Madison Layle's Blog, page 4

Unwrapped

The best gifts come from the heart…and body.

ISBN: 978-1-60088-724-6

Buy the eBook

(Note: The prequel to this story is called Soren's Surrender. It's book #10 in the INCOGNITO series.)

 

 

 

Excerpt:

James stubbed his toe on the corner of the dresser, stumbled into the nightstand with a mumbled curse, and plopped down on his side of the bed, while grabbing his throbbing foot.

"You get Pop and Wanda home all right?" Soren murmured in softly slurred speech as he rolled over to face James.

"Yeah. Told them we'll pick them up at noon."

A soft snore greeted James as he rolled toward his lover. With a sigh, he pushed Soren's thick hair away from chiseled cheekbones and ran his fingertips over his bewhiskered chin.

It had been weeks—maybe even months—since they had time together where Soren wasn't either sitting in the den surrounded by a pile of work, or he was sound asleep, dropped from sheer exhaustion.

James leaned in and kissed Soren's lips. His lover, his mate, his very soul, didn't even flinch in his sleep.

Tomorrow, James silently promised as he stood up and peeled off his clothes before climbing into bed, under the covers, and snuggling up against Soren's heavily muscled, warm-as-a-furnace body. Soren promised that Christmas Day was an absolute no-work day.

They would spend the afternoon and evening entertaining James' grandfather and step-grandmother. Opening gifts and drinking eggnog after gorging themselves on a full holiday turkey dinner.

But the morning would be theirs. No cell phone, no paperwork. Soren could concentrate on nothing but pleasure—something he'd set aside these last months. It made him surly and nearly impossible to live with at times. The man seriously needed to get laid.

James grinned and closed his eyes as Soren, in sleep, pulled James tight against his chest, clamping one iron-like arm around his waist so there was no hope of escape.

Not that James had ever tried to escape Soren. He never would. And tomorrow morning, he'd prove that.

 

* * * * *

 

Soren rolled over and reached for James, but all he got was cold sheet. He opened his eyes and squinted at the window where morning sunlight blasted in, then made a face and pulled a pillow over his head. Today, finally, was a day off. He didn't want to get up. Didn't want to do anything. In fact, he just might stay in bed all day.

He had to pee. And he smelled coffee. James made the best coffee….

With a sigh, he shoved the pillow off his head and sat up, his back to the sunshine heating the room. He stretched his neck, his back, thinking he should go see his chiropractor soon, then got up and padded naked into the bathroom. After relieving himself, he stepped into the shower and turned the water on, getting pelted with five massaging heads placed strategically around the perimeter of the stall, and the four overhead fell upon him like a wonderful, hot, pounding waterfall.

For long minutes he stood still, letting the water beat the aches out of his lower back, shoulders, and neck. Sitting at a desk for so many hours a day was not good for him. He needed to finish up this case, get his partnership, and take a month off and go surfing, or skiing maybe. James would love a trip to Colorado or Vermont. They hadn't had any time alone in so long, and that sucked on so many levels.

Soren finished his shower with a quick shampoo and soap, then stepped out, dried off quickly with a fluffy towel, finger combed his hair back away from his face, and slipped on his terrycloth robe. Then he went in search of coffee.

The house was quiet as he walked down the hallway toward the living room. Wanda had come over yesterday and made James help her decorate the house, saying she couldn't possibly have Christmas dinner in a place that didn't look like Christmas. Garland looped from the crown molding, and the tree was festooned with tinsel and colorful glass balls—decorations from Wanda's younger days. She had no kids, so she'd adopted James and Soren as her own grandkids. Pop—James' grandfather—had taken Soren in too, once he got past the fact his grandson was gay, which hadn't taken long with Wanda's love and support.

Soren had been locked in the den under piles of research for the case he was working on. With the house decorated as it had never been, Soren regretted having missed out on the quality time they'd shared yesterday. Although his parents were still alive, and he saw them often, and he had a sister who came to visit now and then, James' relationship with Pop and Wanda was closer than any he'd ever known. He reveled in being included.

His heart lodged in his throat and his steps faltered when he rounded the corner into the living room.

God, he loved that man.

James knelt on the floor in front of the tree, buck naked except for a blindfold over his eyes and cuffs around his wrists attached to the collar round his neck by silver chains.

"Merry Christmas to me," Soren muttered with a grin. For this, he definitely needed fortification. Without a word to James, he headed into the kitchen, poured himself a mug of coffee, and glanced at the clock. Just after nine. They had about two and half hours to play before one of them had to leave to pick up Pop and Wanda.

Realizing the oven was warm, he flipped on the range light and peered in. The turkey was already cooking. James must have been up for hours, and Soren wondered what else he'd readied for later. The man needed to be rewarded….

Sipping his coffee, Soren made his way back to the living room and walked up in front of James. He untied the belt on his robe and let it fall open.

"Good morning, James."

"Good morning, Sir," James responded, keeping his face slightly down turned, his hands relaxed and open, palm-up, on his thighs. The perfect posture for a slave.

James had never been his slave—he was too strong to be anyone's slave. The fact that he was submitting so completely meant that Soren's neglect had pushed his lover to the limit. He'd make up for that here and now and desperately try to never let so much time lapse between letting James know how much he meant to him. Their relationship had started out as pet and master, sub and Dom, but over the last few years, it had grown into a true partnership. A deep love. Sometimes Soren forgot that James needed the reassurance that Soren still wanted him—wanted to take care of him.

James didn't move a single muscle while Soren stood over him, sipping coffee and simply enjoying the view, even though he was positive James knew he stood there. His mate was tall and lean, with a runner's body. He liked to swim, and they'd spent many a warm morning in the waves beyond the patio. Being December, they were more likely to spend an evening in the hot tub on the patio, but they hadn't done that in ages, either.

Soren finished his coffee, set the mug on the coffee table behind him, and slipped out of his bathrobe. He tossed it on the sofa before reaching for James' head and gently running his fingers through the slightly damp strands of thick, dark hair. James had showered for him, and when James leaned into his hand ever so slightly, Soren's heart tumbled.

"Has my pet felt neglected lately?" Soren asked, surprised by the husky quality of his voice.

"Yes, Sir."

Soren stepped closer, placing one foot between James' knees, and guided James' head to his thigh.

With the softest whisper of a sigh, James leaned his cheek against Soren's leg. Soren had never had a lover before James who felt so deeply, who loved so completely. Sometimes Soren forgot that there was someone waiting for him, who was there for him.

Not that James didn't have his own life. He worked his butt off getting his contracting business off the ground. He worked hard, but unlike Soren, James seemed to know when to shut off the cell phone, when to turn off the outside noise and concentrate on what mattered.

The people he loved.

"James," Soren whispered, his throat tight. "I don't know what I'd do without you. You keep me grounded."

James rubbed his cheek, freshly shaved and smooth, against Soren's thigh.

Soren schooled his emotions. He wasn't sure how long James had knelt there, waiting for him to get out of bed, but his knees had to be killing him. It was time to give his pet what he wanted, what they both needed.

"Up," Soren said, hardening his voice and linking his finger through one of the D-rings on the collar James wore.

James went up on his knees, bringing his face in perfect alignment with Soren's cock—a cock that went semi-erect from one heartbeat to the next.

"Suck me."

Sinful

Rachel submits to a sinful voyage with her sexy, dominate husbands.

ISBN: TBD

Coming In December

(Note: The prequel to this story is called Owning Rachel. It's book #2 in the INCOGNITO series.)

 

Excerpt

Rachel Morrissey Sinclair dropped her satchel on the loveseat just inside her office door, kicked off her pumps, and sank into the leather executive chair behind her desk with a relieved sigh.

Closing arguments had gone well, and the jury had taken only one hour longer than she expected to reach a verdict of not guilty. Her client walked out of the courthouse a free man. She could ring in the New Year with a clear conscience.

So why didn't she feel like celebrating? Why did she feel as if she'd tear up any second? This trial hadn't been any more difficult than others she'd worked tirelessly on throughout the years. Her workload had been eased after resigning as a prosecuting attorney a few years back, but it had taken time and hard work to build a successful private practice.

She propped her elbows on the desktop and rubbed her eyes, her temples…not even glancing at the unopened envelope on her desk or looking up when her office door opened.

"I said I didn't want to be disturbed," she muttered to her secretary, "and didn't I tell you to take off already? Go home. Spend the holidays with family—"

"You should take your own advice, Counselor."

Jon's deep, rich voice had her head snapping up with surprise.

Her pulse quickened at the sight of her husband's chiseled features, but despite her pleasure, her question came out sharper than she intended.  "What are you doing here?"

If she'd blinked, she would've missed seeing his step falter slightly before he swept around her desk, spun her to face him, and leaned over her with hands at either side. "I'm here to retrieve my wife who has no more excuses for staying late at the office."

"Excuses?" Anger simmered. "My job is not an excuse! I've been working a case."

"I know. A trial that ended over an hour ago…with a successful conclusion, I understand. Congratulations."

Her lips parted, but the thanks she wanted to mutter wouldn't come. "Checking up on me?"

His frown was her only answer.

What was wrong with her? She loved Jon, and he loved her. So why did everything she have to say to him lately—to him or Jackson, for that matter—have to come out sounding so acidic?

To her horror, moisture welled in her eyes. She squeezed them shut, turned her face away from his all-too-observant stare, and said, "I was going to leave in a few minutes. There's no reason for you to come and retrieve me as if I'm incapable of driving myself home."

Silence filled the air until she was forced to open her eyes and look at him. His chiseled jaw was as hard as granite, his gorgeous blue eyes determined. "Work's over for now." He reached past her and punched a few keys to lock her computer, grabbed her by the wrists, and pulled her from her seat.

"What do you think you're doing? Jon, I—I have things to do…depositions to…" She tried to jerk free of his grasp.

