“Then, trust that I know what I’m doing. I’m not as weak as I let everyone believe, even you. There are reasons why I’m doing things the way I am. When I have all the pieces lined up, there’s going to be a lot of truth tea spilled. Tea that Uncle is going to drown in.”
“And Nik is part of the plan?”
“He’s…” I trailed off as my gaze locked on the very man.
He stood in the hallway outside of the ballroom with a phone to his ear. His dark, penetrating gaze studied me in a way I should have been used to by now, but always felt as if it was the first time. Everything inside me clenched in response.
Fuck.
He was gorgeous in the way that gave a woman heart palpitations, and no woman around him was immune.
Those broad shoulders and muscled arms gave truth to the rumors he spent more time than not in the boxing ring and probably meant there wasn’t an ounce of unnecessary fat on his body. Then there were those piercing almost-black eyes that seemed to see too much with a simple look. And finally, his face looked as if it had been created by the discerning eye of a sculptor’s chisel, but was the result of the beautiful union between his Afro-Trinidadian mother and Indian father.
The one thing that kept him from looking too perfect was the dusting of a beard, which only added to the unrefined edge he carried naturally. His whole aura made a woman think of all the wickedly delicious things he could do to her body.
I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to run my fingers across his jaw just once. Or to kiss those lips I’d dreamed about over too many restless nights.
Nope, dammit, Danika. Don’t go there. Put him back in that box of impossibilities. Well, at least for a little longer.
Maybe one day I could allow myself a taste, or if I was lucky, a night to indulge.
“What are you looking at? Oh.” Jayna nudged me, snapping my attention back to her. “Are you sure you don’t want Nik to be a bigger part of your plan than these games from afar?”
I swallowed, pushing down my thought from moments earlier, and said, “He’s a complication I can’t afford right now.”
Inspired by her years working in corporate America, Sienna loves to serve up stories woven around confident and successful women who know what they want and how to get it, both in – and out – of the bedroom.
Her heroines are fresh, well-educated, and often find love and romance through atypical circumstances. Sienna treats her readers to enticing slices of hot romance infused with empowerment and indulgent satisfaction.
Sienna loves the life of travel and adventure. She plans to visit even the farthest corners of the world and delight in experiencing the variety of cultures along the way. When she isn’t writing or traveling, Sienna is working on her “happily ever after” with her husband and children.
They both know the pain of loss and how to protect their hearts…but fate has a way of stepping in…
When a kitchen fire forces young widow Elle Brooks to move in with her friend Bryn and her motley collection of rescue animals, she doesn’t foresee ending up in the muscled arms of handsome cowboy and veterinarian Brody Tate. But she can’t deny the feelings that being close to Brody are stirring in her. Spending time with the hunky cowboy and his adorable young daughter as they rehabilitate rescued horses reminds Elle of all she lost in a car crash years ago.
As a widower himself, Brody is devoted to being a good dad for his spirited daughter. He hasn’t let romance even enter his head. But now he’s met Elle. Spending time with her is shaking up the calm he’s worked so hard to achieve, and he can’t seem to get this woman off his mind.
Elle and Brody have both lost people they loved, but their mutual attraction and growing feelings are too strong to ignore. The hope of a future together is a beautiful possibility, but can these two wounded souls take a chance on each other and find the courage to love again?
She stepped up to the counter, bumping her hip against Brody’s as she squished in next to him. “Anything I can do to help you?” She surveyed the perfect circles of batter bubbling on the griddle. “Wow, Mandy was right. You are an excellent pancake maker.”
“Just wait until you taste them,” he said. “Melt-in-your-mouth delicious. Add a little butter and some warm syrup, and you’ll think your mouth has died and gone to heaven.”
Speaking of melting, she was softening like heated butter just listening to him describe the meal. Between the rumble of his deep voice and the sinful-sounding description, her stomach was doing little flips that had to do with more than just excitement about the food. Since when did a stack of pancakes turn into an orgasmic experience? Apparently since Brody Tate was the six-foot-plus chef flipping them.
“I can’t wait to take a taste.” Of the pancakes and of you, her inner vixen spoke up. Whoa, Elle hadn’t heard from her in a long time. But suddenly, with the arrival of Brody in her life, the saucy minx part of her mind was back and ready for action.
No. No action, Elle told herself. She was definitely not ready for action.
You were ready for that kiss last night, her vixen argued. And you’re standing close enough to Brody to feel more than heat from the griddle.
Her hip was pressed against his, and she could feel the warmth of him, even through the fabric of her leggings. She took a tiny step to the side.
“They’re almost done,” he said, flipping the final one. The undersides were golden brown, the edges crisp, and the scent of warm vanilla wafted up from the griddle. “And they’ll be worth the wait.” He peered down at her, then laughed as he lifted his hand. “You’ve still got flour on your face.”
He brushed her cheek, pausing for just a second to let the ends of his fingertips linger on her skin. Her eyelids fluttered closed and she leaned in, just the slightest bit, to his touch.
Instead of lowering his hand, he raised it tenderly to cup her cheek. The feel of his hand on her face had her breathless—such a small gesture, the lightest touch. It had been so long since a man had touched her so intimately.
She dared to risk a glance at him as she tipped her face up to his. He was staring directly into her eyes, and she was stunned at the raw hunger she saw in his gaze. And even more astonished at the same kind of wanton passion spiraling through her.
