Melanie stepped outside into the oppressive heat carrying a frosted mug of lemonade. Laughter bubbled up in her throat at the sight that greeted her eyes. The only part of Chris that was visible were his legs. The rest of him was under her car. As much as she didn't want to, Melanie couldn't help but admire those muscular, tanned male legs.
Walking up to him, she tapped his Reebok with her flip flop. "I brought you something to drink."
He scooted from beneath the car, moving sideways like a sand crab. When his head was clear, he stood up and wiped his dirty hands with an equally dirty rag. In spite of being sweaty, rumpled, and sporting a smudge of something black on his jaw he looked good enough lick. The fact that his not-so-white-anymore T-shirt was molded to his broad chest and impressive abs definitely upped the sexy quotient. Uh huh, like he needed to look more sexy.
He took the proffered lemonade and drained it in a series of nonstop gulps that drew Melanie's attention to his strong, tanned throat. When he finished, he touched the cold mug to his forehead. "Thanks. I needed that."
"Want some more?"
He shook his head. "Not now, thanks."
His proximity was having a strange effect on her stomach. Stepping away from him, she asked, "How's it going?"
"Good. I just finished changing the oil. I gave you a complete tune-up and your battery is hooked up to my recharger. All that's left is changing the spark plugs." He indicated the opened hood with a jerk of his head. "Wanna watch?"
"Sure, but I have to warn you: I know diddly squat about cars."
"That's okay. I know diddly squat about cooking."
Melanie followed him to the front of the car then watched him open a package of what she assumed were spark plugs. She wasn't sure what fascinated her more-- the ease with which he selected foreign-looking items from his toolbox, or the way his muscles bunched and flexed while he worked. Whatever it was, she was soon thoroughly engrossed, and surprisingly curious.
She leaned over the engine with him. “How do you know so much about cars?”
“My dad and grandfather taught me. Grandpa was a mechanic.”
She pointed. “What's that little do-flickit?"
"The air filter," he said, screwing a spark plug into place.
"How about that thingamabob there?"
"The carburetor."
"I've heard of that. What's it do?"
"It vaporizes liquid fuel and controls its mixing with air for combustion in the engine."
"Uh-huh. And the English translation of that is… ?"
"It makes the car go vroooomm."
"Ah."
She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. "Whew. It sure is hot out here."
Chris snuck a glance at her and nodded in mental agreement. Hot as hell. And every time he looked at her, in those cutoffs that showcased her longs, slim legs and curvy butt-- which was currently hoisted in the air as she leaned over-- it got a little hotter.
Her skin was the color of warm honey, and his fingers itched to touch its soft smoothness. Her reddish-brown hair was a riotous cap of untamed curls that begged to be messed with. Her eyes reminded him of sweet, gooey, yummy chocolate, and her mouth… whoa! Those plump pink lips had carnal thoughts racing through his mind, making it nearly impossible to concentrate on what he was doing.
Her finger bounced back and forth, pointing at this and that, asking what everything was. He answered all her questions, falling more and more in lust with each passing minute. His mind tried to convince his hormones that this was not the woman they were looking for-- this woman was more than a one-nighter and represented a serious threat to his bachelor freedom-- but his hormones were having none of it.
This is the one we want, his hormones informed him. This one right here, who doesn't know an oilfiller from a brake pad. The one who smells like fresh-baked brownies and stares at you with those big chocolatey-brown eyes. Now do something about it before we get nasty.
She pointed to something else, asking what it was. When he turned his head to explain the intricacies of the wiper-fluid dispenser, they bumped noses. Chris froze and stared into her startled eyes.
She was so close. And she smelled so good. And looked so good. God, so good.
Before she could back away, and before he could change his mind, he did what he'd wanted to do since almost the first moment he saw her. He angled his head and brushed his mouth over hers.
He’d expected to feel a tingle, but he wasn’t prepared for the electric sizzle that crackled through him. All thoughts of spark plugs, do-flickits, and thingamabobs drained from his head. He reached for her, pulling them both upright. Their heads smacked into the raised hood at the same time.
"Ouch!" Melanie yelped, leaning back and rubbing the top of her head. "Wow. I feel dizzy. I bet I have a concussion."