He tossed a look at her so severe she silenced her protestations. He gripped her upper arms. "I've never dominated you here, Rachel, because I know you need your career…your own space where you can be in charge. You're a strong, independent woman, and I admire that about you, but I refuse to let you hide out here to avoid facing me or Jack."

"I…" What could she say to that?

Erotic Nights

Here are seven steamy paranormal short stories to heat up your nights from seven top erotic romance authors. 

Click image or link below to open PDF and save to your computer. File will open in new window.

Erotic Nights Anthology

Featured Authors are:

Sable Grey

Deanna Lee

Eve Langlais

Josee Renard

Nicole Austin

Madison Layle

Anna Leigh Keaton

Falke’s Captive

A scientist on the hunt for big cats. Two puma shifters looking for a mate. A wild summer fling becomes a life or death battle when three hearts collide.

ISBN: 978-14268-9243-1
Buy the eBook from
Carina Press
Amazon
Barnes & Noble
ARE


 

Excerpt
Reidar Falke took a swig of ice-cold beer and leaned back in their usual U-shaped booth with a satisfied sigh. “That hit the spot.” He pushed his emptied plate aside and waited for his brother Kelan to finish off the last of his own meal.

The Tap ‘n Tine was their favorite Leavenworth hole-in-the-wall and the preferred Falke family rendezvous point after long hours spent catering to tourists at Catamount Outfitters.

His two youngest brothers, Sindre and Torsten, arrived and slid into the booth, each one with matching mugs of golden, foam-topped heaven. Gunnar had been invited too, but he’d opted out to check in with their eldest sibling, Axel, who’d taken the day off-an advantage to being the alpha and majority owner of the family business.

“You’re late,” Reidar told the new arrivals. “We decided not to wait.” Torsten and Sindre both scowled at him.

Kelan grinned and glanced at their younger brothers. “Lookin’ a little damp around the collar, guys.”

Sindre narrowed his eyes. “You misled us about the Kramers and their rafting trip.”

“Yeah,” Torsten added, “those ‘beautiful daughters’ you raved about, Kel, are preteens.”

“Hey, I don’t recall anyone asking me how old they were, and I didn’t lie. They’re pretty.” He cast a smirk at Reidar. “Cute as a button.”

Reidar chuckled and drank his beer. As part of their jobs, the brothers often teamed up in pairs to take tourists on guided hikes into the national forest or on white water rafting expeditions down river. In most cases, the trips were routine, easy. But when children were added to the mix, easy was seldom a description that fit.

“Cute… Sure they’re cute!” Torsten glared. “And totally useless when trying to steer a raft through rapids.”

“God, the squeals.” Sindre cringed at the memory and ran fingers through his damp hair. “My ears are still ringing.”

Reidar shook his head. His youngest brothers were so dramatic and always fun to tease. “At least you got to be outdoors today. You could’ve been cooped up at the store facing flashbulbs all day.” With the two of them conned into taking the rafting job, and Axel taking yet another day off for reasons he wouldn’t share, Kelan and Gunnar had manned the store, leaving him shifted into catamount form as Falke, the store’s furry and fanged security system. “That new ad campaign has really brought in the traffic. I swear I’m still seeing spots.”

“Quit whining.” Kelan rolled his eyes and then pointed at their siblings. “You two survived. Besides, you won the job fair and square. I asked for best two out of three, and you both said no.”

The game of Rock, Paper, Scissors had become a family tradition, started by their mother, to resolve disputes in the Falke household. With six rambunctious boys, all with the ability to turn into fierce cougars, settling conflicts in non-violent ways had been a must to preserve individual health and the family unit, not to mention furniture and windows.

Now as men, somewhat more mature in handling their wilder natures, the brothers honored their mother’s memory by using the game as a fun way to settle matters at work.

“How were we to know-”

“Maybe next time,” Reidar said, interrupting Torsten, “you’ll make sure to know what the clients look like and how old they are before you do battle over who gets the job.”

The brothers grew quiet as they continued imbibing. Garth Brooks’s voice filtered from the corner jukebox near the bar, and a few couples swayed to the beat in a small open area designated for dancing. The Tap ‘n Tine’s cold beer, good food and usual lack of curious tourists made the pub a traditional after-work destination.

Six brothers who all looked strikingly similar were guaranteed to attract attention, which was great for business, but at the same time, their family secret warranted caution. They liked the notoriety, but being on constant guard could prove taxing. Reidar enjoyed moments like this when the brothers could hang out together and relax.

“Pretty good crowd tonight,” Kelan observed, finishing off the last of his beer.

“Mmm-hmm,” Reidar agreed, not bothering to look around. “So, have you spoken with Ax, yet?”

Kelan set his glass down with an audible thud. “How? You know he wasn’t at work today.”

“Speak to him about what?” Torsten wanted to know.

When Kelan refused to answer, Reidar said, “Kel has a great idea that could open up our sales distribution beyond the city limits and generate more revenue.” He turned to his twin, the brother he’d grown closest to over the years. “We closed up a while ago. You had plenty of time to drop in on him at home.”

“What’s the matter, Kel?” Sindre teased. “You scared?”

Kelan snorted. “Scared of Ax? You wish.” He picked up his mug. “I’m empty. You dolts need anything from the bar?”

“Sure,” Reidar responded with a knowing grin. Kelan could evade, but he’d have to pay for it. “You can buy us a second round.”

Kelan just nodded and headed for the bar, which meant he seriously didn’t want to discuss the topic.

Sindre muttered, “He’s scared.”

“No,” Reidar said, “he’s worried.”

“‘Bout what?”

Reidar had his suspicions but didn’t care to share them with his younger siblings. Although, he figured they’d suffer similar concerns when they began feeling the urge to break from the family. Ever since Axel and Gunnar settled down with their mate, Reidar had noticed a change in Kelan, an antsy irritability that manifested into increased confrontations with Axel whenever the family’s alpha was around. Being closer to Kelan than any of the other siblings, Reidar recognized his alpha impulses. He wondered if Kelan did. And worried about what might happen when those natural instincts grew too strong to ignore.

He watched as Kelan made his way to the bar, and then scanned the mass of patrons. Most of the faces were familiar to him-locals with whom he and his siblings had grown up. But one face weaving through the crowd caught his eye. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and the stylish copper-colored frames of her glasses made her look like a sexy school marm. A very sexy one, he thought as she stepped into his unobstructed view and he caught a better glimpse of her body. All long, slim legs and womanly curves showcased by snug jeans and a T-shirt.

“Reidar?” Torsten asked, turning to see what had attracted his attention. When he spotted the lone female, he let loose a low whistle and jostled Sindre with an elbow.

One look and Sindre popped off with, “I say we do battle.” He and Torsten faced Reidar, fists at the ready.

Growing up in a small town, the uniqueness of their births-a set of quadruplets followed by triplets-meant the Falkes were well known. He couldn’t speak for his baby sister, but with the community being a year-round tourist hub, that also meant finding companionship of the opposite sex came rather easy. However, being brothers and shifters, competition had always been a natural part of the dating scene.

Tonight, though, Reidar was in no mood to play a child’s game over the right to approach the stranger. He fought the urge to smile when he saw Kelan’s reaction the moment she neared the bar. Instead of returning to their booth, his twin did what any hot-blooded single male would do; he slid onto a barstool next to the beauty.

When his brother also removed and pocketed his collar, Reidar lost his fight and grinned. Although they followed tradition by wearing the collars with their family crest, both men usually removed them before approaching a potential date, especially out-of-towners unfamiliar with the Falke family eccentricities.

They wore them because the town required the Falke puma to wear one, and any one of the brothers could be required to shift into that role at any time, so it was easier to always have it on. But collars were also considered symbols of submission by some folks, and there was nothing submissive about him or Kelan. Better to avoid potential confusion from the start.

“Come on, Reidar,” Sindre said with a chuckle, “or do ya forfeit without a fight?”

“Too late, boys. First come, first served.” Reidar removed his own collar and watched with avid interest as the scene at the bar unfolded.

His younger brothers both turned to see what he meant by his remark, and then Torsten groaned.

“Shit,” Sindre said, “if Kelan gets his claws into her, there’s not a chance in hell for any of us.”

“Speak for yourself, whelps.” He and Kelan had shared women before. A female fantasy the pair happily indulged whenever a tourist with the right interests came along. The only question was whether this woman would be interested.

Permission to reproduce text granted by Harlequin Books S.A. Cover art used by arrangement

with Harlequin Enterprises Limited. All rights reserved. © and ™ are trademarks owned

by Harlequin Enterprises Limited or its affiliated companies, used under license.

Falke's Captive

A scientist on the hunt for big cats. Two puma shifters looking for a mate. A wild summer fling becomes a life or death battle when three hearts collide.

ISBN: 978-14268-9243-1
Buy the eBook from
Carina Press
Amazon
Barnes & Noble
ARE


 

Excerpt
Reidar Falke took a swig of ice-cold beer and leaned back in their usual U-shaped booth with a satisfied sigh. "That hit the spot." He pushed his emptied plate aside and waited for his brother Kelan to finish off the last of his own meal.

The Tap 'n Tine was their favorite Leavenworth hole-in-the-wall and the preferred Falke family rendezvous point after long hours spent catering to tourists at Catamount Outfitters.

His two youngest brothers, Sindre and Torsten, arrived and slid into the booth, each one with matching mugs of golden, foam-topped heaven. Gunnar had been invited too, but he'd opted out to check in with their eldest sibling, Axel, who'd taken the day off-an advantage to being the alpha and majority owner of the family business.

"You're late," Reidar told the new arrivals. "We decided not to wait." Torsten and Sindre both scowled at him.

Kelan grinned and glanced at their younger brothers. "Lookin' a little damp around the collar, guys."

Sindre narrowed his eyes. "You misled us about the Kramers and their rafting trip."

"Yeah," Torsten added, "those 'beautiful daughters' you raved about, Kel, are preteens."

