin, stealing her breath and when her lips parted in silent surprise, he took his chance.
And he kissed her.
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CHAPTER ONE The man above Marissa York groaned loudly, his breath shuddering over her cheek. She turned her head and frowned at the wall as the room spun slowly around her. Goodness. This wasn’t going well at all. Thankfully, it seemed it was nearly over. # # # “Did I thank you yet for the invitation?” Jude Bertrand asked half-jokingly as he followed Aidan York down the curved staircase. ![]() $0.21 Rewards Adobe Digital Edition [ 1.5 Mb ]Street Date: Tuesday, July 27, 2010 Adobe ePub [ 0.6 Mb ]Street Date: Tuesday, July 27, 2010
From the Book Paris, 1768 The visit with the lawyer had not gone well. Elinor Harriman arrived home just as her sister, Lydia, had finished dealing with their landlord, and she ducked out of sight so the old lecher wouldn't see her. Monsieur Picot had no patience for either her or her mother, but her baby sister was a different matter. All Lydia had to do was let tears fill her limpid blue eyes and make her Cupid's bow mouth tremble and M. Picot was destroyed, awash with apologies and assurances. He didn't realize he was being played until the door was firmly closed behind him and Elinor could sneak up the stairs, grateful that she hadn't had to defend Lydia's honor if M. Picot got carried away. He never did. None of the landlords and butchers and greengrocers ever took advantage of Lydia's delicate beauty. She radiated such an exquisite innocence that no one would dare. Even in this less than felicitous area of town, no one would even think of offering her an insult. "Told you," Lydia said with an impish grin far removed from her Madonna smile. "It works every time." Elinor flopped into the nearest chair, letting out a groan as an errant spring poked her backside. During their last enforced move they'd had to relinquish all but their most wretched of furniture. The tiny parlor on the edge of one of the least savory neighborhoods in Paris held three chairs and a meager table that served as a desk, a dining surface and a dressing table, and the chairs were barely functional. The bedrooms were as bad. One sagging bed in the first room held their mother's snoring body, in the other there was only a shared mattress on the hard floor. She refused to think about how Nanny Maude or Jacobs the coachman slept in the back area that served as kitchen and servants' quarters. And how absurd it was to have a coachman when it had been years since they'd even had a horse, much less a coach. Not since their very first days in Paris, when their mother had been in love and the two sisters had reveled in their new adventure. But Jacobs had come with them from England, under Lady Caroline's spell as most men were, and nothing, not even a total lack of wages, could induce him to leave. The lover and the money had disappeared quickly, to be replaced by someone almost as wealthy. In the last ten years Lady Caroline Harriman had been working her way down to a state Elinor couldn't bear to consider. At least right now her mother was too ill to cause trouble, to go looking for another bottle of blue ruin, another game of chance, another man to finance her more important needs, which had never included her daughters. "So how much time have we got?" she asked, reaching for her knitting. She was a wretched knitter—her handwork was atrocious but she convinced herself she could do something useful, even if her socks and vests were full of dropped stitches. Nanny Maude had taught her, but as usual she was proving less than adept. Lydia sighed. "He'll be back in a week, and I don't think I'll be able to put him off again." Sweet Lydia was perfect in every way, pretty and darling and clever, and her handwork was flawless. She could dance perfectly with only the cursory lessons their mother had once paid for, she could paint a pretty picture, sing like a bird, and any man who met her became her willing slave, from Jacobs, their elderly manservant, to the wealthy young Vicomte de Miraboux whom she'd met at the lending library. For a brief time Elinor had hoped their problems were solved, until the Vicomte's family caught wind of what was going on and the Vicomte had been swept away on... ![]() $0.11 Rewards
Street Date: Tuesday, July 13, 2010 Street Date: Tuesday, July 13, 2010 Three chefs. Three gorgeous, mouth-watering men, two of them looking at her with interest. Not only were her PR senses tingling, but her body was as well. Her skin grew heated, and the cloth of her pants suddenly felt rough against her thighs. Constricting.
Nate brought her back to reality with a roll of his eyes. “Down, boys. Ignore them, Ms. Larkin. The fumes from the kitchen have long since gone to their heads.” He turned to Robert, sounding impatient. “What brings you here, Bob?”
“Destiny.” Robert beamed. “You three have a PR problem, and don’t deny it. You are some of the best chefs in your field, with the most interesting story, and let’s face it—the most sex appeal.” Truly silently agreed with that last part, but Robert wasn’t done. “This place should be packed to the rafters, people should be coming from all over the state to sample your culinary masterpieces.” He looked around. “Instead it’s the lunch hour, and we’re still the only customers in here.”
Nate bristled. “It’s a slow day.”
“Not that slow.” The blond Louis grimaced ruefully. “He’s right, Nate, and you know it. And not only about our massive sex appeal.” He gave a wink to Truly. “You’re the one who’s always grumbling about the overhead. The Lord only knows we could use a paycheck every once in a while. I’d like to be able to afford to eat what I’m cooking, if ya know what I mean.”
Clay nodded in agreement, and Truly began to get that feeling. That burst of adrenaline that shot up her spine. An aha moment of mammoth proportions. She suddenly understood why Robert had hidden this place away. Why he’d brought her here.
They were her second chance. She could make these men famous. Make The Iron Horse a household name. They’d be bigger than Brunch with Laura. It would turn Clive into a big pile of pervy jealousy.
She loved it.
Robert saw her expression and slid an arm around her shoulders, squeezing affectionately. “I’ve brought the solution to all your problems. I’m not too shabby, but TS is the best. She’ll know just what to do to get you the exposure you need. She has all the contacts. All you have to do is put yourself in her capable hands, do exactly what she tells you to, and in two months time you’ll have more business than you know what to do with.”
Louis stepped closer to Truly, tilting his head coyly. “You don’t have to twist my arm. I’d be glad to put myself in her hands.”
Truly’s eyes widened. Why did that sound so tempting? She’d thought Clive’s continuous lewdness had turned her off the male species for life. She supposed her damp panties had something to do with it. Clive made her sick. Louis made her hot.
Business, Truly. This is business. Although she had to remind herself to give Robert a serious tongue lashing for limiting them to a two month deadline. “I appreciate that, Mr. Dumont. And I agree with Robert. Artists shouldn’t have to suffer for their art. And when they have the whole package? Well, the last thing they should do is hide it. I can help you. We can help you. If you’ll give us the chance.”
Nate crossed his arms, drawing her attention. “I’m not saying we need any help. In fact, if you’re thinking of turning The Iron Horse into some fancy black tie establishment, then we definitely aren’t interested. But even if we were, don’t you have a job? How would the television station feel about you doing freelance?”
The suspicion in his dark gaze made her shift uncomfortably. Rule number one: when interviewing for a new job, don’t let your potential employer know that your last employer fired you. No matter what the reason.
Obviously Robert hadn’t gotten the memo. “Her boss, Clive Garret, tried to put the moves on—”
Truly interrupted him with a glare. “Robert and I are currently free agents. You would be our first clients, but that means you’d get all our time, attention and not insignificant experience.” She pulled out a business card. “Most restaurants fail within the first three years because of bad marketing, bad food, bad location, etc. Your food is fantastic. Your faces alone would sell the place—but your marketing stinks. Talk it over, and get back to me if you’re interested.”
She handed Louis her card and turned to go. “Pay the men for a lovely meal, Robert. We have a lot to do.”
She’d reached the door when she felt a warm, rough hand grip her elbow. Nate. At his touch, electric desire crackled through her body like a living thing. Who knew her elbow was an erogenous zone? And what the hell was going on with her libido?
His expression was impossible to read, but she could have sworn she saw an answering spark in his eyes. Did he feel it too? The conflicting desire to hit or kiss? How could she be so attracted to such a grumpy, sullen man?
“Lunch is on us, Ms. Larkin.” He opened the door. “So you don’t feel your time was entirely wasted.”
Hitting. She definitely felt like hitting him. His tone told her in no uncertain terms that she wouldn’t be hearing from them anytime soon. Damn Robert. Usually he read people better.
She forced a smile. “I never waste my time, Mr. Grange. And I never let anyone else waste it either.”
A thrill of elation followed her out the door, latching on to the small victory of having the last word. Her one success of the day. At least she’d had a good meal. A great one. She could really do wonders with those three. With the restaurant.
If only Nathaniel Grange wasn’t such an ass.
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Adobe ePub [ 2.1 Mb ]Street Date: Tuesday, August 24, 2010
From the book 1
"Do we go to our death--or worse?" Malkom Slaine gazed over at his best friend, Prince Kallen the Just, wishing he had a better answer for him, anything to ease the apprehension in Kallen's eyes. As the vampire guards shoved them along, deeper into their stronghold, Malkom suspected death might be welcome before the night was out. "The rumors are likely untrue," he lied, putting up a renewed resistance as the dozen guards forced them down a flight of stone steps. But his bonds were mystical; Malkom was unable to teleport or break free. At the base of the stairs lay a subterranean chamber with an ornate throne on a dais. Though the floor was of packed earth, the walls were hung with rich silks and tapestries. Rare crystal and glass adorned the room. At once, Malkom began analyzing every inch of the area for an escape. Ahead, a pair of winded demon slaves stood beside a freshly dug grave. More guards lined the walls, with swords at the ready. In the back, a black-robed sorcerer worked at a vial-cluttered table. Gods, let the rumors be untrue ... those whispers of the ScÂrba--the abominations. Kallen muttered, "Can you see a way out of this?" Normally, Malkom could. Without fail, he figured his way out of seemingly impossible predicaments. "Not as of yet." The guards shoved Kallen and Malkom to their knees before the grave. "Ronath will pay for this once I get free," Kallen grated. Ronath the Armorer was a seasoned warrior, the strongest demon after Malkom. He'd once been Kallen's favored commander. "The traitor will not see another night." 'Twas Ronath who'd turned Malkom over to the vampires. Disastrous enough. But without Malkom's unwavering defense, Kallen's fortress had fallen just a week later. The Trothans' beloved prince had been captured. Blinded by his hatred for Malkom--a slave turned commander--Ronath had unwittingly doomed Kallen and all the Trothans. Malkom had already planned his own revenge. As he was neither noble nor good like Kallen, his retribution would be far more vicious than the prince could ever envision. Without warning, a vampire traced into the room, teleporting directly onto the throne. Clad in costly silk robes, the male was pallid, his skin untouched by Oblivion's blistering sun. His eyes were wholly red, his visage twisted by madness. The Viceroy. When the vampires had conquered Oblivion and turned it into a colony, they'd dispatched the Viceroy, their most malicious leader, to act as ruler of the plane. "Ah, my two new prisoners," he said in Anglish. Though Malkom and Kallen both were fluent in the language, they refused to speak anything other than their native Demonish--even as the use of that tongue was now punishable by death. The vampire rubbed his narrow, clean-shaven chin. "At last, you have both been captured." Malkom and the prince were the leaders of the rebellion, and to break them would be to break the resistance. The vampire overlords had searched for them relentlessly. When the Viceroy snapped his fingers, the two slaves exited the room, returning moments later with an unconscious demon boy. One of their own, handed over for a vampire's refreshment. A leisurely repast. Malkom started sweating. He strained even harder... ![]() $0.17 Rewards
Street Date: Tuesday, June 1, 2010 Street Date: Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Chapter One
Seth Colter walked into the soup kitchen and was greeted by a chorus of hellos from several police officers from his precinct.
