“This” was his hands on her shoulders, his lips crushing hers. After a moment of shock, her body responded to him. Her purse slipped from her fingers, her keys forgotten, and her arms came up to circle his neck. Her hands tangled in his hair, holding him tight. Her lips parted and he didn’t waste any time in taking advantage, stealing his tongue into the opening and sweeping it across her lower lip.
Hot flipping damn. She was right about those lips of his. She could kiss them for hours. Days, even. And that naughty tongue...
She mentally struck straightlaced off her list of adjectives for him.
Not to be outdone, she met him lick for lick, running her tongue over his teeth and into the corners of his mouth. With a moan, he nudged her legs apart with his knee and moved between them. She could feel his rock-hard thigh pressing against her core.
She was ready to hook one leg around his hip and grind against him like a stripper on a pole when he broke off the kiss as abruptly as he’d started it.
“Christ, Devin, I’m...”
She pushed against his chest, resisting the temptation to grab his designer shirt in her fists and pull him back to her. “If you say you’re sorry, I’ll...”
He backed away, thrusting his hands in his pockets. “Knee my balls right through the roof of my goddamned mouth?”
“Something like that.”
“Then I’ll just say good-night.” One corner of his mouth curled into a half smile. “And sweet dreams.”
She slumped against the door, needing something to keep her vertical, as he climbed into the cab and drove away. Only when the taillights disappeared from view did she let herself slink to the ground, fumbling for her purse in disbelief.
Dudley Do-Right had done what no man had done before.
He’d left her wanting more.
Copyright © 2015 by Denise Smoker
ISBN-13: 9781460381861
Come On Over
Copyright © 2015 by Debbi Quattrone
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How to unravel your straightlaced lover...
Gabe Nelson would be a great district attorney, but his public image is too boring to get voters’ attention. Tattoo artist Devin Padilla can help him show off his fun, sexy side, but she needs something in return—his legal expertise to track down her missing brother. She’s not Gabe’s type, but they can’t keep their hands off each other, whether it’s good for his image or not.
At first, Devin thinks she got the easy end of the bargain. Gabe’s the sexiest stuffed shirt in Manhattan, and his kisses practically set her on fire. But every deal has its fine print. As their relationship goes from business to pleasure, Devin realizes this one won’t cost her soul...it’ll just steal her heart.
“Don’t act like you’re not feeling it, too...”
“This is ridiculous.” Gabe glanced at the night sky and scrubbed a hand across his face.
“You’re the one who wanted to talk.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I was wrong. Maybe the time for talking is over.”
He did a hasty scan of the area then pulled Devin into a nearby doorway, trapping her there with his body. “Ask me again.”
A hot flush spread across her face. “Ask you what?”
“What you asked in the bar.” He leaned in and rested his forehead against hers. “About going back to your place.”
So he was serious. They were really doing this.
Hot damn.
“Do you want to go back to my place?” Bad idea. She was supposed to be putting out the fire smoldering between them. Not dousing it with gasoline.
But what a lovely way to burn...
Dear Reader,
It’s hard to believe this is my second crack at a Dear Reader letter. I’m thrilled to share book two of the Art of Seduction series with you.
Each of the books in this series has the arts as a backdrop. In Triple Threat it’s theater; in Triple Time it’s the fine arts. Devin Padilla is a tattoo artist/bartender who paints on the sly. Her life’s been tough, and the thing she wants most is to find her brother, separated from her in foster care. But all she’s hit are dead ends.
Assistant district attorney Gabe Nelson has his life planned. But when his would-be fiancée and his boss insinuate that he’s duller than dirt, he starts to have doubts. Then Devin strolls in, all tattoos and piercings and take-no-prisoners attitude. She might need help, but she’s no damsel in distress. When she learns Gabe’s running for the top spot in the DA’s office, she offers him a deal: she’ll help him loosen up so he can win his retiring boss’s endorsement if he helps find her brother.
Devin and Gabe were a blast to introduce in Triple Threat, and I loved telling their story in Triple Time. Theirs is a journey of opposites fighting their attraction every step of the way. I hope you have as much fun following it as I did writing it.
And in December you’ll get to meet Gabe’s twin sister, Ivy, when she returns to Stockton and faces her first and only love—her brother’s best friend, Cade Hardesty.
Until then,
Regina
Triple Time
By Regina Kyle
Regina Kyle knew she was destined to be an author when she won a writing contest at age eight with a touching tale about a squirrel and a nut pie. By day, she writes dry legal briefs, representing the state in criminal appeals. At night, she writes steamy romance with heart and humor. A lover of all things theatrical, Regina lives on the Connecticut shoreline with her husband, teenage daughter and two melodramatic cats. When she’s not writing, she’s most likely singing, reading, cooking or watching bad reality television. She loves hearing from readers. You can find her on Facebook at facebook.com/reginakyleauthor, follow her on Twitter @Regina_Kyle1, or sign up for her newsletter at reginakyle.com.