"Hey, I don't recall anyone asking me how old they were, and I didn't lie. They're pretty." He cast a smirk at Reidar. "Cute as a button."

Reidar chuckled and drank his beer. As part of their jobs, the brothers often teamed up in pairs to take tourists on guided hikes into the national forest or on white water rafting expeditions down river. In most cases, the trips were routine, easy. But when children were added to the mix, easy was seldom a description that fit.

"Cute… Sure they're cute!" Torsten glared. "And totally useless when trying to steer a raft through rapids."

"God, the squeals." Sindre cringed at the memory and ran fingers through his damp hair. "My ears are still ringing."

Reidar shook his head. His youngest brothers were so dramatic and always fun to tease. "At least you got to be outdoors today. You could've been cooped up at the store facing flashbulbs all day." With the two of them conned into taking the rafting job, and Axel taking yet another day off for reasons he wouldn't share, Kelan and Gunnar had manned the store, leaving him shifted into catamount form as Falke, the store's furry and fanged security system. "That new ad campaign has really brought in the traffic. I swear I'm still seeing spots."

"Quit whining." Kelan rolled his eyes and then pointed at their siblings. "You two survived. Besides, you won the job fair and square. I asked for best two out of three, and you both said no."

The game of Rock, Paper, Scissors had become a family tradition, started by their mother, to resolve disputes in the Falke household. With six rambunctious boys, all with the ability to turn into fierce cougars, settling conflicts in non-violent ways had been a must to preserve individual health and the family unit, not to mention furniture and windows.

Now as men, somewhat more mature in handling their wilder natures, the brothers honored their mother's memory by using the game as a fun way to settle matters at work.

"How were we to know-"

"Maybe next time," Reidar said, interrupting Torsten, "you'll make sure to know what the clients look like and how old they are before you do battle over who gets the job."

The brothers grew quiet as they continued imbibing. Garth Brooks's voice filtered from the corner jukebox near the bar, and a few couples swayed to the beat in a small open area designated for dancing. The Tap 'n Tine's cold beer, good food and usual lack of curious tourists made the pub a traditional after-work destination.

Six brothers who all looked strikingly similar were guaranteed to attract attention, which was great for business, but at the same time, their family secret warranted caution. They liked the notoriety, but being on constant guard could prove taxing. Reidar enjoyed moments like this when the brothers could hang out together and relax.

"Pretty good crowd tonight," Kelan observed, finishing off the last of his beer.

"Mmm-hmm," Reidar agreed, not bothering to look around. "So, have you spoken with Ax, yet?"

Kelan set his glass down with an audible thud. "How? You know he wasn't at work today."

"Speak to him about what?" Torsten wanted to know.

When Kelan refused to answer, Reidar said, "Kel has a great idea that could open up our sales distribution beyond the city limits and generate more revenue." He turned to his twin, the brother he'd grown closest to over the years. "We closed up a while ago. You had plenty of time to drop in on him at home."

"What's the matter, Kel?" Sindre teased. "You scared?"

Kelan snorted. "Scared of Ax? You wish." He picked up his mug. "I'm empty. You dolts need anything from the bar?"

"Sure," Reidar responded with a knowing grin. Kelan could evade, but he'd have to pay for it. "You can buy us a second round."

Kelan just nodded and headed for the bar, which meant he seriously didn't want to discuss the topic.

Sindre muttered, "He's scared."

"No," Reidar said, "he's worried."

"'Bout what?"

Reidar had his suspicions but didn't care to share them with his younger siblings. Although, he figured they'd suffer similar concerns when they began feeling the urge to break from the family. Ever since Axel and Gunnar settled down with their mate, Reidar had noticed a change in Kelan, an antsy irritability that manifested into increased confrontations with Axel whenever the family's alpha was around. Being closer to Kelan than any of the other siblings, Reidar recognized his alpha impulses. He wondered if Kelan did. And worried about what might happen when those natural instincts grew too strong to ignore.

He watched as Kelan made his way to the bar, and then scanned the mass of patrons. Most of the faces were familiar to him-locals with whom he and his siblings had grown up. But one face weaving through the crowd caught his eye. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and the stylish copper-colored frames of her glasses made her look like a sexy school marm. A very sexy one, he thought as she stepped into his unobstructed view and he caught a better glimpse of her body. All long, slim legs and womanly curves showcased by snug jeans and a T-shirt.

"Reidar?" Torsten asked, turning to see what had attracted his attention. When he spotted the lone female, he let loose a low whistle and jostled Sindre with an elbow.

One look and Sindre popped off with, "I say we do battle." He and Torsten faced Reidar, fists at the ready.

Growing up in a small town, the uniqueness of their births-a set of quadruplets followed by triplets-meant the Falkes were well known. He couldn't speak for his baby sister, but with the community being a year-round tourist hub, that also meant finding companionship of the opposite sex came rather easy. However, being brothers and shifters, competition had always been a natural part of the dating scene.

Tonight, though, Reidar was in no mood to play a child's game over the right to approach the stranger. He fought the urge to smile when he saw Kelan's reaction the moment she neared the bar. Instead of returning to their booth, his twin did what any hot-blooded single male would do; he slid onto a barstool next to the beauty.

When his brother also removed and pocketed his collar, Reidar lost his fight and grinned. Although they followed tradition by wearing the collars with their family crest, both men usually removed them before approaching a potential date, especially out-of-towners unfamiliar with the Falke family eccentricities.

They wore them because the town required the Falke puma to wear one, and any one of the brothers could be required to shift into that role at any time, so it was easier to always have it on. But collars were also considered symbols of submission by some folks, and there was nothing submissive about him or Kelan. Better to avoid potential confusion from the start.

"Come on, Reidar," Sindre said with a chuckle, "or do ya forfeit without a fight?"

"Too late, boys. First come, first served." Reidar removed his own collar and watched with avid interest as the scene at the bar unfolded.

His younger brothers both turned to see what he meant by his remark, and then Torsten groaned.

"Shit," Sindre said, "if Kelan gets his claws into her, there's not a chance in hell for any of us."

"Speak for yourself, whelps." He and Kelan had shared women before. A female fantasy the pair happily indulged whenever a tourist with the right interests came along. The only question was whether this woman would be interested.

Permission to reproduce text granted by Harlequin Books S.A. Cover art used by arrangement

with Harlequin Enterprises Limited. All rights reserved. © and ™ are trademarks owned

by Harlequin Enterprises Limited or its affiliated companies, used under license.

Just Breathe

Happily ever after never crossed his mind—until she came into his life.


 

ISBN:  978-1-60088-701-7

Buy the eBook

 

 

Excerpt:

Gus Johnson shook his head in disgust as he watched the young woman rush out of the house across the road and make a beeline for her car. "Oh, boy. Looks like he's losing another one."

Jerald scowled, his bushy gray eyebrows meeting over his pale blue eyes. "What's that make now? Four?"

"Five," Charlie answered, his rocker creaking the porch floorboard with each push of his stubby legs. "If'n you count Cruella."

Gus snorted. "That old witch don't count. She saw those babies and caught the first train outta there. She was only hangin' 'round for his money."

Jerald nodded. "And babies eat up a lot of money, that's for sure." He tipped his head to the side. "I r'member when my Sally was born—"

"Shh," Gus said, tapping Jerald on the arm. "I wanna hear what this one says."

Gus turned up his hearing aid just in time to hear the young woman wail, "They never stop crying, Mr. Williams. Never. There's nothing wrong with them, they just never shut up."

Dexter Williams, once the picture of sophistication, appeared utterly defeated. His shoulders were drooped and, even from the hundred feet separating them, Gus could see lines of fatigue etched in his face. His voice was too low for Gus to pick up his words, but when he withdrew his checkbook from his suit jacket pocket and started writing out a check, Gus shook his head again.

"That man needs a wife," Charlie said. The rocker creak creak creaked as he rocked. "That's what he needs, all right. A wife to look after them babies. And him, too. Not right for a man that age to be alone."

Gus harrumphed. Wasn't right for men their ages to be alone, either, but here they were, in their eighties, with nothing better to do than sit on the porch, watch over the neighborhood, and gossip like old women.

"Good luck, Mr. Williams. I'm really sorry," the girl said as she slipped into the driver's seat of her little red car.

Dexter stood back, hands in his pockets, and watched the fourth nanny in as many weeks drive off.

"Hey, Charlie," Jerald said as he leaned forward on the porch swing to look around Gus.

Charlie kept rocking. "Yup?"

"When's Crystal comin' over next?"

Charlie gave a toothless grin. His great-niece was the only person left on earth that could make the old curmudgeon smile. "She's bringin' us supper tonight."

Jerald raised his bushy eyebrows at Gus then looked back at Charlie. "She worked in a daycare a while back, didn't she?"

Charlie nodded.

Gus grinned. "She's real pretty, too."

"The prettiest," Charlie agreed as he rocked in his chair.

"And she's lookin' for work now that she's feelin' better, right?" Jerald asked.

Charlie nodded. "She had a couple interviews this week."

"What do ya think, Gus?" Jerald asked. "Should we send her over there after supper? See if Dexter could use some professional help instead of all them girls he's been hiring to watch the babies?"

Gus nodded. "Best idea you've had in a long time, J." Gus turned his hearing aid down so he wouldn't hear the damned squeaking floorboard. Pretty, sweet Crystal, and the uptight Dexter Williams. He grinned. If nothing else, the babies would have a fit caretaker.

Maybe having Crystal care for somebody again was just what she needed. Somebody other than the three of them, anyway. Someone closer to her own age. And she did love babies, even if she and that louse she'd been married to had never had any of their own.

He nodded and grinned, satisfied they'd made the right decision. Then he pulled his handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his brow. "Global warming," he muttered. "Ain't right it's this hot in June in Seattle."

"Uh huh," Charles and Jerald both agreed.