“Hey man, I didn’t think you were going to make it,” Craig Sumner called.
Seth cracked a smile, surprised at how glad he was to see the guys he’d worked with for the past few years. “I said I would be here.”
“How are you feeling?” Rob Morgan asked as he slapped Seth on the back.
“Better,” Seth acknowledged, and for the first time in weeks, he realized it was the truth. He did feel better. He’d been sleeping easier lately, and his dreams weren’t so littered with the images of a faceless gunman and the exploding pain of a bullet tearing through his shoulder.
“Hey, that’s great. You’ll be back before you know it,” Craig said.
Seth nodded. Yeah, he’d be back. He hated being away from the job. He hated being away from the camaraderie of his fellow cops. For the first while, he’d sequestered himself in his house, refusing visitors. He hadn’t wanted their pity. He’d resented the hell out of the fact that they were still on the job and he was stuck in his house popping pain pills and hoping he regained the use of his arm.
“What do you want me to do?” Seth asked.
Craig threw him an apron. “Get behind the serving line. We open for lunch in fifteen minutes. And hurry. Margie runs a tight ship.”
“I heard that.”
Seth turned to see a small, gray-haired lady standing behind him, her green eyes bathed in warmth.
“Hello, Seth.” She stepped forward and pulled him into a hug. “It’s so good to see you again. Are you taking care of yourself?”
She patted him on the cheek for good measure, and he smiled as he returned her embrace.
“I’m good, Margie. How about yourself?”
“Oh, I’m the same as ever. Busy. Just how I like it. Now you better get to your station before I open the doors. Looks like we have a lot of folks lined up to eat today.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a grin.
“See?” Craig said. “She’s a complete slave driver.”
Feeling lighter than he had in a while, Seth tied on the white chef’s apron and walked behind the buffet to stand in front of the baked chicken.
“Smells good, Margie. Who did you harangue into catering for you this time?” Seth asked.
She grinned. “I called in a favor. Or two.”
He laughed. Margie Walker was simply good people. She was a surrogate mother to many, but beneath the good-as-gold exterior lay a hard-driving woman who didn’t think twice about leaning on people to help her causes. Her pet project was Margie’s Place. Simply named, but it was appropriate. Every day, rain or shine, she opened her doors to the homeless, and she always had enough food to feed as many as filtered through her doors. No one was entirely sure how she managed it, but she always did.
His precinct routinely volunteered and they worked in shifts. Seth and five others came in once a month to serve, although for him it had been three months since he’d last been in.
“Okay guys, I’m opening up,” Margie called as she walked over to the doors.
For the next two hours, a steady stream of people came through the line. Workers from the kitchen brought out more food as soon as the trays emptied, and the guys dished it up.
The flow had dwindled when Seth looked up to see the most startling pair of blue eyes he’d ever seen in his life. In the process of extending the pair of tongs with a piece of chicken, he stared in shock at the woman standing in front of him, small hands gripped tightly around the lunch tray.
There was something infinitely fragile about her and equally arresting. His gut tightened, and for a moment he forgot to breathe. Or maybe he was unable to.
Dressed in a shabby, worn sweater and a pair of jeans so faded they were nearly white, the woman stared back at him, wispy midnight curls escaping the knit cap she wore.
She was beautiful. And haunting. Her gaze looked wounded and faint smudges rimmed her eyes. A fierce surge of protectiveness welled up inside him, baffling him.
Her fingers tightened around the tray, and she started to move forward without the chicken he still held in the air like an idiot. He thrust it forward onto her plate.
Then she smiled, and it took what little breath he had left and squeezed it painfully from his lungs.
“Thank you,” she said sweetly.
She moved down the line as a man moved into the spot where she’d stood and looked expectantly at Seth. Still staring after the woman, Seth slapped the next piece of chicken on the man’s tray and wondered what the hell had just happened here.
He watched as she sat away from the others, finding a corner where there were only two chairs at a tiny table that looked out a window.
“Hey, snap out of it.”
Seth turned to see Craig standing beside him, his apron in hand.
“Margie’s ordering us to stand down and eat. Grab a plate and join us. She has one of the kitchen workers taking over the line in case we have any stragglers.”
Feeling anything but hungry, Seth fixed a plate and followed his friends to a table on the far side of the room. There wasn’t a lot of talking going on. Most of the people ate in silence, though there were a few conversations from some of the regulars who knew each other or hung out together on the streets.
He positioned himself so he could see the woman and tuned out the rest of the goings-on so he could watch her and take in every detail he could.
She ate daintily and never looked up or made eye contact with any of the others. When she wasn’t looking down at her food she fixed her gaze out the window, watching the people pass on the busy street. There was something wistful about her stare, and again, that protective surge came roaring to the surface.
“Who is she?” he blurted out.
“Who is who?” Craig asked.
Rob looked up and followed Seth’s gaze. “You mean her?”
“Yeah, I haven’t seen her before but it’s been a few months. When did she start coming in?”
Craig shrugged. “I haven’t seen her before. She wasn’t here last month. Maybe she’s new. Margie would know. She keeps up with everyone.”
Seth frowned, not liking the tired look on the woman’s face. She was young, early twenties, far too young to be out on the streets. Spring in Denver was often harsh with copious amounts of snow. She was so slight, and all she had was that sweater and a cap. She’d freeze to death.
“What’s bugging you, man?” Rob asked.
Seth shook his head. “Nothing.”
Seth forced himself to eat but watched the woman as the other people finished their meals and began to filter out. She remained, even after she’d finished eating. She pushed her plate to the side, and he frowned at the fact there was still a good portion of her food left. She rested her chin on top of her fist as she continued to gaze out the window.
He cursed when one of the kitchen workers came over to collect her plate, because even though the worker didn’t say anything to the woman, the action prompted her to rise. She looked guiltily around as if she thought she’d overstayed her welcome, and then she hurried toward the door without a backward glance.
Before he realized it, he was on his feet and hurrying after her. It wasn’t something he could even explain. He had to go after her. He had to know where she was going, if she was safe.
Ignoring Rob’s and Craig’s startled exclamations, he strode out onto the street and looked left and right to see the direction she’d gone. Seeing her retreating figure to the right, he set off after her.
He kept his distance, not wanting to spook her. He felt like a damned stalker, and maybe that’s what he was. There was no reasonable explanation for his pursuit of her. It certainly had nothing to do with his cop’s instincts. He’d reacted to her as a man, and something about her called to a part of him that hadn’t ever awoken before.
For six blocks he followed her. His hands were clenched at his sides. She had no sense of self-preservation. She never looked up, never looked back to make sure she wasn’t followed. She blended seamlessly with the busy downtown crowd, and he quickened his step so he wouldn’t lose her.
He slowed when she turned into an alleyway. His approach was cautious. The last thing he wanted was to walk into a damn trap. He turned the corner and peered down to see her hunker down between two cardboard boxes. She disappeared from view, and he stood there a moment, battling between anger and…he wasn’t sure.
He hadn’t wanted her to be homeless. He’d hoped that she was down on her luck and needed the free meal, but that she had a place to live, protection from the cold. Refuge from the streets that took lives every single day.
What about this woman fired such a response in him? In his job, he saw all manner of people. The hungry, the homeless, the abused. There were plenty of young women in need, but none had infused a soul-stirring desire to help and protect.
It was presumptuous of him. She might not need him. She might be just fine on her own, but something in her eyes told him that wasn’t so. She needed someone, and he wanted to be that person.
Crazy talk. He wondered now if that bullet had hit him in the head. But that didn’t stop him from walking with determined steps toward the boxes at the end of the alley.
When he was close enough to see over the edge of one of the boxes, he saw that she was sitting cross-legged on what looked to be old towels, and she was absorbed in a tattered paperback book. After every page, she moved one of her hands from the book and held it to her mouth while she blew to warm it, and then she returned to the book to turn another page.
His chest clenched, and he moved a step closer. His foot glanced off a discarded Styrofoam cup, and her head jerked up. Alarm flashed in her eyes when she saw him, and she scrambled to her feet like a doe poised for flight.
In a lightning-fast move, he snagged her wrist just when she would have bolted. He was careful not to hurt her, only prevent her from fleeing.
A small cry of fright escaped her lips, and her eyes widened as she stared up at him.
“I’m sorry. Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you, I swear it. Do you remember me from Margie’s Place? I just served you an hour ago.”
Though she didn’t relax, she nodded, her eyes still solidly trained on his face as if judging the validity of his vow not to hurt her.
“If I let you go, will you promise not to run?”
She looked at him like he was crazy.
He held up his other hand in surrender. “Let me amend that. Do you promise not to run as long as I don’t do anything to further scare you?”
For a moment she studied him, and then slowly she nodded again. He relaxed his grip, carefully easing his fingers away, studying her body language for any sign that she meant to flee. He couldn’t blame her for not trusting him, but suddenly it was the most important thing in the world for her to do just that.
“What do you want?” she asked with quiet defiance.
The shock of her voice floated over him. It was pleasing. An electrical sensation that nipped at his neck and snaked through his body like a river current. He wanted her to talk again. To say his name.
“I…” What did he want? And how to say it? He laughed softly and shook his head. “You’re going to think I’m nuts.”
She smiled then, and it made her so lovely that he ached.
“I might already think you’re crazy. You stared at me so funny in the line. I worried I’d somehow made you angry.”
“No. No, of course not,” he rushed out. “Look, will you go somewhere with me?” At her look of surprise he hurried to amend his statement. “There’s a diner down the street. It’s warm and we can sit and talk there.”
She gave him a confused look. “But I just ate. So did you.”
He frowned because she hadn’t eaten much at all. “Do you like coffee? Hot chocolate?”
“I love hot chocolate,” she said wistfully.
He latched onto that like a dying man struggling for one more breath. “Then walk with me to the diner. We can have hot chocolate and you can talk to me. What do you say?”
Puzzlement still shone in her blue eyes. She nibbled at her bottom lip as she clearly couldn’t decide whether to accept or decline.
“I’m a police officer,” he said. He rummaged in his pocket for his badge. “You’re completely safe with me.”
She stared at the shield, and he could swear tears flashed for a single moment before she quickly gathered herself.
“What’s your name?” he asked. “My name is Seth. Seth Colter.”
“Lily,” she said in a soft voice. “Just Lily.”
Lily. It suited her. Delicate and beautiful.
“Well, Just Lily. Will you walk down and have a cup of hot chocolate with me?”
She took a deep breath. “Okay.”
