by Joan Reeves
Surprised, Susannah asked, "Do I really sound so self-righteous?"
"No, hon, no." Grace smiled and held her thumb and index finger close together. "Well, maybe just a teeny bit. You gotta quit judging people and how they should or shouldn't act. And quit assuming responsibility for other people. You've been doing that since you were seven. It's time to live your own life. Let others live theirs. Good golly. Have some fun. Stop being as unyielding as a clod of sun-baked mud."
Grace's assessment hurt. A lot. Susannah blinked to dispel the sudden moisture that threatened to turn into tears. "I was just saying that Hogan, as a hotshot consultant, should set an example for others."
"It's not as if he robbed a bank. All he did was double park."
"That's illegal. He was impeding traffic flow. He could have caused a traffic jam."
"Oh, come on. Not only is this the smallest dang county in Texas, it's also got the smallest towns. The closest thing to a traffic jam here in Vance was when Cici Rojas's pet sheep got loose and rammed the plate glass window at the bank."
Susannah smiled at the memory. She'd been fifteen when the massively overweight Ruffles had made his great escape.
"Now that assault sheep impeded traffic when everybody jumped out of their cars to try to catch him. Would you have written tickets for all of them or joined in the effort to catch Ruffles? I'm just saying that sometimes there might be mitigating circumstances to consider."
Resignation seeped through Susannah. "You should have been a preacher the way you keep at a person until she admits her sins. All right. Maybe he wasn't impeding traffic. I'll even admit, I should have let him off with a verbal warning."
"You've got a bad case of Rookie Cop. Ever hear about pride going before a fall?"
The phone rang again. Susannah decided it was better that Grace thought she was a gung ho rookie than to have her learn the truth. She listened to Grace's side of the conversation, hoping someone, somewhere, needed a deputy. But the call was from another of Grace's friends. No escape. The only thing more boring than this job was the small town she couldn't escape from either. And the only thing more boring than that was her personal life.
In college, she'd had friends. And dates. Though she'd never let any relationship slide into the perilous waters of romance. She sure didn't have to worry about that here. Eligible men were as scarce as unbroken sand dollars on a Gulf coast beach. Not that she cared, she silently affirmed. She'd decided long ago that all she wanted was a career. She'd be a good cop. If her uncle would give her a chance. She didn't want romance, but a social life would be nice.
Unfortunately, her high school friends had deserted Vance for the bright lights of Houston or San Antonio. She didn't blame them. She'd have done the same if it hadn't been for her mother. Luke Orland, her high school boyfriend, was now a cop down in Murphy's Cove, but they hadn't hooked up when she'd come home. To Luke, women were divided into two groups. Those good for sexy fun and games, and those he'd never get between the sheets. She still fell into the latter category.
Boring job. Boring town. Boring personal life. The triple threat was about to do her in.
Maybe it would be more bearable when Paula came home. Grace's daughter taught at Sam Houston State, the college they'd both attended. When the summer semester ended next week, she'd be home. That might save her sanity.
To Susannah's annoyance, after Grace finished the latest call, she picked up where she'd left off. "You've always been a rule follower, but in law enforcement, professional courtesy is as important as protecting and serving. You don't write the Mayor's pal a ticket. Especially when the Mayor runs the richest town in the county. And you sure don't ticket a cruiser from another police department." Then Grace spoiled the whole effect of her professional courtesy lecture by giggling like a school girl. "There's easier ways to get a stud muffin like Hogan to notice you."
Horrified, Susannah stared at Grace. Surely the woman couldn't know. "I did not write him a ticket so he'd notice me. Even if the governor declares D. E. Hogan heaven's gift to womankind, I wouldn't be interested. He's not even what I'd call handsome."
"Well, Susy Q," a male voice drawled. "I'm mortally wounded. Are you sure you don't find me appealing?"
The Trouble With Love by Joan Reeves
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Excerpt, Video Vixen by Elaine Raco Chase
Hands behind his head, Dan lounged back into the chair. "So you’re all nice. I wonder…." His dark gaze centered on her anger-flushed features; his voice was low, suggestive and goading. "Even you, Victoria Kirkland? Has today been one of your more memorable performances as Vixen Mallory?"