 

Chapter One

 

Dexter Williams stood at the kitchen counter with a squirming, screaming bundle of baby in each arm, waiting for the bottles to heat up in the microwave.

"Shh," he said for the millionth time as he jiggled the babies. "Shh. Please, girls, give me five minutes. Two minutes. Shh. Please."

Dex had never been so far out of his element in his life. He'd been playing dad for a month now, and he didn't know if he could do it much longer. The nannies didn't stay because the girls cried all the time. He'd taken them to four different doctors, had test after test run, and there was nothing wrong with them. They just cried. A lot.

The microwave dinged, and he hit the door opener with his elbow. Careful not to drop his wiggling bundles, he grabbed the two bottles and headed into the living room. He tossed the bottles onto the couch, then went down on his knees and, with the utmost care, making sure to support the back of their heads, set each of the babies in their own chairs.

Dex's head pounded with each high-pitched wail. He plopped down on the floor, grabbed the bottles, and tried coaxing the babies into taking the nipples. The one on the right finally latched on, but the other cried on, her face beet red.

Dex gritted his teeth. Please, God, just let her take the bottle and stop crying. Please! I'm begging You. Help me!

Outwardly, he spoke in soothing tones. "Come on, sweetie. I know you're hungry and you're pissed off, but you've got to stop crying if you want to eat."

Finally, she latched on to the bottle nipple he'd been teasing against her lips, and blessed silence fell over the house. Dex sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. "Thank you," he whispered to the babies, and to the powers that be.

He hadn't had a solid sleep in weeks. A constant, dull stress headache kept his neck tense all of the time, and he just didn't know if he had it in him to do this. He wasn't parent material. He'd never wanted kids. Not after the way he and his sister had been raised. No, thank you.

But here he was. Legal guardian—lifetime commitment—to a pair of very loud pooping machines.

Lifetime commitment, he thought as he watched them suckle the bottles he held. Almost forty years old, and he hadn't had a relationship last longer than a year. Up until a month ago, the only commitment in his life was his business, but he'd staffed such good employees that his company could run without him if need be.

And thank God for that, too, because of all the days in the last month he'd missed because of these two little…beautiful…

Son of a bitch, he thought as his heart sank to his stomach. Twin pairs of wet, weepy blue eyes stared up at him with such trust. The crying and the screaming and the not sleeping couldn't last forever, could it? Someday, they'd stop. Someday… He swallowed hard. "I'm here for you. I always will be. Even if it kills me." He'd have given his arms and legs to hear those words as a child. He wouldn't ever give up on these two.

 

* * * * *

 

Crystal Jorgensen pulled up in front of Uncle Charlie's house and sighed. She'd hoped she could give him some good news, that she'd landed one of the jobs she'd interviewed for this past week, but no such luck. No one wanted her. She'd been out of work for almost three years, out of the loop, not up on the new technology. Who would have thought things in the computer graphics world could change so much in just three short years?

She leaned forward and laid her forehead against the steering wheel. Three of the longest years of her life. If she wanted to return to that field, she'd have to take a couple of college courses to come up to speed. But without a job, she couldn't afford the classes, and without the classes, she couldn't get a job.

Not a job she wanted, anyway. She didn't have the strength or stamina yet to waitress as she had during college. And standing behind a counter with a paper hat asking customers if they wanted cheese on their burger… The thought made her want to cry.

She'd survived so much, come such a long way, and after a dozen disastrous job interviews, she was ready to give up.

What exactly was wrong with her? She wasn't a whiner, or a quitter. She didn't let crap like this get her down. So why was she acting as though it were the end of the world?

Because every bill in her name was past due. The interest on her hospital bills grew exponentially by the day. And if she didn't find a job and hand over a wad of money by the end of next week, she would be homeless.

She supposed anyone would be ready to give up under these circumstances.

With a deep breath, Crystal sat back in the seat. The uncles would let her crash on their couch until she could get back on her feet. But she'd struggled so darn hard to make it on her own, it killed her to think about taking charity.

The front door to the house opened, and her dear old Uncle Charlie stood in the doorway smiling and waving at her. She smiled and fought back the tears. He was gruff to everyone but her. To her, he was a teddy bear who growled but never bit and was always there with a big hug when she needed it. She waved back and took another deep breath to make sure she wouldn't burst into tears in front of him and upset him.

Uncle Gus stepped around Charlie and came down the front steps toward her car. She pushed open the door and climbed out. Though Gus and Jerald weren't blood relation, they'd been her honorary uncles for as long as she could remember. When the three life-long friends lost their wives within a few years of each other, they all wound up in one house, the money from the sale of the other two houses adding to their retirement funds.

They looked out for each other.

Gus wrapped his arms around her and hugged her, kissed her cheek. "You look beautiful, Crys."

She gave him a peck on his whiskery chin and laughed. "You only say that because you know I brought dinner."

He grinned and shook his head. "You know better than that."

Gus was the youngest of the three at barely eighty-one. Charlie was the oldest at eighty-six, and Jerald was right in the middle at eighty-three. She didn't know what she'd do without them. They were the only family she had left.

She popped the trunk of the car, and Gus reached in for the bags before she had a chance.

"I smell meatloaf," he said with a big grin. "My favorite."

She smiled and blinked back the tears burning her eyes. "Yes, Uncle. Meatloaf for you, and ham and sweet potato pie for Charlie and J."

Gus motioned her up the steps, and she preceded him. Uncle Charlie welcomed her with open arms, and she went into them, burying her face against his shoulder and breathing in the lingering scent of cherry pipe tobacco.

"Everything will be all right," he whispered in her ear, knowing just what she needed to hear.

She nodded but stayed in his arms. He wasn't as big and strong as he'd once been, but he still held her tight and rocked her side to side as if she were a child.

"I didn't get any of the jobs," she said softly when she lifted her head to look at him. His eyes were rheumy with age. He didn't see well anymore, even though he refused to admit it.

He patted her cheek. "Then none of them were the right one."

She smiled even as a tear dripped from her eye. "I love you, Uncle," she whispered.

His face wrinkled so endearingly when he smiled. "I know. I heard you brought me pie."

She laughed and turned into the house, wrapping her arm around his slightly hunched shoulders. "Yes, I did. So let's eat. Where's Uncle J?"

"Settin' the table, girl," Jerald called from the kitchen. When she pushed the door open for Charlie to enter the kitchen, Jerald wrapped her in a big hug. He was the tallest of the three, still standing over six feet tall, with shoulders almost as wide as a doorway.

As a child, she'd been terrified of him. He was a retired police officer and towered over everyone. In uniform, he'd been intimidating. Until the day he personally climbed a tree to rescue the fluffy white kitten Uncle Charlie had given her for her eighth birthday. She'd adored him ever since.

Dinner with her uncles was always a noisy affair. All of them had bad hearing, talked over each other, and without their wives to tell them to eat with their mouths closed, they sounded like a herd of cattle chewing cud.

Uncle Charlie looked as though he was having problems with his dentures, and she made a mental note to schedule an appointment to have them checked. And Uncle J's tremors were quite pronounced tonight. She wondered if he'd been taking all of his meds. She frowned as he lifted his cup of coffee with both hands to keep from sloshing it.

"So," Gus said as he swiped his plate clean with a slice of bread. "How's the job hunting going?"

Charlie scowled at Gus, and for a second she thought he might slug his friend. She smiled. They picked on her sometimes, teased her because it'd been something they'd done since she was a kid, but they never intentionally hurt her feelings.

"I didn't get any of the jobs." She shrugged. "I'll try again next week." And pray like hell she got something.

Gus glanced at J and Charlie, and both of the other men nodded. "I think I know where you might be able to find some quick work, if'n you're so inclined."

Crystal shook her head. "I still don't have the strength to waitress. I know you talked to the owner of Brandi's Diner for me before, but I just can't do it."

"Nope, not talkin' about Brandi's," Gus said. "You still like kids, don't'cha?

She laughed and set down her fork. "Of course, I still like kids." She loved kids. She just didn't have any of her own. Might never have any of her own—probably would never have any of her own.

"Remember us tellin' you a couple weeks ago about Dexter Williams getting some babies?"

She puckered her brow. "The guy across the street?"

All three uncles nodded in unison.

"He can't keep a nanny. They all leave in a couple of days. He's been stayin' home to take care of them little babies, but he keeps tryin' to get a nanny but it don't work."

"And you know this because…?"

"We seen him," Uncle Charlie said. "'Bout every three days he gets home from work and the girls go runnin'. One even left without takin' her money from him."

The uncles sat out on their porch, weather permitting, and kept an eye on the neighborhood. She heard more than her fair share of neighborly gossip every time she came over. Everything from Janice Stewart throwing her husband's clothes out on the street and driving over them with the car, to Parker O'Brien putting an ad in the paper to rent out one of his bedrooms.

The story of Dexter Williams suddenly bringing home two babies had intrigued her, but it wasn't as if she had time to sit on her behind, dwelling on the strange goings-on around her uncles' place.

"We think you should go over and talk to him. Offer him a hand," Uncle Charlie said. "He needs a woman who isn't afraid of babies."

Crystal chuckled and picked up her water glass. "You're joking, right? I don't even know the man."

"We know him," Uncle J said. "He's a hard worker. Owns his own real estate firm. I heard he got his contractor's license last year, too. I even saw his picture and ad on TV the other day."

"Great," she muttered. "He's a wonderful person because he's on television. Uncle J, I can't just walk up to a stranger and offer to help him with his babies. He'd think I was nuts."

Uncle Gus shook his head. "He's desperate."

Uncle Charlie nodded in agreement. "I ain't never seen a man need a woman so bad."

"But I thought you told me that some woman moved into that house just a few months ago. Some 'high class snooty broad' as you put it."

Uncle J tossed his napkin on the table. "That snooty broad moved out three days after them babies moved in. I swear she took all that man's furniture, too. You shoulda seen the size of the moving van."