Relief coursed through his veins until he thought he was going to crawl out of his skin. He held his hand out to her, unsure of the gesture and how she’d take it. He only knew he had to touch her.
With a curious look in his direction, she slid her small fingers trustingly into his. He gripped her hand, infusing his warmth into her cold fingers, and then he tugged her back down the alley to the street.
![]() $0.24 Rewards Adobe ePub [ 2.0 Mb ]Street Date: Tuesday, June 22, 2010 Chapter One Rhys St. Maur, newly Lord Ashworth, was a broken man. ![]() $0.11 Rewards
Street Date: Tuesday, July 20, 2010 Street Date: Tuesday, July 20, 2010 ![]() $0.17 RewardsStreet Date: Tuesday, June 29, 2010 Street Date: Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Kane parked in the nearly empty hospital parking lot. He entered through the front doors. After shaking the snow off his hat, he stood there like a dumbass, wondering what the hell to do next.
The blowsy blonde manning the information desk looked all of seventeen. But that didn’t stop her from offering him a lewd once-over and licking her shellacked lips. “Well, hello, cowboy. You lost? Or is something broken and needin’ some fixin’?”
“Neither. A…friend of mine was brought in a little while ago.”
“Male or female friend?” the receptionist cooed.
“Female. Her family can’t get here so they sent me to get some information.”
“Sorry, I can’t give it out, no matter how cute you are. It was a wasted trip for you Mr….”
“McKay. Kane McKay.”
“McKay?” Her raccoon eyes lit up. “Any relation to that hot, awesome bull rider Chase McKay? Is he your son?”
Son? Jesus. Chase was only ten years younger than him. Even on his worst day Kane knew he didn’t look that damn old. “No, he’s my cousin.”
“Omigod I love to watch him ride. He’s like…so incredible. Sheer poetry on the back of a bull.” The girl actually stood and craned her neck, trying to look behind him. “Is Chase with you?”
“No.” Wasn’t the first time his cousin’s groupies grilled him for the elusive Chase McKay’s whereabouts. “Is there any way you can just—”
“Kane?”
He whirled around to see Libby, his cousin Quinn’s wife, hustling toward him. Unease punched him in the gut. His gaze dropped to Adam, perched on Libby’s hip. The kid didn’t appear sick—he was his same stout-bodied, chubby-cheeked, blowing-spit-bubbles, happy-baby self. “What are you doin’ here?”
“Joely—Doc Monroe—called me about Ginger.” Adam squealed and Libby shushed him. “What are you doing here?”
“Ginger called Dash and Hayden and only gave them enough information to freak them out, so I showed up to figure out what’s really goin’ on.”
“Typical Ginger behavior,” Libby sniffed. “She’s been moved from emergency into a private room. Come on.”
Kane didn’t bother to check with the chickie behind the desk to see if he was breaking any rules by following Libby.
Halfway down the hall, Libby stopped in front of a closed door. “She’s already had her shoulder reset and they’re putting a walking cast on her calf to immobilize the sprain.”
“What the hell happened to her?”
“Doc Monroe can explain better than I can.” Libby brushed her lips across Adam’s dark head when he fussed again. “Ginger is lucky she didn’t break her damn fool neck.” She pushed open the door.
Kane followed her inside. And froze.
Ginger was sprawled on the hospital bed, damn near naked. The hospital gown left little to the imagination, exposing the deep “V” of her cleavage and stopping mid-thigh. Her right arm was tucked in a sling. Her left hand was heavily bandaged. He dragged his gaze up to Ginger’s face. Her hair was an untamed cloud of red, spread across the white pillow behind her head. Her face was perfectly beautiful, nary a scratch, but it held the too-white shade of shock and pain.
Her eyes opened, narrowed. “What are you doing here, McKay?”
“Hello, to you too, Red,” he drawled. “I’m here because a very scared little boy called me and asked me to check on you.”
“Hayden called you?”
“Yeah, and I talked to your dad too.” He jammed his hands in his pockets and ambled across the room. “They’re worried, since you didn’t let them know what’d happened, beyond that you fell down the stairs and ended up in the hospital.”
Any semblance of Ginger’s bravado fled.
“I can call Dash and let him know what’s going on,” Dr. Monroe said. “Including the bit where I’m keeping you overnight.”
“But I can’t stay in the hospital. I can’t leave my son and my father alone. Not even for a night.”
“Accidents happen, Ginger.”
“They don’t happen to me. I’m fine. Really.”
He exchanged a look with Libby. They both knew Ginger was far from fine.
Dr. Monroe got right in Ginger’s face. “How much pain are you in?”
Ginger swallowed and looked away.
“Answer me. Scale of one to ten.”
“Five,” Ginger admitted softly.
Kane sucked in a breath. Knowing how hardheaded Ginger was meant her pain was a least a seven, if not an eight.
The doc piggybacked a small, clear pack of solution onto the IV and popped the needle into the tubing. “Now listen up. You dislocated your shoulder. You have a severe sprain that I’m still not sure isn’t a ligament tear. Knowing you, I was forced to put a cast on it to keep you from injuring it further until I can ascertain just how bad it is. You have a deep laceration on your shin, which was filled with metal flakes and salt, requiring an antibiotic to stave off an infection. You sustained multiple bruises from your fall. You claimed you didn’t hit your head, but I can’t take a chance you did and just don’t remember.
“So given those injuries…you have to stay in the hospital, Ginger. Just one night. If you’re improved tomorrow, I’ll let you go home. But tonight, I’m not giving you a choice.”
“Joely, please—”
“Right now I’m your doctor, not your friend. I’m doing what’s best for my patient.” Doc Monroe squeezed Ginger’s left shoulder. “You need to heal and it’s my job to ensure that happens. The best way to do that is to drug you up and let you sleep uninterrupted.”
Kane knew Ginger and the doc were good friends, and it had to be hard as hell for the doc to do what was right, not what was easiest, not what Ginger wanted.
Ginger’s teary eyes searched the doctor’s face. “Who will take care of Hayden and my dad while I’m in here? You know I don’t have anyone else.”
Silence.
Libby said, “If you don’t mind me bringing Adam, I can—”
“I’ll do it,” Kane interjected.
All three women looked at him as if he’d caught fire.
He bristled. “What? Hayden’s camped out with me plenty of times. Takin’ care of him will be a breeze. And Dash just needs me there in case Hayden needs something, right? I don’t gotta bathe him or nothin’?”
“You might have to help him get into bed. If he rolls out of it for some reason during the night, you have to get him back in. Sometimes in the morning he needs assistance getting out of bed and into the chair…”
Kane stared at Ginger. “You do all that for your dad every day?”
“Yes, sometimes twice a day. So I just don’t think this is your thing, Kane. No offense.”
No offense? Bullshit. Before he could snap at her, Dr. Monroe jumped in.
“This would have to be for more than one night. If I release her tomorrow she’ll need someone to help her out for at least five days. Would that be a problem for you?”
Five days, hanging with Hayden? Five days of playing fetch and carry for a scantily clad Ginger?
Sign. Him. Up.
“Nah. I can get Kade or my cousins to fill in for me for a few days. We’re pretty slow right now.”
“I’ll talk to Quinn and Ben too,” Libby said.
“Good. Then it’s settled.”
“Don’t I have a say in this?” Ginger demanded.
Doc Monroe said, “Nope. Besides, I’ll be more inclined to release you if I know you’ve lined up aftercare. You do want to go home tomorrow, right?”
Ginger huffed out an impatient “Yes.”
The doc pointed at Kane. “Then there’s your answer.”
Kane focused on a wide-eyed, surly-mouthed Ginger and grinned. “Well, roomie, probably we should iron out the details before I head on back to your place and start fluffing your pillows.”
“I don’t need to tell you if anything happens tonight that you can’t handle with either Hayden or Dash, call 911,” Dr. Monroe said to him.
“No. I know my medical limitations.”
“Good. I’ll be back later to check on you, Ginger.” As Dr. Monroe walked past Kane, she muttered, “The drugs will start to take effect in a few minutes. She’ll be loopy, so say what you need to while she’s still coherent.”
Libby leaned over and rubbed Ginger’s upper arm. “Take care. I’ll swing by tomorrow.”
Ginger reached for Adam’s chubby leg, realizing at the last second she couldn’t touch him due to her injuries. Frustration darkened her eyes as she watched Libby and Adam leave.
Finding themselves alone, they stared at each other in the sudden silence.
“You want to call your dad and Hayden and fill them in? Or do you want me to do it?”
Ginger bowed her head. “I can’t even hold a phone, Kane. Just tell them I love them and I’m…sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“All this.”
She intended to apologize for an accident? Again, Kane forced himself not to chew her out for something that wasn’t her fault. He turned his back on her and dialed. Dash answered and Kane explained the situation, sensing the older man’s relief. Then Hayden came on the line. “Hey, buddy. Your mama is a little banged up but she’s gonna be fine. Yes, I promise. I know you miss her, but she has to stay here overnight.”
Ginger made a pitiful-sounding gasp and Kane spun to face her.
“She misses you too. Uh-huh. Tell you what, I’ll be stayin’ with you for a few days to help out. That sound all right?” Kane smiled. “Sure we can do that. I’m callin’ the bottom bunk in your room, so get all them robot parts put away before I get there.” He locked his gaze to Ginger’s. “No, I’m sure your mama don’t want me sleepin’ in her bed.”
She blushed and looked away.
Interesting.
“I’ll cook something when I get there. No pizza. ’Cause I know you’ve got a milk allergy, that’s why. See you soon.” Kane snapped the phone shut and wandered to Ginger’s bedside.
“Thank you. I’m sorry if I seemed ungrateful, I’m very grateful, it’s just…I’m not used to needing help, let alone asking anyone for it.”
“I know.”
“And you’re being so sweet and thoughtful, volunteering to take care of my son, my dad and me.”
Really interesting that she put herself last.
“I can’t help but worry that you’re getting roped into something you didn’t want and you’re too much of a gentleman to say no.” Tears seeped from the corners of her eyes.
Dammit. What was he supposed to do when she cried? Kane had little experience with women’s tears, except the manipulative variety. And these were borne of pain and frustration.
He grabbed a Kleenex. “Come on, sugar, you’re breakin’ my heart here.” He gently blotted her tear-dampened face. “You in a lot of pain?”
“Yes. It’s like my whole body is throbbing. Not a good kind of throbbing.”
He laughed softly. “I do believe the drugs are finally kickin’ in.”
“Maybe.” Ginger blinked at him. It didn’t help; her eyes had taken on a dreamy, unfocused look. “Can I ask you something?”
“I suspect you will ask me regardless if I say no.”
“Why did you kiss me that night?”
Kane’s heart skipped a beat. His gaze dropped to her lips. God, he still fantasized about that lush mouth. How aggressive he’d been with the kiss, how eagerly she’d welcomed it. How his wanting of her overrode his common sense, but he had zero regrets. Even now. Months later.
“Kane?”
He met her eyes again. “Why you askin’ me this now?”