Books by Regina Kyle
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Triple Threat
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For Ernie, who never says no to my crazy ideas, even the ones hatched in the midst of a midlife crisis. And Marissa, who showed me how to reach for my dream by grabbing hers with both hands and never letting go. They both put up with more than their fair share of plotting disguised as incoherent muttering, deadline-induced panic, dirty laundry and take-out dinners. And I love them for it.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Excerpt
1
BY THE TIME the Perfect Moment arrived for Gabe Nelson to pop the question, his tongue felt like lead, too thick for the elaborate script he’d written in his head. So he decided to keep it simple.
“Will you marry me?”
Gabe held his breath as he got down on one knee and snapped open the robin’s-egg-blue box. Inside a flawless two-carat, emerald-cut diamond sparkled, catching the light from the crystal chandeliers dotting New York City’s famous Rainbow Room restaurant.
“I...I don’t know what to say.” Kara Humphries, Gabe’s girlfriend for the past six months, stared at the ring as if it were a two-headed hydra instead of a precious gem.
Not exactly the reaction he’d been hoping for.
He swallowed. Hard. His mind whirred through plans B, C and D. She hadn’t exactly said no. There had to be some way to persuade her to accept his proposal.
“Say yes.” Gabe took one of her perfectly manicured hands and brought it to his lips, kissing her palm for extra effect. Hell, he hadn’t served four years in the Navy JAG corps, then clawed his way to the top spot in the Manhattan DA’s Special Victims Bureau by giving up without a fight.
She pulled her hand away and tucked it under the napkin in her lap. “I’m sorry, Gabe. You’re a great guy. Really. Any woman would be lucky to have you. But...”
Ouch. Direct hit. He stood and slunk back into his seat. With sweaty hands, he palmed the ring box, snapped it shut and stuffed it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He could feel his heart pounding under the cool cotton of his dress shirt. “Just not this woman, right? It’s not me, it’s you. Isn’t that how the saying goes?”
“Actually...” She looked down, her hands fiddling with her napkin. After a moment that seemed as long as the wait for his results on the bar exam, her gaze rose to meet his. “It is you. And me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He tried not to sound hurt, but it wasn’t easy. He wasn’t used to setting his mind on something and not seeing it through. As far he was concerned, this engagement wasn’t any different from negotiating a plea bargain. He and Kara belonged together.
He just had to seal the deal.
She lifted a hand to brush an imaginary lock of her always impeccable ash-blond hair from her cheek, then let it flutter back to her lap. “We both like jazz. The symphony. Sailing. Fine wine.”
“Exactly.” He raised his glass of 1998 Veuve Clicquot—the two-hundred-dollar bottle of champagne he’d specially chosen to toast their engagement—and took a sip, eyeing her over the rim with a half smile. A kernel of hope settled in his chest and he sat a little straighter. She was making his point for him. “It’s called compatibility. I fail to see the problem.”
“That is the problem.” Her voice broke and she took a deep breath. “There’s no spark between us. I adore you, Gabe, and I hope we stay friends. But I planned to tell you tonight that I think we should stop seeing each other. We’re too much alike. I need someone who’ll challenge me, broaden my horizons, introduce me to new things.”
He leaned in and studied her intently, his initial shock slowly receding. A mix of determination and curiosity took its place.
“I can introduce you to new things.” Why not? She wanted adventure, he’d give her adventure. He could be as fun and spontaneous as the next guy. If he had enough time to prepare.
“Oh, Gabe. You’re sweet. But your idea of a new thing is having red wine with fish instead of white. I’m talking about really living life. Taking chances. Not the same old boring stuff we always do.”
His jaw tightened and he locked his fingers together. “So I’m boring?”
“Not exactly. Just predictable.” She stood, placed her napkin on her plate and smoothed down her skirt. “I’m sorry, Gabe. I wanted it to work. Really, I did. But I can’t pretend anymore, trying to make myself feel something that’s not there. Someday you’ll meet the right woman. I’m just not her.”
She made her way through the restaurant, a chorus of whispers in her wake. An occupational hazard of being the daughter of a senator and one of New York’s most prominent—and wealthy—philanthropists.
He sat alone and uncomfortable, staring into his plate of shrimp scampi. What the hell had just happened? He had planned everything so perfectly. Perfect place. Perfect time. Perfect woman.
Or so he’d thought.