"Of course, there were delivery trucks coming almost every day for two weeks after she moved in, so's she was probably just moving her stuff back out," Gus said.

"He needs a real woman to help him out," Uncle Charlie said, then scowled at her. "You go talk to him."

She opened her mouth to argue, but he slammed his palm against the table, making the dishes rattle.

"I said, you go talk to him, girl. You need a job, and he needs some help."

As stupid of an idea as she thought it was, she nodded. "Okay, Uncle. Don't get yourself worked up. You know it's not good for your heart."

His frown grew even fiercer. "You do what you're told and let me worry about my own ticker." Crystal nodded, but Charlie added, "Go do it now. We'll do the dishes and wait for you to come back before we have dessert."

Okay-y, she thought as she pushed away from the table. She had no idea what had gotten into Uncle Charlie. "Be back in a few minutes," she said, then silently added to herself as she let herself out the front door, "Because the man's going to think I'm a nutcase."

The Wolfman

 

What's sexier than a movie werewolf? A naked one ready for one wild night of pleasure.

ISBN: 978-1-60088-702-4

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Excerpt

Chuckling, she looked around as she entered the tree line. Her steps slowed. The shadows wrapped around her as the tree limbs blocked out much of the moonlight.

"Hello?" she whispered, then shook her head, feeling much too much like those idiot girls in horror flicks that walk alone into darkened places inhabited by chainsaw wielding murderers.

She came to a T in the pathway. The letter hadn't said anything about a split in the trail. Which way should she go?

Back to the car. Her nerves getting the better of her, and with warning bells going off in her brain, she turned to do just that when she heard the first growl.

Penny froze. That sounded all too real, and it had come from back up the trail. Something was following her. She spun full circle and saw nothing.

When had it gotten so damn dark?

Her backward footstep was silent on the strewn pine straw path, but she pulled up short when a second growl came from the trail that led off to the right.

Okay. Left it is. She began walking…fast-walking down the trail to the left. And then a wolf howled.

"Oh my God," she whispered, barely able to draw breath. Something was running toward her, chasing her. Her feet wouldn't move fast enough, and she struggled to stay on the path.

They were getting closer, almost upon her. She wanted to scream full moon, but what good would a safe word do now? It wouldn't stop a pair of hungry wolves?

Grrrrr…

She skidded to a stop. Her heart damn near leaped from her chest. Her lungs ceased to operate.

A few feet in front of her was a big fucking gray wolf. A real one. No way was that a hallucination, although she wished it were.

The pad of more paws and ferocious barking behind her. Too close!

She shut her eyes, too terrified to move. Then popped them open because she was too scared to not look.

More growls surrounded her as the two giving chase stopped within a short distance behind her. The other one—The leader?—held its ground, blocking the path in front of her.

Trapped by a pack on the hunt. Trembling, she stood still, searching the shadows for help.

Horror movies were gripping when viewed from the safety of a theatre seat. Not so much when you were surrounded by the danger.

Where was her hero?

This was not how she'd envisioned her fantasy.

2011 Highlights

This list of top honors is from 2011.

2011

Virginia RWA's HOLT Medallion Merit Award (Extra Spicy/Erotic category) - Falke's Peak – Layle & Keaton
6th Annual Passionate Plume Finalist (Paranormal/Time Travel category) – Falke's Peak – Layle & Keaton

Courage To Believe

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They believe fairytales are for the weak, until their wounded hearts collide.

 

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Excerpt:

  Just go in there and get it over with.

God, I can't deal with the rejection again.

Yes, you can. Just go in there and get it done.

Then I can go crawling home to my sister and tell her she was right. I should never have come to New York . I never should've left home.

Mary stared at her reflection in the mirrored wall and cringed. How could she go back to Belle and tell her she'd failed? Her sister had warned her that New York was a place that chewed up women like her for lunch.

She'd been right.

Mary dug into her purse and pulled out her lipstick—Coral, nothing too bright—and smoothed it on. Then she pulled out a tissue and blotted it off. What good would lipstick do when the rest of her looked like a frump?

Yeah, Belle had been right. New York was populated with tall, beautiful, size two women. Mary wasn't a size two, she was closer to a twenty-two. Okay, not quite a twenty-two anymore, but darned close. Who would have thought Sex And The City was an accurate portrayal of life in the Big Apple?

And this was her last chance to make it. She'd made it through the pre-interview with the outgoing executive assistant two days ago—a very strange interview it had been—and had been called back for the final interview with him. Mr. Jacob Stone. The CEO of Stone Enterprises.

Until last week she'd never heard of the man, which wasn't surprising considering her lack of knowledge of any business bigger than the mom and pop convenience store she'd worked in since she was sixteen years old. But she'd read up on him before her interview. If Donald Trump was the king of New York, Jacob Stone was the crown prince. According to Forbes, within five years he might even be worth more than Trump himself.

This was her last chance. She was out of money, and she had to be out of the Y by the end of the week. With only her return bus ticket to Vergennes, Vermont—touted as the third oldest city in the United States, and also the smallest—she had nowhere to go but up.

She had to make it on this one.

Taking a deep breath, she prayed for luck. Prayed for a chance with this man. Then, still staring at herself in the mirror, almost turned tail and ran. Who was she kidding? Almost thirty-two years old, fresh out of a small state college, and sixty pounds overweight with flame red hair. What CEO of a New York based corporation would hire her for the prominent position of executive assistant?

The door to Stone Enterprise's main office swung open and Mrs. Brocton, the out-going executive assistant who'd done the pre-interview, stuck her head out into the hallway. "There you are, dear. He's waiting on you."

Mary's stomach threatened to send back the salad she'd had for lunch. She should have skipped the meal, but the thought of sitting in an interview with her stomach growling had been more of a threat at the time.

"Come along, Ms. O'Toole. Mr. Stone doesn't like to be kept waiting." Mrs. Brocton had to be close to seventy, petite, only five one or two, and had a better figure than most thirty year olds Mary knew.

"Yes, ma'am," Mary finally said when she got her tongue to work. "I'm sorry."

Mrs. Brocton gave her a warm smile and patted her arm. "You'll do well, Ms. O'Toole. You're just what he's been looking for. Come along."

Mary followed her into the spacious outer office, past a long desk with a young, beautiful blonde woman sitting behind it. The windows lining the wall gave a rather dreary view of a gray New York cityscape. The clouds hung so low she couldn't even see the Empire State Building. The woman at the desk looked up and smiled, then turned back to a stack of papers. Through another door they went, this one leading to Mrs. Brocton's office. Then, in front of her stood the huge, dark wood door that led to Mr. Jacob Stone. She knew this because the gold plaque right there on the mahogany read: Jacob Stone CEO.

"I think I'm going to be sick," she whispered to no one in particular.

Mrs. Brocton gave her another smile and this time she could swear there was a bit of pity in the look. At her five foot eight height, Mary felt like a giant—an ogre—next to the beautiful, petite woman.

Mary swallowed. "I'm okay. Let's just get this over with so I can go home."

Mrs. Brocton's smile faltered a bit, but almost immediately returned. She pushed open the door on silent hinges and walked briskly into the office. "Mr. Stone. Ms. O'Toole is here for the interview."

"Thank you." His voice was low. Smooth. She'd seen his picture in Forbes, but he was even more handsome in person. He had a full head of smartly combed back black hair with a sprinkling of gray at the temples, and when he looked up from whatever he'd been reading on his desk, Mary was met by startling, deep blue eyes. "Come in. I have another meeting in fifteen minutes."

Mary stepped into the office and casually wiped her right palm on her slacks to make sure it wasn't moist when she shook his hand.

"Have a seat."

Obediently, she lowered herself onto the edge of the comfortable leather chair opposite his desk. Darn it. She should have shaken his hand. Where had all her training gone? She debated standing back up and extending her hand over the wide desk, but that would look utterly stupid at this point. Her heart thudded in her throat, and a trickle of sweat slid down between her breasts.

"Mrs. Brocton has informed me you are perfect for the position, but, considering the importance of this job, I needed to meet you in person."

He was back to reading from papers on his desk as he spoke. He wore a white dress shirt, and my goodness, his shoulders filled it nicely. He sure didn't look like most of the businessmen she'd met in the last month. There wasn't a hint of the two martini lunches she'd noticed on others. His face was chiseled, and, from what she could see of his body behind the desk, the rest of him was the same. Shirt collar open at the throat and no tie in sight. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, exposing lean, tanned forearms. Even his hands looked sexy. But not as sexy as that chest. She'd lay odds, what with the tan and all, that he didn't get that kind of physique from any gym.

"Ms. O'Toole?"

She raised her gaze from his chest. Uh oh. She'd missed whatever he said. Her face heated. She hadn't been thinking of his body that way, she reassured herself. She never thought of a man's body that way. Not for a very long time, anyway. And certainly not Jacob Stone, one of the richest men in America.

Clearing her throat, she tried to remember what he'd said, but her brain had turned the consistency of oatmeal. Cooked, soggy oatmeal. Maybe it was the pollution. Growing up in Hicksville, Vermont, she hadn't inhaled so much car exhaust in her life, and she'd been breathing unsanitary New York air for almost a month.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stone, what did you say?"

His even black brows furrowed slightly, but his voice remained steadily unaffected as he said, "I asked if you could start today."

"I…uh…" Today? This kind of thing didn't happen. Certainly not to her. "Yes?" her voice squeaked.

"You don't know?"

"I mean yes, sir. I'm sorry. You caught me off guard. Of course I can start today." Like she'd throw away the chance of a job with the illustrious Jacob Stone!

"Thank God," she thought she heard him mutter, but couldn't be sure. He shuffled the papers on his desk. "Mrs. Brocton will call for the car." He paused and looked up with those bluer than blue eyes. "Do you have your own transportation, Ms. O'Toole?"

She shook her head.