“Because we’ve never talked about it. We both pretended it never happened. Or was that kiss so easy for you to forget, McKay?”
He angled close enough that her breath teased his lips. “Not. Even. F***ing. Close. You have no idea how much I still…” Crave you. Fantasize about you. Wish I would’ve taken what we both wanted.
However, Kane said none of that. He backed off just like he had that night. “Never mind. This definitely ain’t the time or the place to talk about this.”
“No. Tell me. Please.”
“I kissed you because you needed to be kissed.”
Her lips formed a half pout. “That’s all?”
Goddammit she was beautiful, even in pain, and Kane couldn’t resist touching her. “No, that ain’t all. But that’s all I’m gonna admit to when you’re drugged up and hurtin’.”
Her lashes fluttered coquettishly. “See? Just like I thought.”
“What did you think?” Did you imagine I came this close to f***ing you up against that wall until you screamed loud enough to wake your kid and your dad?
Unlikely.
Ginger gifted him with a dreamy smile. “I think that you are a gentleman.”
“You have no idea how badly I want to challenge that statement,” he murmured, moving his thumb up to caress the arch of her cheekbone and the dark circle beneath her closed eye.
“Bring it, cowboy. Maybe I’m not as much the prim and proper mother that you see me as.”
Right. Kane doubted she’d be on board with some of the kinkier things that did it for him. “Sugar, you’re babbling.”
“No. I’ll remember every word of this conversation. I have perfect recall.”
“I don’t doubt that a bit, counselor.”
She shivered.
He grabbed a spare blanket from the dresser and covered her completely. “Better?”
“Uh-huh. Thank you.”
“Good. Get some rest. I’ll be back to get you tomorrow.” Kane made it to the door when her raspy voice stopped him.
“You’re wrong.”
“About what?”
“About the sleeping arrangements.”
Had to be the drugs talking.
He didn’t even turn around. He just kept walking.
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Street Date: Tuesday, July 20, 2010 Street Date: Tuesday, July 20, 2010 That there was one mighty fine piece of prime real estate. Bar none, the sweetest ass he’d ever seen.
Logan watched in mesmerized fascination as the mouth-watering backside in question shimmied and undulated to the heavy beat of the dance music blaring through the bar’s sound system. He’d always been an ass man and that one right there was enough to make a grown man cry.
It was a pure bonus that she had red hair. He loved fiery redheads.
He didn’t recognize this one though. She had to be a newcomer because he never would have missed spotting her before this. No way. Not with that ass, or with how often he came to PJ’s Bar.
He took a swig of his beer. Without taking his eyes off the visual feast before him, he absently enjoyed the slightly bitter taste of the cold brew as it trickled past his tongue and cooled his throat.
He was trying to get a good look at Red’s face, but with the flickering lights and strobes he hadn’t had much success. But that first-class ass was enough to make him want to get to know her better anyway. A lot better.
The music finally switched to a slow tune. That was his cue. Time to make his move.
Putting down his beer, he stood and then made his way over to his quarry. Her current dance partner put his arms around her and pulled her into his embrace, settling in to enjoy holding her close for the dance. But that didn’t deter Logan.
He tapped the guy on the shoulder. “I’m cutting in.”
Without looking up, the guy snarled at Logan to get lost, but he wasn’t put off. He tapped him again. “I guess you didn’t hear me. It’s my turn.”
The guy pulled back, and shot Logan a look meant to intimidate and chase him off. It might have worked too, except the moment the guy caught sight of Logan, his eyes widened, he dropped his arms and quickly backed away from the girl. “Okay, sure thing. No problem.”
Logan hid a smile. He was used to this kind of reaction. He was a big guy. Taller than most, not to mention the fact that he worked out. People were often intimated by his size, and he wasn’t averse to using it to his advantage.
Logan nodded. “Thanks.”
With the testosterone war over, Logan could finally direct his attention to the tasty female treat in front of him. “Name’s Logan. And you are?”
With frustration, he realized even though he was now facing the woman of his dreams, he still couldn’t get a good look at her. Not with her standing there with her hand clapped over her mouth as if she was in shock or something.
Fighting the urge to make sure he hadn’t left his fly open, he tried smiling to put her at ease. This was a damned strange reaction. He was a decent-looking guy but he’d never affected a woman like this.
He tried again. “I’m Logan. And you are…”
She blinked a couple of times before finally dropping her hand. “Logan.”
Her name is Logan?
And then he realized there was something very familiar about this woman. He looked closer. He knew her. Sort of. Didn’t he? He scanned her face again. He did know her. But something was different. So different he couldn’t quite place her.
All of a sudden the penny dropped.
Damn! It’s… “Nica. I didn’t recognize you. What happened to you?” Okay, that didn’t come out right. “I mean, you look different.”
That was an understatement.
He looked her up and down, still not quite believing his eyes. Could this really be his best friend’s kid sister? Hell, she was as good as his kid sister. He’d watched her grow up and he’d never seen any sign that this little siren lay hidden beneath the shapeless clothes she usually wore.
Nica blushed. For a moment she looked flustered, but then something in her expression changed. Almost seemed to firm up. She smiled and started to preen. “I do, don’t I.” She peeped up at him. “Do you like it?”
Hell yeah. He’d be mortified if he liked it any better. Damn, the fantasies he’d been running through his head before he knew it was her were more than a little X-rated.
Completely thrown by both the shock of finding out the woman he’d just been lusting after was Nica and… Well, there was no and. That was enough. More than enough.
Disappointment speared through him as it sank in this was Nica and he’d just been wondering how he could get into her pants. “Uh…you look great.”
She smiled coquettishly. “Thanks.”
“What brought on the dramatic change?”
She shrugged and he noticed how the movement did interesting things to her breasts.
“Oh, I just thought it was time to do something different.”
She was different all right. And he wasn’t at all sure it was for the better. He glared at several guys who were staring at her, not liking the speculative look in their eyes. “I can see that.”
She blushed and looked down, then seemed to come to some decision. He watched fascinated as she tossed her head back and straightened her shoulders “I’m still trying to get used to it myself.”
Was this the same girl he’d watched grow up from a plain child? Just yesterday she’d been the same old Nica. Reliable. Trustworthy. People like her didn’t change overnight. What had happened to cause this radical transformation? Because it was for damn sure something had.
“What’s this really all about, Nica? You’re not the type to do something so drastic.”
Her eyes flashed sizzling blue fire at him. “How would you know what type I am?”
That struck a nerve. “I’ve known you since we were kids. I think I know you pretty well.”
She looked him right in the eyes, and he saw a flash of temper there he’d never noticed before.
“You don’t know squat about me. Not the real me inside. You just think you know me.”
He took in her flushed cheeks and flashing eyes, her stance screaming her readiness to take him on. Maybe she was right. He certainly didn’t recognize the spitfire in front of him right now.
Taking in her sparkling eyes and heaving chest, he fought back a grin. Damned if he didn’t like her this way too.
The grin finally won out.
She scowled and planted her fists on her hips. “Don’t you laugh at me, Logan Donovan.”
Oh look. She’s even trying to look tough.
It was too much. He burst out laughing. “I can’t help it. You’re just so damn cute like this. I think I’m going to like the new you.” Maybe a little too much.
Just like that her anger dissipated. “Really?”
“It’ll take some getting used to, but yeah.”
The smile she graced him with was like sunshine breaking through storm clouds. It lit up her entire face and accentuated the beauty he’d never noticed before. Had it always been there and he’d just not seen it?
“Thanks.”
Still busy trying to take in the radical change, he jumped when she put her hands on his shoulders. “What are you doing?”
Looking confused, she said, “I thought you wanted to dance with me.”
Damn. He’d forgotten that was why he’d come over here. If he tried to back out now it would hurt her feelings. “Oh right. Of course.”
Smooth, Logan. Real smooth. He all but rolled his eyes at himself.
Feeling more than a little awkward and probably looking worse, he hesitated while trying to decide what to do. He knew he should put his hands on her waist, but the fact that he wanted to so much sort of made him feel like a perv.
She was practically his little sister for crying out loud. Okay, so she wasn’t, but he’d always viewed her that way. Until now.
Damn it. He couldn’t believe this was Nica. And that she looked so fucking hot.
He shook the thought out of his head, told himself to snap out of it, reached over and put his hands on her waist. There, that wasn’t so hard. At least not yet. He strove to keep as much distance between their bodies as he could manage without looking too obvious.
Nica had ideas of her own though, because the next thing he knew she’d draped her arms over his shoulders and clasped her hands behind his neck. In the process she’d pressed her sweet breasts up against his chest until their bodies were so flush against each other a microbe couldn’t have squeezed in if its survival depended on it.
His groin started to tingle.