His gaze dropped to her lips, and her knees went weak. She gripped the edge of the counter, the hard surface offering something solid to cling to, to keep her from falling into the depths of this man’s gaze. Was he going to kiss her again? A real kiss this time? Not an accidental brush of connection, but a deliberate crush of his mouth on hers? Her lips parted in anticipation as he leaned in. There was no questioning his intention—he was going to kiss her, and every part of her yearned for the connection.
Jennie Marts is the USA TODAY Best-selling author of award-winning books filled with love, laughter, and always a happily ever after. Readers call her books “laugh out loud” funny and the “perfect mix of romance, humor, and steam.” Fic Central claimed one of her books was “the most fun I’ve had reading in years.” She is living her own happily ever after in the mountains of Colorado with her husband, two dogs, and a parakeet that loves to tweet to the oldies. She’s addicted to Diet Coke, adores Cheetos, and believes you can’t have too many books, shoes, or friends.
Her books include the contemporary western romance Hearts of Montana series, the romantic comedy/ cozy mysteries of The Page Turners series, the hunky hockey-playing men in the Bannister family in the Bannister Brothers Books, and the small-town romantic comedies in the Lovestruck series of Cotton Creek Romances.
Jennie loves to hear from readers. Follow her on Facebook at Jennie Marts Books, or Twitter at @JennieMarts. Visit her at www.jenniemarts.com and sign up for her newsletter to keep up with the latest news and releases.
Princess Aria has been exchanging letters with the most marvelous man in the world. Perhaps her true love is somewhat aged, and perhaps she didn’t feel fireworks when they met briefly at a ball, but she is certain now that there is no man as wonderful as the Duke of Framingham. She is overjoyed when he proposes marriage.
When Rupert’s cousin, an elderly duke, tells him he’s fallen in love with a beautiful woman and needs someone to write letters on his behalf, Rupert reluctantly agrees. His cousin claims he is eager to wed her. On his wedding day, Rupert learns that the duke plans to toss her off his balcony so he can marry his mistress. The duke just wants the princess’s money, and Rupert knows he has to rescue her.
Princess Aria is astonished when she is kidnapped by a young man. She’s in love with the duke—after all, he’s sent her such wonderful letters for weeks. Soon, though, they are on the run together to London. If only Rupert were the man who’d sent her such lovely letters.
The place didn’t look like a murderer’s lair. It looked cute and adorable, like some architect had designed it after reading children’s tales for a year. Rose bushes lined the outside of the house, and she inhaled their sweet floral scent and reached out to touch a petal.
Her hand snagged against a thorn, and she withdrew her hand hastily. The calm she’d felt was once again replaced by unease. It was impossible to trust a man who’d kidnapped her, no matter how kind he might appear.
Her kidnapper unlocked the door, and she entered the cottage. He closed the door, then removed her gag. “I doubt anyone could hear you if you screamed.”
“Is that supposed to calm me?”
“It’s a fact.”
Galileo perked up his ears and began to bark. She tightened her grip on him. “He senses that you’re dangerous.”
“He senses we’re going to have company.”
Aria trembled. She didn’t need more people to threaten her. Perhaps Demon had been right all along. Her bodyguard had been adamant that danger was always lurking, and she’d always scoffed, seeing his presence as a hindrance to relaxation rather than as a happy fact that could ease her worries.
She’d been wrong.
The very first time he’d given her space—on her wedding night, she’d been kidnapped.
She hoped he would be notified of her disappearance soon. The duke would have gone to visit her bedroom. The alarm should be raised by now. Certainly the duke’s men and her bodyguard were scouring the countryside for her now, and if the duke suspected his cousin was behind her disappearance, they might even come here soon.
She inhaled. It would be fine. It had to be.
Galileo’s barks became more ferocious, and she soothed him and stroked his back.
“The dog makes things difficult,” her kidnapper said. “I didn’t know you had one.”
“My father gifted me him for my wedding and new life.”
“How splendid,” her kidnapper said faintly.
She stared at him. “Do you not like dogs?”
“I do,” her kidnapper said. “I just know someone else who might not. I suggest you hold onto him tightly.”
Her kidnapper left the room, and Aria scrutinized her surroundings. The place didn’t seem nefarious. Lace curtains, designed more to bring in life than to hide dubious activities from the world, lined the windows. The walls were papered a pretty pale blue, and floral-patterned pillows lay languidly on fluffy armchairs. The cottage lacked the splendors of the castle. The ceilings were low and cozy, but even though the cottage was cold, she was certain it normally would be a quite pleasant location.
Footsteps headed toward her, and too late she remembered that she should have used this opportunity to grab a vase or pick up a chair to toss at her abductor. Her heartbeat quickened, she glanced around the room—and the door opened.
In the next moment, her kidnapper reappeared. He was carrying something white in his arms. Something that caused Galileo’s barks to grow more agitated. Something that looked curiously fluffy.
She stared. “Is that a cat?”
Her kidnapper beamed. “Indeed.”
“What are you doing with it?” “Bringing it, of course,” he said lightly, as if it were the most normal thing in the world for kidnappers to travel with their pets. “We’ll be gone for a while.”
Born in Texas, Bianca Blythe spent four years in England. She worked in a fifteenth-century castle, though sadly that didn’t actually involve spotting dukes and earls strutting about in Hessians.
She credits British weather for forcing her into a library, where she discovered her first Julia Quinn novel. She remains deeply grateful for blustery downpours.
After meeting her husband in another library, she moved with him to sunny California, though on occasion she still dreams of the English seaside, scones with clotted cream, and sheep-filled pastures. For now, she visits them in her books.