"That's fine. My driver will be at your disposal most of the time, for any errands you might need to run." He put the papers in a manila file folder. She glimpsed her name on the top one, but it wasn't her resume. "As I was saying, Mrs. Brocton will call for the car. Angelina arrives home from school sharply at three-thirty. One hour of play time, then one hour of homework. Be sure to spend extra time on the math, she seems to be struggling lately."

He pulled open the top drawer of his desk and drew out a blue tie. Silk, if she wasn't mistaken. The exact shade as his eyes. He flipped up the collar of his shirt, did up the buttons, and began tying the tie.

"Dinner on the table at six. I try to make it home in time to eat with her, but if I don't, don't wait on me. Her bedtime is eight-thirty."

He stood up and rolled down his shirtsleeves as he walked to a door on the paneled wall. It was a closet, and he drew out a black jacket that matched the slacks he wore. As he put it on, fabric drew tight against his wide, sculpted chest, and his pants hung from narrow hips. Mary had never seen a living work of art before. Until now.

"Tomorrow morning over breakfast we'll go over the rest of the particulars."

"Breakfast?" Mary blurted out. Since when did executive secretaries have breakfast with their bosses?

He gave a brisk nod as he checked his cuffs. "I leave the house at exactly seven forty-five. Breakfast is at seven. Angelina leaves for school at eight-thirty, so you can see that she's dressed and has a lunch packed after I leave."

Mary's right temple began to throb. Who was Angelina and why was Mary getting her dressed for school? And packing her lunch?

Mr. Stone came back to the desk and picked up his briefcase from the floor, set it on the desk, and opened it. Finally he looked up, probably wondering why she was sitting there like a lump. Confusion swamped her. She didn't know what to do, what to say. She'd been given a job by Jacob Stone, but it obviously wasn't as his executive assistant.

"Is there a problem, Ms. O'Toole?"

Think fast, she silently commanded herself. Real fast. "How much does this job pay? Mrs. Brocton didn't go over that in the pre-interview," she added, hoping she didn't sound like the uncultured idiot she felt like.

"Seven-fifty a week." He placed some files in his briefcase. "Plus room and board, of course. Sundays and alternate Saturdays off."

Her quick mind did the calculations, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to know that if she didn't have to pay rent in New York City, seven-fifty a week was way more take home pay than she'd ever see as his secretary. Whatever the heck this job was, she was on it!

Mr. Stone clicked his briefcase closed and hefted it off the desk. "I have a meeting." He pointedly glanced at his watch. "If you have any immediate questions, Mrs. Brocton can help you. Otherwise, we'll speak in the morning."

"I…" Oh, she had questions all right. Mrs. Brocton's strange questions during the interview were falling into place. Questions like, did she like children? Did she cook? Had she ever run a household before? Silly Mary had thought it was some kind of corporate personality test.

He raised an eyebrow at her but said nothing. He didn't need to. His eyes said it all. He'd hired her, but he didn't look happy about it.

"Thank you, Mr. Stone." Mary rose from the chair and finally got the chance to extend her hand across the desk. "I look forward to working with you."

He took her hand in a firm, no-nonsense shake. Mary was shocked to feel slight calluses. Definitely not the typical businessman. His skin was warm. Dry. A quick shiver ran up her arm. Goodness, he was potent. No wonder he commanded so much respect from those who worked for him. Those who wanted to be him.

"Fine, then," he said as he headed for the door. He held it open and let her precede him into Mrs. Brocton's office. "Mrs. Brocton, please call Sam to bring the car around front."

"Of course, Mr. Stone," Mrs. Brocton said, looking up from her desk. "Anything else, sir?"

"Pray this meeting goes better than the last." He then turned toward Mary, gave a stiff nod, and left the office.

"So, I take it he hired you?" Mrs. Brocton said quietly. She had the good sense to look slightly sheepish, her fair skin even flushed slightly.

Biting back the annoyed retort on the tip of her tongue, Mary nodded, then asked calmly, "Would you please tell me what job I was just hired for?"

Mrs. Brocton's face lit up with that warm, gentle smile, and she reached across her desk, lifting a picture from the corner. "You're to be nanny to Jacob's seven-year-old daughter, Angelina."

Mary took the picture from the woman and studied it. Jacob Stone sat stiffly, with an even stiffer smile on his lips, as if he didn't smile often and wasn't comfortable with the action. On his lap sat the prettiest little girl Mary had ever seen. Long golden curls hung over her shoulders, and bright blue eyes the same color as her father's glinted with mischievous humor. Even her grin, with her two front teeth missing, was beautiful. Mary's heart melted on the spot, and she hadn't even met the girl.

Longings she'd set aside in order to further her future resurfaced and brought the quick sting of tears to her eyes. Blinking rapidly, she handed the picture back to Mrs. Brocton.

"I see," Mary said softly. "And cook, too, I suppose?"

Mrs. Brocton set the picture back on the corner of the desk. "Yes. And a little cleaning. But he has a maid service come in twice a week to do the deep cleaning," she rushed to say.

Mary swallowed. Her right temple thumped, and that annoying pinch returned to her stomach. "Tell me," Mary said, taking the seat in front of Mrs. Brocton's desk. "Does this job come with medical benefits?"

She needed to see a doctor, but she'd not been able to afford one in a very long time. She was past due for a physical, and these odd pains were starting to worry her.

Mrs. Brocton sat down behind her desk. "Oh, my yes. After the thirty-day probation period you will get full medical, dental and optical. And an option to join the retirement plan."

The twinge in her stomach kicked up a notch as her heart thumped with excitement. Seven-fifty a week. No rent. Full medical. Retirement plan. This was too good to be true. And she wouldn't have to work in a stuffy office. That was the best news she'd gotten in a very long time.

Two years. That was all it would take to have enough saved up to go to art school. Heck, with this job and the lack of bills to be paid, she'd even get that trip to Paris she'd dreamed of her whole life.

"Vacation," she blurted out.

Mrs. Brocton chuckled. "Two weeks a year, paid."

"Oh, my goodness." Tears again. Mary blinked and glanced off to the side, hoping she didn't break down.

Don't look a gift horse in the mouth.

She had to. She had to know why.

"Mrs. Brocton, I applied for your job."

The lady flushed a bit. "Yes. Well." She fidgeted with a gold pen on her desk. "I'd prefer if you didn't mention that little detail to Jacob."

Mary's eyes widened.

"I mean…" Mrs. Brocton folded her hands on the desk, leaned over slightly, then said in an almost conspiratorial tone, "I've been interviewing for a nanny for three weeks, ever since the last one walked out, and you were just what I've been looking for."

A frown pulled Mary's brows together. "I don't understand."

With a smile, Mrs. Brocton leaned back in her chair. "You're too sweet for the corporate world, Ms. O'Toole. You seem to me more of the mothering type than possessing the ability to kick butt. Little Angelina needs someone soft in her life."

"I'm not soft." Offended by the little woman's words, Mary straightened in the chair. She'd spent years building her backbone, finally getting strong enough to stand up for herself and pursue the life she wanted, not the one her sister and good for nothing husband had wanted her to lead. Ex-husband, she silently amended.

Mrs. Brocton's sugary sweet smile was getting rather annoying.

"Ms. O'Toole. Answer me honestly. Do you want to be Mr. Stone's executive secretary, or his daughter's nanny?"

Mary stared at Mrs. Brocton and saw, for the first time, what the woman was seeing. She wasn't cut out for executive life. She might have grown a backbone in the past couple of years, but she wasn't vicious. From what she'd seen, a person needed to have more than a little venom to get ahead here.

And she didn't have the look, either. Even Mrs. Brocton, who was at least twice Mary's age, was probably no more than a size five. She almost groaned with the final realization that she just plain didn't fit in. And never would. Not that she hadn't known it before now, but this was the first time anyone had actually said the words to her—besides her sister, who she could ignore.

"Why'd the last nanny quit?"

With a sigh, Mrs. Brocton fiddled with her pen once again. Mary thought that a corporate woman would be better at hiding her guilty conscience.

"Mr. Stone likes things his way. If they're not his way, he lets you know." She reached into the top drawer of the desk and drew out a sheaf of papers. "This is the schedule he's lined out. He likes things kept…timely."

Mary took the papers from her and scanned them. "My goodness."

Mrs. Brocton nodded. "He's a very punctual man."

"Anything else I should know?"

"He's a widower, but I'm sure you already know that."

Mary nodded, not wanting to look dumb even though she hadn't known. Forbes hadn't mentioned it in his financial statistics. Nor had it mentioned that he had a daughter.

"He was very attached to his wife, as he is his daughter. And his mother for that matter. He tends to put the women in his life on a very high pedestal, so it would be best if you need to discuss Angelina with him, that you are extremely diplomatic about it."

Oedipus complex?

"His mother, Eunice Stone, takes Angelina every other Saturday. Those would be your Saturdays off."

"All right."

Mrs. Brocton handed her a business card from a little dispenser on the desk. "This is my direct line. If you have any questions, please feel free to call."

"Thank you."

Mary didn't know what else to say. Part of her was annoyed that Mrs. Brocton had pulled the old switcheroo with her application, but on the other hand, this job was much more up her alley.

So much for two years of studying and her newly acquired degree. That was a waste of time, energy, and money.

"I'll call Sam to pick you up," Mrs. Brocton said as she picked up the phone.

* * * * *

Mary had assumed the "car" would be a limousine, but instead she was greeted just outside the doors of the office building by the man named Sam and a silver Rolls Royce Phantom.

"Good day, Ms. O'Toole," Sam said with a slight English accent, bowing slightly, his neatly cropped gray hair blowing in the chilly breeze as he held the back door open.

She gave a tentative smile and carefully seated herself inside the car. The scent of leather and Jacob Stone assaulted her senses. During their meeting, she hadn't consciously taken notice of his subtle cologne, but now it surrounded her. She reached for the seatbelt and clicked it around her as Sam slipped behind the wheel.