Damn. ![]() $0.21 Rewards
Adobe Digital Edition [ 4.3 Mb ]Street Date: Sunday, August 1, 2010 Adobe ePub [ 0.7 Mb ]Street Date: Sunday, August 1, 2010 From the Book There was a naked man on her doorstep. Priscilla had been in the sitting room, curled up with a book, when she heard a thunderous pounding on the front door. She had jumped to her feet, a trifle alarmed, for it was rather late in the evening for any visitors. Moreover, the loud noise had rung with urgency. She had snatched up a candle from the table and hurried to the front door. When she swung it wide open, she had found this man standing there. He had on not one stitch of clothing, and his skin was covered with a thin sheen of sweat and decorated with a multitude of thin red scratches. He was breathing rapidly, his chest rising and falling as he took huge gulps of air. She stared at him, for one of the few times in her life rendered speechless. He was a huge man; he seemed to fill the tiny porch of Evermere Cottage, presenting a wide expanse of bare skin. Priscilla had never seen so much naked flesh in her life, all of it tanned, muscled and intensely masculine. The man stared back at her. He looked dazed and exhausted as he swayed, muttering, "Help me." Then he collapsed at her feet. Priscilla let out a little shriek of horror and reached out to grab him, but he was far too heavy, and his damp, bare skin simply slid across her palm as he crumpled to the floor of the tiny porch. The door of her father's study opened, and Florian Hamilton stuck his head out. His graying hair was rumpled and sticking up in spikes from his habit of shoving his fingers through it whenever he was deep in thought. He frowned vaguely. "Priscilla? What was that noise? Is there someone at the door?" His familiar voice broke Priscilla's temporary paralysis. "It's all right, Papa," she said, in a voice that wavered only slightly from her usual brisk tone. "I will take care of it." She turned back to the porch to survey her problem. The man now lay partly inside the house, on his side, most of his massive chest and arms on the floor at her feet, his long legs and the rest of his torso sprawled out on the stoop. It was obvious that she could not possibly move him herself. Who was he? And whatever was he doing here—naked and unconscious? It occurred to her that it must be a jest; it seemed, in fact, just the sort of nonsense that Philip or Gid might think up. However, she could not imagine that even one of her mischievous brothers would send a nude man to his sister's door—and what man would be willing to run around stark naked? If nothing else, it was still early spring, and rather chilly. No, she concluded, it could not be a joke. Her eyes went to the man's face. It was boldly chiseled, with a wide jaw and prominent cheekbones, a firm, full mouth and a long, straight nose. His was not a handsome face, exactly; it was too sharp and hard for perfect beauty, but there was power in it, even in slack unconsciousness—and with his eyes closed, the thick fringe of lashes shadowing his cheek, there was even a hint of vulnerability that made her heart twist strangely in her chest. She bent forward, holding her candle lower to light his features. He was clean-shaven, his skin smooth and tanned, darker than her own milk-white color and that of most of the people she was accustomed to seeing. There was a narrow red scratch across his jaw, and another on his forehead. His hair was a thick, rich brown, and, as she held the candle closer, a glint of red shone through, like polished mahogany. A strand of it had fallen across his cheek, and unconsciously she reached out and brushed it back. He groaned and rolled over onto his back. Priscilla's eyes moved lower, over his wide, muscled chest,... ![]() $0.22 Rewards
Adobe Digital Edition [ 1.4 Mb ]Street Date: Tuesday, June 29, 2010 Adobe ePub [ 0.6 Mb ]Street Date: Tuesday, June 29, 2010 Chapter One Liz Sutton had always known the past was going to come back and bite her in the butt—she just hadn’t known it was going to happen today. Her morning had started normally enough, with getting her son off to school, then going down the hall to her office, where she managed to write five fairly decent pages before having to stop for some serious pacing, followed by deleting three of the five pages. She was trying to figure out who she was planning to murder in the first chapter of her new book, not to mention how they would be murdered. Was decapitation just too predictable? Luckily her assistant knocked on her door, sparing her from making a decision. “Sorry to interrupt,” Peggy said, frowning slightly as she held out a piece of paper. “But I thought you’d want to read this.” Liz took the single sheet. It was an e-mail, sent to her website. There was a link there for fans to get in touch with her. Peggy handled most of the e-mails, but every now and then she found something she didn’t know what to do with. “A crazed stalker type?” Liz asked, pathetically grateful for the interruption. When the writing was going slowly, even a death threat was more thrilling than the current work in progress. “Not exactly. She says she’s your niece.” Niece? Liz scanned the sheet. Dear Aunt Liz, My name is Melissa Sutton. My dad is your brother Roy. I’m fourteen years old and my sister Abby is eleven. A few months ago, our dad went to prison. His new wife, our stepmom, said she would take care of us, but she changed her mind and left. I thought Abby and me would be fine. I’m really mature for my age. My teachers say that all the time. She’s been gone a while now and I’m really scared. I haven’t told Abby because she’s still a kid, but I don’t know if we can make it. I don’t want to tell Dad what happened because he really liked Bettina and he’ll be sad she didn’t wait for him. So I thought maybe you could help. I know we haven’t met before, but I’ve read all your books and I really like them. Hope to hear from you soon. Your niece, Melissa. P.S. I’m using the computer at the library, so you can’t e-mail me back. But here’s our phone number. Even though the lights are off, the phone still works at home. P.P.S. We’re living in your old house in Fool’s Gold. Liz read the e-mail a second time, trying to get the words to make sense. Roy was back in Fool’s Gold. Or at least he had been, before heading off to prison. She hadn’t seen her brother in nearly eighteen years. He was a lot older and had left the summer she’d turned twelve. She’d never heard from him again. Apparently he’d married a couple of times and had kids. Daughters. Girls who were living alone in a house that had been rundown and disgusting twelve years ago. She doubted there had been many improvements since. Questions tumbled through her brain. Questions about her brother and why he’d returned to Fool’s Gold after being gone so long. Why he was in prison and what on earth was she supposed to do with two nieces she’d never met? She glanced at her watch. It was barely eleven. As it was Tyler’s last day before summer vacation, he was getting out at twelve-thirty. If she got the car packed in time, they could leave directly from his school and be in Fool’s Gold in about four hours. “I need to deal with this,” Liz told her assistant, as she wrote an address on a piece of paper. “Call the electric company in Fool’s Gold and get the power turned back on. They should take a credit card for payment. Do the same with the other utilities. I’ll call the girls and let them know I’m coming.” “Are they really your nieces?” Peggy asked. “I guess. I haven’t seen my brother since I was their age, but I can’t let them stay there alone.” She shook her head, trying to figure out what else had to be done. Her next book wouldn’t be published until the fall, she so didn’t have to worry about publicity and book tours. She could work on her new story anywhere she had her laptop. At least that was the theory. “I don’t know how long we’ll be gone,” she continued. “I’m guessing it will take a couple of weeks to get everything straightened out.” Peggy stared at her. “Just like that?” “What do you mean?” “Aren’t you going to think about it? Most people would hesitate. You don’t even know these girls.” True, Liz thought. But what choice did she have? “They’re kids, by themselves and family. I have to do something.” “Which is just like you,” Peggy said. “You leap in and do what you think is right.” “Someone has to.” Besides, she’d grown up having to take care of things. Her mother hadn’t bothered. “With luck, I won’t be gone too long.” “Don’t worry either way. I can handle things here.” Liz forced a smile. “I know you can. I’m going to pack and then go get Tyler. We’ll drive to Fool’s Gold today.” “Maybe it will be nice to go home.” Liz did her best to look normal. “Sure. Okay, I’ll call the girls.” She waited until Peggy had left before picking up the phone. She dialed the familiar number, then let it ring eight times before hanging up. No answer. Of course, it was a weekday. The girls were probably still in school. She would try again later, from her cell. She had to pack for herself and her son, phone a few of friends and let them know she would be gone for a couple of weeks, e-mail her editor and agent to tell them the same. Logistics, she thought as she collected the notes she’d made on her current novel. She was good at logistics. The ability to plan and deal with problems was part of the reason she enjoyed writing her detective mystery series. She’d always been good at the work. It was the rest of life that caused her to stumble time after time. “Introspection later,” she murmured aloud. “Action now.” She powered off her laptop, then disconnected it from the docking station. After collecting her notes, a few pens, pads of paper and her address book, she went down the hall to her bedroom. An hour and a half later, she’d packed what she hoped was enough, loaded the car and gone over everything with Peggy. Her assistant would take care of the house and make sure the bills were paid. “Are you all right?” Peggy asked. “Sure. Great. Why?” Peggy, a forty-something former executive assistant, frowned. “Just checking. This is a lot to take in.” She hesitated. “You know if there’s no one else to take care of the girls...” Liz might suddenly be responsible for two nieces she’d never met. “I know. I’ll deal with that when I have more information.” “Mac and I went to Fool’s Gold on our honeymoon. Back when I thought marriage was a good thing. I didn’t know you were from there.” No one did, Liz thought grimly. She found life easier when she didn’t talk about her past. “I left right after high school. Moved here. San Francisco is my home now.” Peggy smiled at her. “If you need anything, call me.” “I will.” Liz went downstairs to the single car garage and got into her Lexus RX350. She’d packed four suitcases, a couple of boxes with Tyler’s favorite movies, his Xbox, and a handful of books. She went over the inventory because that was easier than thinking about what she was doing. Going back to the one place she never wanted to be. The town where she’d grown up. For a second she wondered if she really had to do this. Go rescue a couple of kids she’d never met. Then she shook off the thought. Right now there wasn’t anyone else. She couldn’t leave the two girls on their own. She would deal with the problem, get it resolve and return to her life. Staying was not an option. Midday traffic was relatively light and she made it to Tyler’s school in about twenty minutes. He was talking to his friends, probably making plans for hanging out. When he saw her small SUV, he waved and hurried over. “Jason says his family’s for sure going to Disneyland in August and they’re gonna call and talk to you about me going with them,” he said as he climbed into the passenger seat. “Hello to you, too,” she said with a smile. He grinned. “Hi, Mom. How was your day?” “Interesting.” “Great. Now can we talk about Disneyland?” Her son was the brightest and best part of her life, she thought as she stared into his dark brown eyes. He had her smile, but everything else came from his father. As if her DNA hadn’t been strong enough to overpower his. Tyler was smart, funny, warm and caring. He had dozens of friends, an easy-going disposition and plans to be an architect when he grew up. She knew that everyone said the early teen years were the worst with boys. That by thirteen or fourteen, he would be making her life hell. But that was a problem for another time. Today, Tyler was her world. A world that had just been shifted off its axis and was tumbling freely through space. “Disneyland sounds like fun,” she said. “I’ll talk to Jason’s mom. If they want to take you and you want to go, then we’ll arrange it.” His grinned widened. Then he glanced toward the back of the vehicle. “Whoa, are we going somewhere? Road trip?” She pulled into traffic, heading toward I-80. She would take it east, until she turned off to drive into Fool’s Gold. “Sort of,” she said and tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Over the years, she’d done her best not to lie to her son. Not about her past or his father. For the most part, she’d simply told him there were questions she wouldn’t answer. At four or five, he’d been easily distracted. At eight, he’d been determined to find out the truth. Now he asked less, probably because he knew he couldn’t wear her down. But she knew he wondered. “I got an