Chris wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her close, and ran gentle fingers over the small lump forming on her head. "Me, too."
She gazed up at him. "You think you have a concussion?"
"No. I feel dizzy. And it has nothing to do with hitting my head."
"The heat getting to you?"
His gaze settled on her mouth. "You could say that."
Her eyes widened. "Oh, my. You're going to kiss me again."
"That okay?"
"I'm not sure. The first one almost knocked me unconscious."
He lowered his head. "Yeah," he breathed against her mouth. "I know exactly what you mean."
End of Kiss the Cook excerpt.
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HEART’S DESIRE excerpt
Victorian-era Novella
Callie Albright appeared in my very first book, Red Roses Mean Love, as a precocious five-year-old who loved tea parties. Now she’s all grown up and on her way to London to attend Queen Victoria’s coronation and to announce her own engagement. A stop in the village where she spent her childhood brings her in contact with a man and an antique mirror-- and both will change her destiny.
CHAPTER ONE
Halstead, Kent
June, 1838
William Lawton swore under his breath as the bell above the shop door jangled, announcing the arrival of a customer. He pulled his attention from the dusty crate he’d just opened and glanced at the mantle clock. Twenty-three minutes past closing time.
Damn it all. He should have turned the lock and flipped the carved wooden sign propped in the window to “closed” when he was in the front of the shop a half hour ago, but as neither his grandfather nor his father had ever closed Lawton’s Antiques and Curiosities so much as one minute before six p.m., William had been loath to break with tradition.
Unfortunately, as often happened when the anticipation of discovering a new treasure had him firmly in its grasp, he’d become completely engrossed in removing the stubborn wooden top of the crate in the back room and forgotten the time. And now, just when he’d finally managed to pry open the damned crate, his curiosity well and truly whetted to examine the contents, he’d have to abandon the project.
Bloody hell. Everyone in Halstead knew the shop closed at precisely six, which meant this late-arriving customer was no doubt a visitor. Probably one who wanted nothing more than to browse, pump him for information about the village’s history, then depart without making a purchase. Not only would William be forced to make idle conversation when he’d rather be working, but he’d also be late for dinner. As if on cue, his stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
Bloody double hell.
“That will teach me to lose all sense of time,” he muttered. With impatience scraping at him to return to his task, he brushed the dust off his hands as best he could and strode toward the front of the store. He’d simply tell whoever had entered that they’d have to return the next day, a decision he mentally seconded when a whiff of the meal Mrs. Worthington had prepared for his dinner wafted down from his rooms above the shop.
He lifted his chin and took an appreciative
sniff. Lamb stew. He could almost taste the savory concoction of meat, potatoes, and vegetables. No one prepared a lamb stew like his long-standing housekeeper, and he’d be damned if he’d allow the meal she’d left him to turn cold while he listened to a bunch of palaver from a tardy stranger.
Bristling with impatience, not to mention his newly recalled hunger, he crossed the threshold into the front section of the store, pausing in the archway when his gaze fell upon the figure of a woman. She stood in profile to him, her features obscured by both the peacock feather curving around the wide, semicircular brim of her dark blue bonnet and the golden shaft of early evening sunlight spilling through the window panes.
A single glance at her fine, cream-colored gown, the fabric printed with small bouquets of flowers, its long sleeves fashionably shirred and puffed, as well as the delicate lace draped over her shoulders marked her as a woman of means. No doubt passing through on her way from London to rusticate at a country estate or one of the resort towns popular with the Quality.
She leaned over the glass counter, and William heard her quick intake of breath. He barely suppressed the groan that rose in his throat. Something had obviously caught her fancy, the price of which she’d probably wish to haggle over endlessly.
Damn it, he really wasn’t fond of cold lamb stew.
He moistened his lips to voice a greeting, one he hoped wouldn’t sound overly insincere, and stepped forward. The floorboard beneath his boot creaked. The woman quickly straightened and turned toward him. Their gazes met.
And everything in William froze. His limbs. His breath. His heart. Recognition slammed him like a battering ram to his gut. He hadn’t seen her in two years. Two years, three weeks, and seventeen days, his inner voice whispered. Not that he kept account of the time. Certainly not. He’d known she would someday visit Halstead again, but he hadn’t dreamed that today would be the day. A bolt of panic struck him. He wasn’t prepared for this. For her.