The ride wasn't long, and part of her wondered why she couldn't have walked. Just a few blocks and they pulled under the awning of another extraordinarily tall building. Then again, there weren't many buildings in this section of Manhattan that weren't huge. Sam rounded the car and opened the door for her. Belatedly, she remembered to undo the seatbelt then stepped out, snatching her purse and the sheaf of instructions off the seat.

"Do you have personal belongings I might fetch for you?"

Mary shook her head. It was getting on toward two-thirty and there wasn't time to go all the way to the Y and back before Jacob's daughter got home. "Would it be all right to go tomorrow?"

Sam gave a slight nod then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. "Here are the keys to the penthouse and the security code." He pulled a business card from another pocket and handed it to her. "And this is my cell phone number, should you need anything. Mr. Stone has instructed me to be at your disposal."

Frowning, Mary thanked him. Where did this man live? Could she call him any time day or night? How much did Jacob pay him to be at her disposal?

Rich people were strange. Wasn't she capable of hailing a taxi? She'd done it a total of three times since she arrived in New York, and she was proud at how efficient she was getting at it.

She turned away from the safety of the gorgeous silver car and headed up the steps to the front doors of the building. A doorman bowed slightly, bid her a, "Good afternoon, ma'am," and opened the door for her.

"Holy cow," she whispered on a rush of breath. Marble and mirrors covered every surface. Black marble floors, white marble walls, all polished to a gleam. The bank of elevators stood directly in front of her. Off to the side was a security desk. Behind the desk, two uniformed guards stood, staring at her.

Mary ripped open the envelope Sam had given her and pulled out the keys and the slip of paper with the security code on it. She headed for the elevator.

"Can we help you, ma'am?" The older of the two guards asked.

"I'm going to Jacob Stone's…" She glanced at the paper in her hand. "…penthouse. I'm the new nanny."

"Ms. O'Toole?" the younger one asked, and his stern expression softened slightly when she nodded. He stepped around the desk and escorted her to the elevator, then pushed the call button. "You'll need the key to access the penthouse."

"Um…" She held up the two keys. "I've never done this before. Needed a key for an elevator, that is."

The handsome young man, whose nametag read Brent Harcort, gave her an indulgent smile and slipped the key from her fingers as the elevator doors silently opened. He stepped inside, motioning for her to follow, and then showed her where to slide the key in next to the PH button. He even rode up with her.

The doors opened onto a marbled foyer with lush green plants and a domed skylight in the ceiling a good twenty feet above. "How many floors up are we?" she asked.

"The penthouse is the fifty-first floor of the JA Stone Tower. I hope you are comfortable here." He walked across the foyer and slipped the second key into the lock of the only door. He pushed the door open, turned toward her, gave a slight bow, and then handed the keys back to her. "Have a good day, Ms. O'Toole. If you need anything, please feel free to ring the desk. Star six on any phone."

She thanked him, and he disappeared into the elevator.

The JA Stone Tower. She hadn't realized Jacob had his own tower. But why not? His assets were outstanding. He probably owned a couple of them.

Holy crap, she thought with a twinge of panic as she stared at the door to her new home. At least for a little while. Maybe until JA Stone realized she was a fraud and didn't know the first thing about being a nanny.

She worked for a multi million—no—billionaire. The man could buy and sell people. He probably did just that.

Her breathing shortened, and she laid a hand over her chest, trying to calm her pounding heart. A pain twinged just below her ribs. Damn it, she didn't need this now. Rubbing her fingers against her diaphragm, she stepped toward the looming white door.

She'd be okay, she reassured herself. Mrs. Brocton had liked her well enough.

And she knew about children. She had three hellion nephews she could control when she had to, didn't she? An only child couldn't be so bad. At least there wouldn't be any sibling rivalry. No punching and hitting. Then again, Mary thought as she carefully pushed the door open further, she was probably spoiled rotten and let the world know it.

"Oh, no," she said as she stepped into the penthouse. She couldn't take it all in at once. The spacious room, the expensive furniture, the rugs she was sure were antiques. The wall of windows that overlooked Central Park. Crystal, silver, brass and glass gleamed in the dull afternoon light.

How was she to live in a place like this and not break something?

And she had to clean it, too?

She dropped her purse and papers and covered her face, trying desperately to block out the beautiful apartment. She'd never dreamt of living in a place like this. Not ever. It was too…much. Too posh. Too expensive.

She'd grown up in a tiny two-bedroom home in the country. Even after her marriage, up until a month ago, she'd lived in that same house. She was out of her league. In way over her head.

The Beauty Within

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One night of shared comfort isn't enough. Their hearts demands forever.

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Excerpt:

Chapter One

Jana Kincaid watched the houses in the distance grow nearer as her sister guided the shiny pink F350 down the long dusty road, the weight of the oversized camper swaying the truck slightly over the bumpy road. Houses, barns, corrals, a couple of shiny grain silos, and lush green fields.

The Rocky Basin Ranch. A truly impressive sight in a gorgeous setting at the base of the Judith Mountains; as Bobby had said it was.

She rubbed the dull ache between her eyes and wanted to sigh. Driving two hundred miles out of their way so her sister could play buckle bunny to one of Montana's many rodeo stars. Good gracious, she thought. When will Valisa ever grow up?

"Ohh, there he is," Valisa said, her excitement plain in the way she gripped the steering wheel and sat up straighter. "He is so damn hot. I can't wait to sink my teeth into him again."

Jana looked at the approaching buildings and saw Bobby standing with hand raised in greeting. Okay, he was pretty cute, had nice wide shoulders and wavy blond hair, but there wasn't a lot between his ears that she could tell. He could ride a bull like no one's business, but when it came to conversation he was greatly lacking. Then again, Valisa wasn't interested in conversation. The girl could probably use some help in the whole intelligence department, too. Maybe they were meant for each other.

Jana snickered to herself. Wouldn't it be sweet if Valisa actually found a guy and settled down? Maybe then Dad would lay off and let her live her own life instead of making her trail after her little sister forever.

Wishful thinking, but she could hope, couldn't she? Jeez, she surely hoped Valisa did a lot better than Bobby Johnson when the time came.

Near one of the older houses was a big fire pit with a side of beef slowly rotating over the red coals. The sun was setting, but she knew the air outside would still be hot. July in central Montana never seemed to cool off much. A group of nearly two-dozen people stood visiting or sat at umbrella-shaded picnic tables.

Great, a party. Fantastic. Just what she needed. Not. Damn, this was going to be one long week. Maybe Val and Bobby-boy would have a nice big fight and they could go home and relax before the next rodeo.

Valisa pulled the truck to a halt, threw it into park, and leapt out the door and into Bobby's arms where their liplock could have gotten them an NC-17 rating.

Jana reached over, turned off the ignition, then unbuckled her seatbelt.

"Hiya, Jane," Bobby said when he finally raised his head from her sister's face.

She smiled and gave a little wave. It's Jana, you moron.

"Come on and join the party. We're just getting started."

Yee ha, she thought and pushed her door open. Val and Bobby headed off toward the throng of people. Why was she surprised? Val didn't give a damn about anything but getting back into Bobby's pants. God forbid the girl gave a care to her horse that was stuck in the trailer for the past five hours.

Slowly sliding off the seat, she felt the aches and pains caused by sitting in the truck so long. She stretched her back and shoulders, then stretched her thigh muscles the best she could. After a peek through the bars of the trailer at Godiva to make sure the mare was okay, she grabbed her small, white dry erase board with its attached marker from the seat of the truck and limped her way toward the crowd.

Bobby was introducing Valisa to everyone.

Jeez, there were a lot of people. Cowboys, women, older people, little kids.

"And this is my boss, Carl Harrington," Bobby said. Val shook Mr. Harrington's big hand.

The man was the size of a mountain, Jana thought. He had the dark skin, eyes, and hair of a Native American. Rather handsome, probably nearing his midforties. She noticed a plain gold wedding band on his left hand and wondered which of the half-dozen pretty women in the vicinity was his wife.

Bobby grabbed two bottles of beer from a deep bucket filled with ice and opened them. He handed one to Val and took a swig from the other.

Disgusted, Jana walked up to Mr. Harrington and wrote on her board. Is there a place I can put our horse? Then held it up for Mr. Harrington to see.

"Oh, Carl, this is Jane, Val's sister. She takes care of the horse and stuff."

If she could growl, she would have. She sent Valisa a good glare, but the girl didn't have eyes for anyone or anything beyond Bobby.

"Nice to meet you, Jane." Mr. Harrington shook her hand with his rough, callused paw. Working hands. "We've got an empty stall or two in the barn." He turned and motioned to a young man about Bobby's age. "Dan," he called.

The dark haired man was in his midtwenties, at least six-foot-three, and built like a brick wall. All muscle. He ambled over, pushed his dark brown Stetson back a bit, and smiled down at her. "Ma'am," he said in a deep, southern drawl. More Texas than Montana, Jana thought. He tipped his head in a sign of respect, and Jana found her first real smile. Intelligence shone in this young man's rich brown eyes. Not like Bobby's flighty baby blues.

Mr. Harrington motioned toward Jana's horse trailer. "Miss Jane's got a mare that needs a home for a few days," he said, and Jana realized Bobby must have told him they were coming. Well, that was something. At least the boss-man was warned.

"Sure thing," Dan said.

"As soon as you get her settled, join us," Mr. Harrington said. "The beef's just about done."

Jana smiled and nodded her acceptance. She was hungry.

 ~*~*~ 

Dan slowed his pace when he realized Jane was limping something fierce and couldn't keep up with his normal stride. She had the same long, russet-colored hair as her sister, and the same big, moss-green eyes, but that's where the similarities ended. Valisa was only about five-four and willowy, whereas Jane was close to five-eight and obviously much stronger. Jane was built like a farm girl. Tough. She had a deep scar running from the corner of her lip up toward her right ear. She wasn't some flashy piece of fluff, the way her sister seemed. He would place her about ten years older than Valisa, probably around thirty-five or so.