e-mail today,” she told him. “You remember I told you I have a brother? “Uh huh. Roy. We don’t ever see him.” “I know. He’s a lot older and he took off when I was twelve. I woke up one morning and he was gone. I never saw him again.” She still remembered her mother’s sobs, made thicker and louder by the alcohol lingering in her system. From that moment on, her mother spent her life waiting for Roy to return. Nothing else had mattered, certainly not Liz. Liz had left town shortly after graduating high school. She’d phoned home once, a few weeks later, saying she thought she should check in and tell her mother where she was. “Don’t bother calling again,” had been the woman’s only response before hanging up the phone. “So Uncle Roy e-mailed you?” “Not exactly.” Liz didn’t know how much to reveal. Telling the truth was one thing, but sharing details was another. “He’s, um, in some trouble and I have to go help. He has two girls. Your cousins. Melissa is fourteen and Abby is your age.” “I have cousins? You didn’t tell me about cousins.” “I didn’t know about them until today.” “But they’re family.” True enough, she thought. And the word “family” implied caring and connection. Maybe in most places, but not in the Sutton household. At least not until Liz had had Tyler. She’d done everything she could think of to break the cycle of neglect. She’d been determined to be a warm, loving mother, to offer her child a safe haven. “I didn’t know where Roy was,” she said. “He never got in touch with me after he left.” For six years, she’d waited, hoping he would come get her and take her away. Until he’d walked out, he’d always taken care of her. Been a buffer between her and her mother. Protected her from the worst of it. By the time she’d been old enough to go looking, she told herself she no longer cared. “Do they know we’re coming?” Tyler asked. “Do they know about me?” “Not yet, but they will. We’re going to stay with them for a couple of weeks.” She didn’t mention the fact that Roy was in prison. Time enough for that later. Nor did she go into the possibility of the girls having to live with them permanently. Maybe there was other family who could take care of them. “I grew up in a small town called Fool’s Gold,” she said. “It’s in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada mountains.” “Do they get snow?” he asked eagerly. Because at eleven, seeing snow was about the best it could be. She laughed. “Probably not in June, but yes, they get snow. There’s lots to do there. Hiking, swimming. There’s a river and a lake.” “We could go camping.” She made a noncommittal noise in her throat, mostly because the thought of camping ranked right up there with being awake during open-heart surgery. Not even thinking about it was pleasant. But then she wasn’t an eleven year-old boy. She hadn’t been fascinated by worms and dirt and play cars and plastic guns, either. More traits she knew he got from his father. Which was another problem. Not the traits, the man himself. Odds were Ethan was still in Fool’s Gold. The one place he’d asked her not to be. He’d made it clear he didn’t want her or his kid around. Well, he was just going to have to get over it, she told herself. This was an emergency. She wouldn’t make a big deal about Tyler being in town and she certainly wouldn’t tell her son about his father. Not when Ethan had rejected them both so completely. She would deal with the girls and get out as quickly as possible. If she happened to run into Ethan, she would be pleasant and distant. Nothing more. Because after all this time and all the ways he’d managed to hurt her, there was no way she was ever going to be vulnerable to him again. She’d learned her lesson. Fool me once and all that. She gripped the steering wheel more tightly and glanced at her nav system screen. It showed the way to her destination and she was counting on the little device to be able to guide her back home when she was done. # # # Ethan Hendrix stood by the barricades between the crowd and the cyclists. The sun was hot, the spectators loud. The noise of a race was specific and not something he would ever forget. There’d been a time when he’d planned on seeing the world on the racing circuit. A long time ago, he thought, remembering the feel of the wind, the sensation of muscles burning as he dug for the will to win. Winning had come easily. Maybe too easily. He’d gotten careless during a race. At fifty miles an hour, balanced on skinny wheels and a light-weight frame, mistakes could be deadly. In his case, he’d been left with a few broken bones and a permanent limp. For anyone else, it would have been considered lucky. For him, the injury had kept him from ever racing again. Now, ten years later, he watched the cyclists speed past. He spotted his friend Josh, still making up time from his late start, and wondered what if. But he didn’t have a whole lot of energy for the subject. Everything was different now and he was good with that. He turned away from the race, ready to go back to his office, when he spotted a woman in the crowd. For a second he thought he’d imagined her, that he was putting beautiful features he would never forget onto the face of someone else. There was no way Liz Sutton was back in Fool’s Gold. Instinctively he moved closer, but the road with the barricades was between them. The redhead looked up again, this time facing him. She removed her sunglasses and he saw her wide green eyes, the full mouth. From this distance he couldn’t see the freckles on her nose, but he knew they were there. He even knew how many. He swore softly. Liz was back. Except on the back cover of her books, he hadn’t seen her in over a decade. As of five seconds ago, he would have told anyone who asked that he’d forgotten her, had gotten over her. She was his past. She looked away then, as if searching for someone. Obviously not him, he thought, then grinned. Liz back in Fool’s Gold. Who would have thought? He eased his way through the crowd. He might not be able to find her now, but he had a feeling he knew where she would be later. He would meet her there and welcome her home. It was the least he could do. # # # Liz kept a tight hold on Tyler’s hand. The crowd around the bike race was big and seemed to be growing. She’d been foolish to think she could find two girls she’d never met in the throng of tourists. It wasn’t as if she even knew what they looked like. She pointed toward a vendor selling shaved iced and bought Tyler his favorite flavor. Blueberry. All around them, groups of people laughed and talked about the race. She heard something about a new bike racing school and a new hospital being built. Changes, she thought. Fool’s Gold had changed in the past ten years. But not enough for her to forget. Despite having to detour around blocked roads, she easily found her way down side streets, and back toward the house where she’d grown up. “You lived here before you went to San Francisco?” Tyler asked. “Uh huh. I grew up here.” “With my grandma Sutton?” “Yes.” “She’s dead now.” He spoke the words as information, because that’s all they were to him. He’d never met Liz’s mother. When Liz had first left town at eighteen, running away with a broken heart, she’d found her way to the city by the bay, had struggled to find work and a place to stay in a glorified shelter. Then she’d found out she was pregnant. Her first instinct had been to go home, but that initial phone call had made her wary. Over the next year, she’d phoned home twice. Both times her mother had made it clear her daughter was no longer a part of her life. The rejection had hurt but hadn’t been much of a surprise. Her mother had also taken great delight in telling her that no, Ethan Hendrix never called or asked about her. When the woman died four years ago, Liz hadn’t returned for the funeral. Now, as she crossed a quiet street, she found herself in her old neighborhood. The houses were modest, two and three bedroom homes with small porches and aging paint. A few gleamed like bright flowers in an abandoned garden, as if the neighborhood was on the verge of being desirable again. The worst house on the street sat in the middle. An eyesore of peeling paint and missing roof shingles. The yard was more weeds than plants or lawn, the windows were filthy. Plywood filled the space where one was missing. Her car sat in the driveway—the new model looking out of place. She used the key she’d found under the front mat to let them in. She’d already done a brief tour of the house, to see if the girls were there. Judging from the school books piled on the dirty kitchen table and the clothes on the girls’ bedroom floors, she would guess summer break hadn’t started yet. Now she walked through to the kitchen. Half the cabinets were gone, as if someone had started remodeling then changed his mind. The refrigerator worked, but was empty. There was no food in the pantry in the corner. There were a few potato chip wrappers in the trash and one small apple on the counter. She didn’t know what to think. Based on her niece’s letter, the girls had been on their own for a few weeks. Ever since their stepmom had taken off. With their father in jail and no other family around, shouldn’t the state step in? Where were social services? She had more questions, but figured she would deal with them later. It was after three. The girls should get home soon. Once they’d all met, she would see about getting food in the house and figuring out what was going on. “Mom?” Tyler called from the living room. “Can I watch TV?” “Until your cousins get here.” Peggy had already called to say she’d paid all the amounts due on the utility bills and that everything should be working. Liz could see there was electricity. She turned on the faucet and water gushed out, which was a plus. Seconds later, she heard the sound of cartoons, which meant there was cable. Modern life as she knew it had been restored. She walked back to the front of the house and took the stairs to the second floor. She made her way straight to the master. It was the only room with family photos. A wedding picture of a much older Roy standing next to a chubby blonde had been placed on the battered dresser. There were a couple of school pictures of the girls. Liz moved closer and studied them, looking for features that would be familiar. Melissa seemed to have Roy’s smile. Abby had Liz’s eyes and freckles. They were both redheads, Melissa blessed with a soft auburn color. Abby was all carrot-top, which looked totally adorable. Although Liz had a feeling the eleven year-old wouldn’t appreciate her unique coloring for a long time. She turned away from the photos to look at the room. The bed was unmade, the dresser drawers open and empty. In the surprisingly large closet, only men’s clothes hung. A couple of boxes were filled with socks and underwear—most likely placed there by Roy’s wife. Memories crowded around, filling the space. As she moved back into the hallway, then into the bedroom that had been hers, they poked at her, making her remember things she’d tried so hard to forget. She heard echoes of her mother yelling, inhaled the smell of alcohol. She remembered the low voices of the men who had come and gone. Most of her mother’s “friends” had stayed out of Liz’s way, but a few had watched her with an intensity that had made her uncomfortable. She went into the room that had been hers. The wall color was different. The faded yellow had been replaced with a pale lavender. While the walls were fresh, the baseboards and trim had been sanded, but not finished. In the bathroom across the hall, the floor had been pulled up, exposing sheets of plywood below. She’d noticed a framed room off the back, sitting on a poured foundation. So many half-started projects that gave the already old and battered house the air of being wounded. Easily changed, she told herself. A good contractor could have this place fixed in a few weeks. Or maybe the old house should simply be torn down and left for dead. She shook off the morose thoughts. She’d been here all of an hour and already the place was getting to her. She had to remember she had a great life in San Francisco. Work she loved, a beautiful home, an amazing son. She’d left Fool’s Gold over a decade ago. She was a different person today. Older. Stronger. Able to deal with a few memories. It wasn’t as if she was settling here permanently. She would figure out what was going on, then either take the girls to wherever they were going to live, or pack them up and bring them back to her place. A couple of weeks, she told herself. Three at most. She went downstairs and heard the sound of excited voices. There were racing footsteps on the porch, then the front door flew open. Two girls stood there, the taller and older one looking both scared and relieved, while the younger hung back shyly. “Aunt Liz?” Melissa, the fourteen year old, asked tentatively. Liz smiled at them both and nodded. “Hi. I hope it’s okay that I let myself in. The key was right where—” The rest of what she was going to say got squeezed out of her as both girls raced to her and hugged her hard, holding on as if they would never let go. ![]() $9.99
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Chapter One