Yet really, there was no preparation that could adequately shore up his defenses against her. God knew he’d been trying for the last decade. One would think that ten years was enough time to exorcise her from his mind. He’d tried valiantly. And failed utterly.
He blinked to see if she was just a figment of his vivid imagination, but she remained, her eyes, the unforgettable shade of aquamarines, riveted on him. Still, he wasn’t truly certain she was real until her lips parted and she said, “Hello, William.”
Hello, William. Two words. That’s all it took to damn near knock him off his feet. The sound of her voice swamped him with memories, recollections that both haunted his days and invaded his dreams. Thoughts that no amount of work or alcohol or travel could fade.
A tremor rippled through him-- part desire, part dread. For as much as he desperately wanted Callie Albright here, he just as strongly didn’t want her anywhere near him.
End of Heart’s Desire excerpt.
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WHEN EMILY KISSED LOGAN bonus chapter excerpt
At the end of Seduced at Midnight (Book 3 of the Mayhem in Mayfair quartet), Lady Emily Stapleford and mysterious American Logan Jennsen found themselves alone in the library. What happened between them? We find out in Tempted at Midnight (Book 4 of the Mayhem in Mayfair quartet), but because Tempted at Midnight begins three months later, the library scene doesn't actually appear in the book. Here's an excerpt from the bonus “on screen” scene-- available FREE on my website-- of exactly what happened in the library. (http:/www.jacquied.com/WEKLChapter.htm)
London, 1820
Curiosity was killing Lady Emily Stapleford. Could it possibly be true that the mysterious, obscenely wealthy American Logan Jennsen, a man she considered nothing more than an uncouth colonial, was an excellent kisser?
Surely not. Surely her friend Carolyn had exaggerated. Still, the claim had piqued Emily’s curiosity and she found herself stealing but yet another glance at the tall, dark-haired, broad shouldered man standing across the drawing room, hating the fact that her gaze continually sought him out. It was as if Logan Jennsen was a powerful magnet and her errant eyeballs were made of metal.
He stood alone, glass of champagne dangling from his long fingers, observing the guests who’d attended the small wedding ceremony between Lady Julianne Bradley and Gideon Mayne. She watched his gaze pan over the small group, telling herself that she’d shift her attention before he looked at her. But just then his eyes locked with hers and she found herself unable to look away, an irritating turn of events as she didn’t like the man. Not one bit. Every time she found herself in his presence, she felt vexed and annoyed, a situation made even more grating because her three closest friends all liked Mr. Jennsen and didn’t understand her antipathy toward him.
Of course Carolyn, Julianne, and Sarah weren’t aware that Emily’s father owed Mr. Jennsen a great deal of money. Had Mr. Jennsen lured her father into an unwise investment? Emily didn’t know, but she wouldn’t put anything past the American. After all, in spite of the fact that he’d been in London for months, what did anyone really know about him? Rumor had it he’d been born into poverty and amassed his fortune through his business acumen and the non-gentlemanly pursuit of hard work. Rumor also had it he’d left America under mysterious circumstances.
And, if Carolyn was to be believed, that he was an excellent kisser.
Could it be true? Since the moment Carolyn had made the claim, Emily hadn’t been able to erase the words from her mind, nor the unsettling images they evoked-- of Logan Jennsen’s mouth touching hers. Curiosity had frequently proven too strong a temptation for Emily to resist, and she simply had to find out. Once her curiosity was satisfied, she’d be able to put the matter, and the man, out of her mind. She didn’t doubt for a moment that she’d find his kiss the exact opposite of excellent, something she’d delight in knowing. And there was no time like the present.
Read When Emily Kissed Logan bonus chapter now for free!
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Table of Contents
Meet the Author
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Dear Reader Letter
At Last excerpt
Mine at Midnight excerpt
Kiss the Cook excerpt
Heart’s Desire excerpt
When Emily Kissed Logan bonus chapter excerpt
He's No Angel (Heaven Can Wait Book 1) Page 19