"You stayin' here with your sister for a few days?" he asked.

She nodded. He'd seen her write on that board she was carrying. She couldn't speak, obviously.

He glanced over his shoulder at the crowd when he heard a decidedly feminine laugh that didn't sound like any of the women he knew. Valisa was standing beside Bobby, wrapped in his arms, her head thrown back in laughter. While her big sister got to settle the horse.

Jane opened both sides of the back of the pink double horse trailer. Gawd awful pink at that, with Godiva scrawled in black across the side. The truck matched the color of the horse trailer, and so did the camper on the back of the truck. He doubted that Jane had picked the color. She seemed too down to earth for something so flashy. Compared to her sister's short-short cut-offs, bright yellow tube top and flip-flop sandals, Jane was dressed in jeans, boots and a plaid work shirt. She even had a bandana tied around her neck.

"Godiva?" Dan asked.

Jane nodded, tucked the little white board under her arm after she swiped her sleeve over it to clear off her earlier writing, and took a lead rope off the hook just inside the right hand door. Then she walked into the left side of the trailer where the dark, chocolate-colored mare stood docile while she hooked it onto its halter. Luggage, boxes, bags of grain and tack all neatly stacked and tied down with bungee cords filled the right side of the trailer.

"Cutting horse?"

Jane shook her head. She lifted the board and scribbled one word. Barrel.

"Ah, Valisa is a barrel racer."

Jane nodded.

"How about you? You perform?"

She shook her head and backed Godiva out with a few clicks of her tongue, then handed him the rope. She went back to the far corner of the other side and peered into a medium-sized pet crate. He could hear the soft whir of a fan; the little box was air-conditioned. She stuck her finger through the bars and made a soft whistling sound, but Dan couldn't see what was inside.

"We've got a few dogs running around, but if yours is friendly, you can let her out."

Jane flashed him a smile but shook her head. She wrote, Not a dog, on her board, but didn't bother to enlighten him as to what it might be. She picked up a small bag of grain.

As she came toward him, he couldn't help noticing how her shirt stretched across rather ample breasts. She had nice curves all the way around. Flared hips, an almost flat stomach inside the slightly loose blue jeans.

Jane removed the pink—why should he be surprised?—shin guards from Godiva's legs and then checked the mare over for any sign of injury. Seemingly satisfied, she patted the horse's neck and took the lead rope, then waited for him to pick up the bag of grain. He smiled to himself and lifted it, tucking it under one arm, then took her white board from beneath her arm.

"Do you know sign language?" he asked.

She nodded.

"You don't have to write, then. I know sign. My mother was deaf."

Her eyes brightened, and she smiled. "Oh that's wonderful," she signed. "Not that your mother was deaf, but that…" She paused, dropped her hands and shrugged, then turned back to the horse.

"What?" He touched her shoulder. She jerked away from him and turned to look at him with eyes wide and filled with worry. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head and bit her full bottom lip between straight white teeth. "Nothing," she signed, then headed toward the horse barn on the other side of the ranch yard.

Yep, real nice curves, he decided as he watched her butt sway slightly with each step. He wondered about the limp, though. She almost hobbled, her right leg stiff. He laid the little board on the back of the trailer then caught up to her in a couple of strides.

"Bobby said he met Valisa at the Helena rodeo last week. Do you attend all the rodeos with her?"

Jane nodded. "I'm her manager," she signed.

"Ah." They walked into the cooler interior of the barn, and he held open a stall gate. Jane led the horse inside and unclipped the lead rope, then pulled the halter off and scratched Godiva's nose and between her ears. She had nice long fingers, Dan noticed. Short clipped nails.

She made a soft, whispery sound between her lips at the horse, and Godiva pricked her ears and nuzzled against her chest. Jane pulled something from her shirt pocket and fed it to Godiva. A sugar cube, he saw, and grinned.

"And her trainer as well?" he ventured.

Jane nodded.

The brains behind the beauty, he thought with a frown. Jane was pretty in her own way. Definitely more his type than the powder puff sister.

He slashed his hands through his hair and turned to retrieve some water. He had no business noticing Jane's sexy curves or her big, beautiful eyes. He had no business getting these protective feelings toward a woman he met less than fifteen minutes ago. Not his business if she did all the work while her sister got all the glory.

Either Valisa was a pretty good barrel racer, or someone had a lot of money to spend on that brand new pink truck, Bigfoot camper, and Logan Coach horse trailer. He dumped a scoop of grain in the small feed bin that hung from the side of the stall and then stuck the hose in the water trough.

Jane smiled at him, and damned if she didn't just light up. "Thank you," she signed. With one more pat to Godiva's neck, she walked out of the stall, then shut and latched the door.

At the end of the barn, she stopped at the industrial sink and washed her hands with the harsh soap from the tub kept on the ledge, and then dried them on her thighs. Nope, this wasn't some piece of fluff. She was used to work.

"Hungry?" he asked as they walked down the aisle between a dozen filled stalls.

She nodded.

"Great. The ribs should be done."

He wondered why she'd reacted the way she had. For just an instant, she seemed thrilled that he understood sign language, but something had extinguished the smile. Then there was her reaction when he'd touched her. Not fear exactly, but she obviously didn't want to be touched. And now she walked with her shoulders back and her limp pronounced, not looking at him at all.

 ~*~*~ 

Jana let Dan lead her into the throng of people, most now sitting at the half-dozen picnic tables eating. He introduced her to a couple of women. Barb was Carl's wife, and Kelly was Jason's. Jason, he explained, was Carl's brother and co-owner of the Rocky Basin. Barb worked on the ranch, but Kelly was a registered nurse who worked in the clinic in Adobe Grande, the nearest town, not much more than a pit stop along Highway 87.

The third time he introduced her as Jane, she touched his arm to get his attention and spelled out J-A-N-A in sign.

"Oh, sorry," Dan said. "I thought Bobby said Jane."

She pressed her lips together and cast a glance over at Valisa and Bobby sitting together under a tree sharing a plate of food. "He did say Jane," she signed.

Dan scowled. "Come on, Jana, let's get some grub."

For just an instant his hand settled on her back as he pointed her toward the barbeque pit, and she fought off the urge to jerk away from the touch. Then his hand was gone, and she hated that she missed it. No one touched her. Ever. Not since the crash had one person—other than the numerous doctors and nurses—touched her in any sign of kindness.

She shoved her hands in her pockets. This handsome young man wouldn't be touching her, either, if he knew what lay beneath her clothes. She had no business wishing that he would do it again. She hated that she jumped away from him earlier, but it was so unexpected, the touch startled her.

Dan picked up a paper plate, slipped it into a wicker holder, and handed it to her. The table was laden with plates of succulent looking beef ribs, salads of all kinds and colors, fresh fruit, chips, and at the end were the buckets of cold drinks. She worked her way down the table, loading her plate with food. Her stomach growled and behind her, Dan chuckled. The sound was sweet, and more than a little sexy.

She sighed and wondered what she was doing. Why she was entertaining thoughts she banished a decade ago. He was sweet, no doubt about it, and a true gentleman. She glanced over at Val and Bobby under the tree as they kissed between sharing bites of food from a single plate. From what she'd seen of Bobby at the Helena rodeo, he wasn't a gentleman. Of course, Val was more than willing and always available—even for the hound dogs.

Then again, she wouldn't mind if a hound dog showed a bit of interest in her. If anyone showed some interest.

But that was not to be.

"Beer, wine cooler or cola?" Dan asked as they reached the end of the table.

She spelled out "cola" with her free hand. He reached into one of the buckets and pulled out two cans, then motioned with them to a small round table under a tree a ways away from the crowd.

She was glad she didn't have to sit with a group of people and try to make small talk. Something that was near impossible for her, anyway.

Dan sat down across from her and grinned. "I love a woman with a healthy appetite." Then he winked.

She couldn't stop the smile that spread over her face. There was no denying that she enjoyed his attention, having never been one to lie to herself. But she had no business letting herself feel anything for the man. Besides, he was way too young for her, even if she was the type to entertain thoughts of men—which she wasn't.

They dug into their food with gusto. The beef was fork tender, the sauce just spicy enough. The pasta salad was tangy and the fruit succulent. Conversation carried to them from the other people, but she ignored it. She preferred the sound of the gentle breeze rustling the leaves overhead, and the crickets that had started chirping as darkness fell.

Dan sat back and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. A light from the front of the nearby house sent his face into shadow, but his rich dark hair shone with glints of gold. He lifted his can and drank down his cola.

Jana wiped her own mouth and sipped her soda.

"So, what did you think? Jason does this once a week for the guests." He shook his head, and his teeth flashed white in the dim light. "Never get tired of his barbeque."

She raised her hands from her lap and slowly signed, "It was delicious."

Dan stared at her for a few long moments before he pushed his plate to the center of the table and leaned over on his elbows. "Okay, I'm going to be nosy. Why do you act like you shouldn't be signing?"

Heat infused her cheeks, and she looked away.

"Hey," Dan said, his voice low. "It's okay. I was just wondering…"

She cut him off with a shake of her head then signed, "It embarrasses Valisa."

Dan's gaze cut over to where Val sat with Bobby, and his brow furrowed. He was silent for a long moment and then sighed, "Sorry to be blunt, but that's about the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

Jana nodded. She agreed. But Val was her responsibility. And if Val wasn't happy, Dad wasn't happy. Then all hell broke lose.

She looked into Dan's face and could see he had more questions, but he remained silent, thank goodness. Explaining her relationship with her sister was difficult under the best circumstances. Right now Jana was feeling so put out over being dragged halfway across the state so that Val could get her groove on with a cowboy, she truly didn't think anything that she said would sound very loving.

Above all else, she did love her little sister.