“Screwing two guys doesn’t make you a slut.” Lainie Capshaw darted a quick glance at the crowd in Bucky’s Tavern. Luckily none of her coworkers—her male coworkers—lurked about. “Maybe you could’ve said that a little louder, Tanna. I don’t think they heard you on the dance floor.” “Puh-lease. The men in this joint are too busy gawking at the cocktail waitress with the watermelon-sized tits to be eavesdropping on us.” Tanna sucked down a healthy swig of beer. “Twenty bucks says ’ol monster jugs pops a strap in the next ten minutes.” “No dice. If I take that bet you’ll sneak up behind her and slice the damn strap just so you can win.” “You’re no fun.” Tanna sighed dramatically. “I’m bored.” Lainie rolled her eyes. A bored Tanna was a dangerous Tanna. “So let’s talk about Lainie’s lewd love life.” “Let’s not.” Tanna wagged her finger. “Ah ah ah. Suck it up, chickie. You walk the walk, you gotta talk the talk. Besides, who cares if you’re boning two guys? Cowboys are notorious for having a different buckle bunny every night, in every podunk rodeo town on the circuit. It pisses me off there’s still a double standard for women.” “True. But...” “But what?” Tanna looked at her quizzically. “You aren’t feeling guilty, are you?” She shrugged. “Maybe. Wouldn’t you?” “Hell no.” Bull. Lainie called Tanna’s bluff. “So if the buff babe in the yellow shirt sauntered over and said, ‘I wanna screw your brains out against my truck right now,’ you’d follow him out into the parking lot without question?” “Or hesitation. Well, besides checking my purse for condoms.” “Even when you’re already making time with that studly bulldogger from Austin?” Lainie challenged. Tanna planted her elbows on the table. “I’d do it in a heartbeat, Lainie. What would you do if both your men showed up here tonight?” Wet myself. “Umm. I’d probably run.” “Like a contest to see who wanted you more? Whoever catches you first wins?” Good Lord. Talk about an overactive sense of drama. “No. More like running from my problem.” “Doesn’t sound like a problem to me. Two sexy men angling to thrill you between the sheets.” Tanna smiled brazenly. “Or against the bathroom stall, in Kyle’s case.” Whoo-ee. Just thinking about the hot tryst with Kyle still fried Lainie’s circuits. Never in her life had she warranted an I-need-you-right-fucking-now bout of raunchy monkey sex. So yeah, it’d earned her bragging rights. Even been there, done that Tanna had been impressed by Lainie’s balls-to-the-wall behavior. Tanna’s cell phone vibrated on the tabletop. She squinted at the number and snapped, “’Bout time you dumb bastard,” before she flounced out the side door, chewing the caller’s ass. Lainie hunched over the table to discourage any cowboys from asking her to dance. Probably an unnecessary precaution since tantalizing Tanna usually garnered that type of male attention, not her. Which was why it was so twisted that Lainie had captured the interest of not one, but two men. Two very hot, very alpha men on two different circuits. Lainie liked working the rodeo circuits, even though the pay was crap. As a med tech for Lariat Sports Medicine, she split her time between the two largest rodeo organizations: the Cowboy Rodeo Association,known as the CRA, and the Extreme Bull Showcase, known as EBS. The CRA was comprised of rough stock events—bareback, saddle bronc and bull riding, as well as timed events—calf roping, team roping, steer wrestling, also known as bulldoggin’, and barrel racing. The EBS had just one event--bull riding. The CRA bull riders didn’t compete in the EBS and vice versa. Which was how Lainie ended up with a hot cowboy hook up on both the CRA and the EBS. Fraternizing with cowboys could be career suicide for a woman in the male-dominated sport, especially when her job was to examine those glorious bodies. Lainie prided herself on avoiding the sexual temptation for damn near two years. Until she’d met Hank Lawson. She’d encountered the intense CRA bullfighter after he’d pulled his Achilles tendon during a CRA event and grudgingly limped into medical services. After she fixed him up, he asked her out on a date. Lainie refused--tempting as it’d been. Not only was Hank a 100% real Wyoming cowboy, who handled bulls with ease and panache, at 6’3”, with inky black hair and ruggedly masculine features, he embodied tall, dark and handsome. She kept refusing until Hank invited her to dance at a sponsor’s dinner. A simple dance, what could it hurt? If she appreciated Hank’s moves in the arena, his moves on the dance floor were equally fine. Whenever hard-bodied Hank studied her with those eyes the color of new denim, she experienced a rush of adrenaline that must have been equal to spending eight seconds astride a 2000-pound bull. Two weeks later, Hank asked her to two-step at another rodeo event. Too much wine and too much Hank went straight to her head. One slow dance led them directly to Hank’s motel room for a little mattress dancing. Mercy. Revisiting that romp with Hank caused Lainie’s thighs to clench with want. Intense concentration and instinctual reaction were the hallmarks of good bullfighters and Hank had both in spades. No surprise his single-mindedness carried over into the bedroom. The man took his own sweet time making love; it was as maddening as it was arousing. Leisurely undressing her. Running his work-roughened fingers over every inch of her bared skin. Kissing everywhere his hands roamed. Wringing at least two explosive orgasms from her before he rode her hard and fast, or slow and sweet. As phenomenal as the sex was, Hank rarely deviated from missionary position. Even if Lainie started out on top showing off her excellent riding skills, she’d end up underneath Hank at the big finish. She’d shoved aside her niggling doubts about Hank’s lack of sexual spontaneity because he made her come so many times she saw stars. So why had she hooked up with bull rider Kyle Gilcrist from the EBS circuit? True, Kyle and Hank were opposites. Physically, Kyle was wiry rather than overly muscular. His green eyes sparkled with mischief, not intensity. With Kyle’s blonde locks and golden facial hair, he resembled a Viking. After taking a year off due to knee surgery, Kyle returned to the EBS with a vengeance. He’d started dropping by the sports medicine room to chat, in the guise of having his previous knee injury reexamined. Very polite. Very much interested in showing her in explicit detail how a modern day Viking would utterly ravish her. Her resistance lasted two months. The square-jawed, sloe-eyed, sweet-talker had literally charmed the pants right off her in a bathroom stall at Denny’s outside Chula Vista. That first weekend she’d had sex with Kyle six times—not once in missionary position. It’d been freeing. Fun. Hot as sin...until the weekend ended. Away from the temptation of Kyle’s consuming kisses, she questioned if she’d become as loose and easy as the buckle bunnies trailing after the circuit cowboys. But mostly Lainie wondered if she could juggle both men at the same time. She and Hank hadn’t discussed exclusivity. For all she knew, Hank could be sleeping with half the barrel racers on the CRA circuit. Kyle hadn’t demanded promises either. Given Kyle’s charm and good looks, she doubted he spent his nights alone watching Country Music Television. So it wasn’t the “cheating” factor that bothered her. It was the fact she really liked both men and she didn’t know who she’d pick if she had to choose. Luckily, Lainie was in the catbird seat for a while. In the big world of professional rodeo, the EBS and CRA circuits rarely intersected geographically. Chances were slim she’d run into Hank if she was with Kyle or vice versa. Feeling a little cocky, she sipped her beer. Lainie’s smugness lasted all of thirty seconds before two rough-skinned hands covered her eyes and a deep, sexy male voice murmured, “Guess who?” **** Kyle Gilchrist could not believe his luck. Mel was here. Right here. Her wild curls tickling his cheek. Her powdery scent teasing his nose. The sight of her lithe little body hardened his cock. And to think he’d dreaded spending the eve of his CRA debut in some dive bar in Lamar, Colorado. Cool fingers circled his wrists. “Kyle?” He removed his hands and spun the barstool, forcing Mel to face him. “Hey, sugar. Surprise.” “Omigod. It is you. What are you doing here? This isn’t your circuit.” “Came in to have a beer and coerce a pretty woman into dancin’ with me. And look who I found first thing—the prettiest lady I know.” Kyle’s palms slid down her bare arms to grasp her fingers. “Come on.” Allowing her no chance to argue, he tugged her to the dance floor, right into the thick of the crowd. “Kyle, this isn’t a good idea. What if—” “It’s the best idea I’ve had in weeks. Come on. Admit it. You missed me.” “Maybe.” She smiled against his throat. He wasn’t much of a dancer, so he employed every seductive tactic he’d stockpiled over the years to draw her attention away from his two left feet. Brushing his thumb at the base of her neck. Gradually easing his thigh between hers. Swaying to the beat of the music while their bodies moved to a rhythm uniquely theirs. The final chord of the tune rang out. He spun them until her back was to the main part of the bar. She tried to push him away. “Kyle. Let go.” “Not until you give me a kiss.” “But, I can’t. Not here where everyone can see—” Kyle settled his mouth over hers, treating her to the lazy kisses that always distracted her. A soft protest exited her mouth, which he swallowed in another kiss. She thought too much. Worried too much. The best way to turn off her overactive brain was to turn her on in a whole ’nother way. As luck would have it, that was one thing Kyle was very good at. **** Hank Lawson paced in the shadow of the sleazy honky-tonk. “No, sir. I understand. Yes.” He grinned at the phone. “I’m committed to the next three weeks. Uh-huh. Well, sir—all right, Bryson—it’s a good opportunity for me to work with some of the rankest bulls in the CRA. No. I’ll cut it short if I have to. Absolutely I’ll be there. Tulsa. Looking forward to it.” He clicked the phone off and pumped his fist into the air. “Yes!” Hank couldn’t wait to tell...he stopped. Wait a second. He couldn’t tell anyone. Dammit. That sucked. Biggest news of his career and he had to keep a lid on it. Bullfighting. In the EBS. It was a callback from his pre-tryout test last month at a second tier event. As much as Hank loved bullfighting in the CRA, for a bullfighter, the EBS was the big time. More money. TV coverage. More sponsorships. Fans. And he wasn’t supposed to tell anyone? Screw that. Hank scrolled through his contact list and hit dial. “Hank?” she answered breathlessly. “What’s up?” “News, but promise me it’ll stay under your hat.” The noise in the background sounded like she was at a rodeo. “I scored another audition with the EBS.” She squealed. “Seriously? That’s awesome! When?” “A couple of weeks. Once I’m done with Cowboy Christmas.” “They couldn’t get you in sooner?” “Bryson asked if I’d be available for the Huntington Beach event next week, but I can’t. I’ve already committed to—” “God, Hank, why can’t you let Gilly navigate the CRA trail on his own? It ain’t like he’s a rookie.” He scowled. Would she ever get over her beef with his buddy? Probably not. The girl held a grudge like nobody’s business. “I’m not goin’ on the road as a favor to Gilly. Truth is, I’m doin’ this for me.” “For the money?” “Partially. But the more bulls I can get in front of the next three weeks, the better my chances in the EBS.” “Unless you get stomped by one and blow your goddamn big chance,” she retorted. “Thanks for the confidence, sis,” he groused. “I have the utmost confidence in you, bro. It’s the bulls I don’t trust. That said, I really am excited for you.” “I know you are. Remember, you can’t tell anyone.” “Not even Abe?” “I’ll tell him.” “You’d better. But I’m afraid he won’t be as thrilled. Come to think of it, if you do get picked, it’ll be more work for me at the ranch. Maybe I oughta be rooting for the bulls.” Hank laughed softly. “Glad I amuse you. Shit. I’m up. Later.” He said, “Up for what?” to the dial tone. He glanced at the time. Damn. He’d been outside for thirty minutes. Not only hadn’t he said hello to Lainie yet—and wouldn’t she be surprised to see him—he’d left Gilly hanging. Too bad he hadn’t introduced them before he’d taken the call. He headed back inside. The flashing lights from the stage show inside the honky-tonk screwed with his eyes. Hank blinked a couple times, scanning the tables. The band wailed a decent cover of Billy Currington’s latest love song. He stopped at the bar and ordered three Coors Light. Hank felt like a fish swimming upstream, juggling three bottles of beer as the people rushed off the dance floor after the tune ended. He’d made it to the table he’d spotted Lainie and her friend sitting at earlier, but there was no sign of her now. Huh. Hank looked round the bar. No sign of Gilly either. His gaze wandered to the dance floor. One couple hadn’t left yet, oblivious to the fact the music had stopped. They were twined together, mouths fused, body pressed to body. Hank squinted. Hey. Wait a minute. Was that...? Holy fucking shit. That was Lainie—his Lainie—in a clinch with some happy-handed cowboy. Fury filled him. He’d fucking lay the bastard out cold. Come on asshole, show me your face so I can figure out where I’m gonna put the first bruise. Then the loser in the cowboy hat kissing Hank’s goddamn woman lifted his head. Not just any cowboy had his hands and mouth on Lainie; Gilly had his hands and mouth on Lainie. Hank’s stomach dropped. And so did the bottles of beer. Lainie and Gilly looked at him the same time the raucous crowd broke into applause at his clumsiness. But he couldn’t tear his eyes off them. Tempting, to punch his buddy in the kisser for kissing her. Equally tempting to pull Laine outside and ask her what the hell was going on. The couple stopped right in front of him. Hank calmly said, “Lainie, sweetheart. I was gonna introduce you to my good buddy, Gilly, but I see you two have already met.” ![]() $0.09 Rewards Adobe Digital Edition [ 0.4 Mb ]Street Date: Sunday, August 1, 2010 Adobe ePub [ 0.4 Mb ]Street Date: Sunday, August 1, 2010