He was thirty years old, for Christ’s sake. He wanted a wife. Kids before he was too old to enjoy them. Of all the women he’d dated—and he was no John Mayer, but he’d gone out with his fair share—Kara was the only one he could see in his life for the long haul. A real partner in every way, beside him at rallies and fundraisers. Entertaining guests, or relaxing together at the end of a long, stressful day, reading or listening to John Coltrane on his state-of-the-art sound system. Okay, so they weren’t burning up the sheets just yet. That would come in time. Right?
But she’d said no. Said he was too predictable. Which, in his book, meant boring, no matter how she tried to sugarcoat it.
“Your check, sir.”
Gabe looked up at the waiter’s sheepish expression. He’d clearly witnessed the whole unfortunate scene.
“Here.” Gabe took the leather holder in the waiter’s outstretched hand, stuck his credit card inside without even looking at the bill and handed it back to him.
The waiter left, leaving Gabe alone. Again. He shifted in his seat and glanced around the dining room, catching the sympathetic looks of several patrons who quickly averted their eyes, like the waiter, obviously privy to his humiliation.
His very public humiliation.
Not soon enough, the waiter came back with Gabe’s credit card. With a gruff “Thanks,” Gabe scrawled his signature, downed the rest of his champagne and strode through the restaurant, slipping out into the New York night.
His apartment was only a few blocks south, but he headed in the other direction, toward Central Park. Not the best place to be at night, especially a night like this one. Ripe. Sweltering. Sure to lure out every crazy without air-conditioning. But he wasn’t ready to go home yet. He needed to breathe, to think, and nothing cleared his head like a run in the park. Tonight his suit meant he’d have to settle for a brisk walk, even if it meant he’d be covered in sweat by the time he got to his apartment downtown.
He circled the sailboat pond, trying to figure out why he felt more numb than crushed by Kara’s refusal, when a high-pitched voice from behind the boathouse froze him in his Ferragamo shoes.
“Get your fucking hands off me, or I’ll knee your balls right through the roof of your goddamned mouth.”
Gabe did a one-eighty and sprinted toward the sound.
A woman stood with her back to him, fists clenched. Her attacker lay curled at her feet, wheezing for air.
“No means no, asshole.”
The guy let out a muffled moan and she bent over him, making her short skirt ride even higher up her toned thighs. Her fishnet stockings covered her long legs, disappearing midcalf into a pair of hot-pink Doc Martens.
“Okay, okay. You made your point. You didn’t have to kick me so hard. Frigid bitch.”
Gabe stepped out of the shadow of the boathouse. “Watch your mouth. And don’t move a damn muscle. I’m calling the police.” He pulled out his cell phone and started to dial.
“No
cops. Please.” The woman held out an arm as if to stop him, and Gabe caught a glimpse of a tattoo on her shoulder. A distinctive, familiar tattoo of some sort of forest fairy. “Freddie just got a little overeager. But I set him straight.” She prodded him with one boot, eliciting another moan. “Didn’t I, Freddie?”
Gabe’s stomach clenched. “Devin?”
She pivoted slowly, her eyes widening and her mouth falling open in recognition.
“Shit.”
* * *
OF ALL THE white knights in New York City, why did Gabe Nelson have to be the one to ride to her rescue?
Devin Padilla stared at her best friend’s brother and swore again.
“It’s nice to see you, too.”
She crossed her arms. “What are you doing here?”
“Heading home. Same as you should be.” Disapproval dripped from his voice as he eyeballed her, frowning no doubt at her outfit of choice. Sure, the lacy camisole clung a little too tightly to her 36Ds and her short skirt showed off her J. Lo booty. But she was a bartender, for Christ’s sake, not an astrophysicist. How was she supposed to earn enough tips to support herself and set something aside for Victor if—no, when—she found him, if she didn’t give her customers something to look at on top of her witty repartee.
“Isn’t that dive you work at downtown?”
“It’s not a dive. And yes, it is. Sometimes I pull extra shifts for a friend at The Mark.” She never said no to extra cash, and she always raked it in at the Upper East Side hotel bar.
“Hello?” a voice interrupted from the pavement. “Injured man down here.”
“Get up, Freddie. You’re not hurt. I barely touched you.”
“You know this guy?” Gabe asked.
“He’s one of my regulars. Said he’d take me to the subway.” She glared down at him, hands on her hips. Just another one in a long line of losers that had hit on her in the past six months. It was like she was wearing a sign that said Attention all guys. Are you mentally stable? Gainfully employed? Reasonably attractive? Then keep away. “The subway, Freddie. Not to heaven against a slimy park viaduct.”
Harlequin Blaze June 2015 Box Set: Midnight ThunderFevered NightsCome On OverTriple Time Page 58