Glen Ocham, Ireland Twilight descended, casting shadows upon the cashel in a fading veil of gray. It was a spring night of celebration, a time when the Irish gave thanks for their prosperity. But for Auder Ó Reilly, it was the beginning of the end. Her skin was frigid, for the life she’d known was slipping away, like water from between her fingertips. In two days, she would travel north to the Norman settlement governed by Lord Miles de Corlaine, Baron of Maraloch, to be his bride. The very idea of surrendering herself to the Norman made her shudder. Aye, she would protect the lives of her kinsmen, by forging this alliance. They would be safe from invasion, their lands joined together. And Lord Maraloch was a wealthy man who could give her everything she would ever need. But that wasn’t the reason she’d agreed to marry him. Auder’s gaze settled upon her mother, who was sitting apart from the other women. Halma Ó Reilly’s thin face held a serene expression, but there was pain and loneliness beneath it. The shadow of humiliation from her husband’s misdeeds surrounded her still. It’s not your fault, Auder wanted to tell her mother. You don’t deserve to suffer for what Father did. She wanted to see her mother laughing again with friends. She wanted her to have a reason to lift her head up, knowing that her daughter had created peace where there had been a threat. And for that reason, she’d agreed to the marriage. Halma had protected her in so many ways. Could she do less for her mother? Auder crossed the cashel until she sat beside Halma. The matron’s green eyes stared at the others who were feasting and gossiping. “You haven’t touched your food.” “I’m not hungry.” Halma patted her hand. Concern lined her face, and she added, “Auder, I’m not so sure you should marry this baron. We don’t really know the man.” “It was my choice, Mother,” Auder pronounced. “I’ve agreed to accept the honor.” Though she tried to summon a smile, she couldn’t. Right now, she felt as though she were disappearing from her own body. “You’re a beautiful woman,” her mother said, touching Auder’s cheek. “You could have your choice of any man here. Why would you give that up?” For you, she wanted to say. To take away the shame you’re feeling right now. To give you a reason to be proud again. “None of the men here interest me,” she lied. “And don’t you believe the lives of our clan members are more important than my personal feelings?” “You have the choice to say no,” Halma said. “No one will force you into this marriage.” Her face grew tight with worry. “Or his bed.” A shiver crossed over Auder at the thought of submitting to the Norman. She was not a virgin, but the one time in her life she’d taken a lover, it had not been pleasant. Something to be endured rather than enjoyed. Afterwards, the man had left her without speaking, and she was left to wonder what she’d done wrong. Since that time, she’d held herself apart from all men. Though she was never impolite, she’d made it clear that she had no interest in any of them. But instead of making them keep their distance, it only made matters worse. The men tried to compete for her affections, each believing that he was man enough to wear her resistance down. “I’m feeling tired,” her mother said, rising from the bench. “I think I’ll go and rest for a while.” Her face was bright with embarrassment, as though she didn’t want to discuss Auder’s impending marriage any further. When Halma had gone, Auder’s mood dimmed further. She didn’t feel like celebrating, not when she had only two days left. In dismay, she stared down at her hands. They were stained from madder root, not at all a lady’s hands. The markings were a part of her, a visible sign of her love of dyeing cloth. Women from all over the region traveled to bring her their lengths of wool and linen. It filled her with pride to see women and men wearing the rich crimsons, emeralds and saffrons. If she wed the Norman, she suspected she would have to give it up. Ladies of noble birth did not soil their hands with common labor. Auder closed her eyes, wondering if she could convince her husband to let her continue her craft. In the distance, she saw the chieftain’s wife Morren struggling with a basket. Auder pushed her way past the others, making her way towards the pregnant woman. Morren adored plants nearly as much as she did, and although she’d known the woman all her life, they had become closer friends over the past few months. Auder took the basket from Morren and walked alongside her. “Tired?” “A little,” Morren admitted. “I’ll be glad when this child is born, near the end of summer.” She risked a glance at her husband, who was standing on the opposite side of the cashel with several of their clansmen. “Trahern is more afraid of the birth than I am.” Morren settled to rest upon a bench and motioned Auder to sit with her, her gaze turning serious. “Auder, you should know . . . the Norman soldiers are patrolling our lands again. Trahern has posted sentries, but I don’t know their intent.” A coldness settled within her stomach, and Auder veiled her fear. “Perhaps they’ve come to escort me to my marriage.” Looking into the other woman’s eyes, Auder tried to show a courage she didn’t feel. “I’ll go with them if I must.” Morren didn’t smile. “Until we know why they’re here, I don’t want you to be alone at any moment.” She looked around and caught sight of Gunnar Dalrata, beckoning him to join them. Tall, with sun-darkened blond hair and cloudy gray eyes, Gunnar was one of the few men Auder felt comfortable around—namely because they’d been friends since four summers ago, when she’d visited her mother’s Norse family. Although he’d been handsome even then, not once had he shown her any interest. It was no wonder, since she’d been inches shorter and hadn’t developed as a woman. But even after she’d arrived home, he’d kept his distance, not speaking to her at all. She’d caught him watching her from time to time, but it was as if their friendship had disappeared. Though it bothered her, she supposed his actions were out of respect for Clár Ó Reilly, whom he’d been courting. “Gunnar, will you stay with Auder and guard her?” Morren asked, glancing back at her husband. “The Normans—” “I’ve seen them.” His expression tightened with anger, but he gave Morren a nod. “And you’re right. Auder shouldn’t be alone while they are about.” “Good.” Morren rested one hand upon her spine as she stood and started walking away. “I’m going to speak to Trahern about the celebration tonight, and if you’d stay with Auder, I’d be grateful.” Unrelenting and fierce, Gunnar stared at Auder in silent disapproval. “So. You’re still planning to go through with this?” “That’s all you can say to me, after I’ve returned from traveling?” She crossed her own arms, sending him a dark look. “Not even a greeting?” It annoyed her for it seemed that she’d imagined their friendship. Gunnar’s eyes turned to steel, and she was startled by the restless anger brewing within him. “I can’t believe Trahern would let you do this. He’s lost his wits if he thinks you should wed the baron.” Auder straightened her shoulders, using her height to meet his gaze directly. “It’s the right thing to do, if it protects us from an invasion.” And if it protects my mother. “We can defend ourselves, Auder,” Gunnar argued. “Just because there are more of them doesn’t mean we cannot fight.” “But if I do this, there is no need for fighting.” The Ó Reillys couldn’t withstand another attack—not after the devastating massacre they’d suffered a year ago. The survivors were gradually returning, but the damage was done. Fewer than twenty remained. Gunnar studied her as though he were trying to find a way to talk her out of the marriage. His gray eyes bored into hers, moving past her face and down her body. “And you don’t mind being used in that way? You’re just a girl.” A flustered air enveloped her as his words conjured up the vision of her marriage bed. She imagined the Norman’s heavy weight bearing down upon her, while she had to endure his touch. Auder knew she wasn’t capable of feeling passion; her last lover had taught her that lesson well enough. There would be no pleasure; it was a matter of distracting herself with other thoughts while he satisfied himself. “I’m not a girl anymore, Gunnar,” she made herself say calmly. “Not that you’ve noticed.” He stared at her, his eyes meeting hers. “I noticed.” His mouth drew into a line, and he took a step closer. She could almost feel the palpable change between them, and she couldn’t have moved if she wanted to. “I suspected you’d grow up into a beautiful woman,” he said, touching her cheek with his palm. “But I never thought you’d give yourself up to a Norman.” A hard pressure built up within her throat, but Auder forced herself to look at him. “If this will protect my mother and the others, then it’s worth it.” The whispers about her father would eventually stop. And maybe she could bring something good out of Lúcás’s mistakes. “There are other ways, Auder.” She fell silent. The gentle touch warmed her skin, and her cheeks flushed. Though it was nothing more than the touch of friendship, she’d never expected to feel this uneasy around him. This is Gunnar, Auder reminded herself. There’s no reason to be nervous. His interest lies in Clár, not you. She tried to take a breath, but it was as if the air around her had grown thicker. She saw his mouth tighten in a thin line, and his grip upon her hands grew protective. An invisible cord drew her to him, and she noticed things she hadn’t seen before. There was a darker gray ring around his eyes, and he’d taken a blade to his cheeks, shaving them clean. She wondered what his skin would feel like against her fingertips. Or his mouth, heated and demanding upon hers. Her embarrassment deepened when she saw his expression transform. He was looking at her as though he wanted to act upon her desires. Like he wanted to take her face between his hands and kiss her senseless. ![]() $6.99
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Suzanne hustled to the door and opened it. She blinked to see Elec and Evan Monroe, Ty McCordle, and right in front, her gorgeous and annoying ex-husband, Ryder Jefferson. “Hey guys, what’s up? I’m kind of busy at the moment.” “We’re here for the wedding planning thing,” Ty told her. Oh, no. That meant that Nikki’s fiancé Jonas had asked them… “We’re the groomsmen.” Damn. Just what she needed. None of them would listen or take her seriously. She’d lose control of the whole situation. Ryder brushed past her, dropping a soft kiss on her cheek, his familiar cologne wafting up her nostrils, and acting like a sexual trigger. She smelled Ryder, her nipples got hard. They were just trained that way. “Good to see you, babe. And lucky me, I’m the best man in this wedding.” Suzanne fought the urge to grimace. Good God, this fiasco just got more and more ludicrous. Now she was going to have to spend a fair amount of time around Ryder for the next month, and she just couldn’t deal with that on top of all her worrying about her future. He made her crazy, plain and simple. And there was no way this best man was sitting on her lap. Ryder handed her a manila envelope. “Oh, and this came addressed to both of us. It’s from our divorce lawyer.” Suzanne looked at it blankly. It did have their divorce attorney’s name on the envelope, and it was addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Ryder and Suzanne Jefferson. Ouch. It had been a long time since she’d seen her name linked with his, and damn it, it still hurt, which pissed her off. It didn’t matter anymore, shouldn’t matter. “What is it?” “I don’t know. I didn’t open it. Figured you’d want it.” He moved past her and the other guys did likewise. Jonas Strickland was coming up her walk and there was a gaggle of Nikki clones behind him, women in their early twenties, tanned and thin and indistinguishable from each other except for the color of their various sweaters. There was red and yellow and aqua and two in white. “Hi, come on in. I’m Suzanne,” she said absently. “Nikki’s in the dining room.” Curiosity killing her, Suzanne ripped open the envelope as she walked behind them, their giggles and chatter a buzzing backdrop. There was a pile of papers that looked like their divorce decree. Okay. She read the cover letter from the lawyer. And stopped halfway down her hallway, the words blurring in front of her. Oh. My. God. She was going to kill Ryder. She was going to rip his arm off and beat him with the bloody stump. This paper was telling her she and Ryder were not divorced. They were still married. ![]() $0.17 Rewards |













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