Fire-tipped fingers curved like elegant talons, reached out, gripped his tie, and turned it into a silk noose. Vikki hauled a startled Dan Falkner up from his chair stopping only when his face was nose-to-nose with hers. "Oh, no, Daniel Webster Falkner, I’m for real." Ruby lips spoke heated words against his mouth. "I’m the spice you’re looking for. The only thing you have to wonder about is how much seasoning you can handle." Vikki released her hold on his tie; her hands pushed against his shoulders and sent him sprawling backward. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to tangle and seduce another man."
Raw nerves fueled by pure adrenaline propelled Vikki to the sound stage. "Charlie," her breathing came in jerky gasps as she spoke to the bald, casually dressed director "Steve and I faxed this scene on Friday, and I’m really primed, so can we just go ahead and tape it?"
Charlie stared at her for a long moment, nodded and began issuing final taping orders as Vikki took her marked position on the office-furnished stage set and spoke to her co-star.
Shielded to the left of camera three, Dan quietly watched an unobstructed view of the actors. The scene was between Vixen Mallory and her husband's business partner. A spectacular verbal battle ensued between two stunning performers.
Dan became mesmerized by Vikki's every word, gesture and movement. The scene was choreographed so slickly that when the climax came and Vikki was the recipient of a slap that sent her head reeling in a powerful whiplash, Dan jumped toward the stage.
A grinning cameraman halted him and jerked a thumb toward the effects man, who produced the sound that made the blow so realistic. Uncurling his balled fist, Dan had to again remind himself this was all illusion.
With a sharp shake of his head, he moved toward the exit door. Looking back at the actress, Dan wondered if illusion and reality weren't one in the same. And if Vikki Kirkland was more Vixen than Victoria, why in hell had he tried to come to her rescue?
Video Vixen by Elaine Raco Chase
Available at Ebook Retailers
Excerpt, In the Garden of Seduction by Cynthia Wicklund
Book 2: The Garden Series
The last thing Cassandra had promised herself was to keep her distance from the marquess. Away from him she had resolve, but in his presence she lost sight of why she should avoid him. He wooed her with ardent words and hungry looks, and she responded like clay in his experienced hands. He must be gratified, Cassandra thought, by how easily he could manipulate her.
"Have you been waiting long?"
He came up behind her where she sat on the garden bench, and a thrill of fear seized her before she realized who it was. Her hand flew to her throat.
"You frightened me."
"I apologize," Lord Sutherfield said as he moved around the bench and sat next to her, shoulder to shoulder. "I was caught in a conversation and it took a moment to extricate myself. I was afraid you would not wait for me."
"I should not be here at all," she fretted, examining her hands where they lay in her lap.
He leaned forward, and from the corner of her eye she could see him studying her profile.
"I see. I was delayed just long enough for you to regret having come. I wish you wouldn't feel that way."
Cassandra looked at him directly. "An unmarried female of good character does not have a secret meeting with a gentleman, especially a gentleman wh
ose reputation with the ladies is suspect. Why I always forget that when I'm in your company, I'll never know."
"I would not deliberately hurt you, Miss James." He snorted then as if he did not believe his own words. "I want to do the right thing, I really do, but your company affects me as well."
"It does?"
"Yes, indeed. Why does that surprise you?"
Cassandra stared at his handsome face, the shadows emphasizing his brow, the high cheekbones. He watched her with eyes that burned earnestly, and all at once she was consumed with the need to touch him.
"Do it!" he growled in a hoarse whisper.
He knew. Oh, he knew! Was her desire that obvious? Could he see her confusion, her fear, the attraction she fought?
"Do it," he urged her again.
Although she shook her head, Cassandra did not have the strength to resist his impassioned plea. Her hand moved to his lean jaw. Caressing the hollow of his cheek, she felt the hint of a stubble. His teeth clenched as he sucked in a harsh breath through flaring nostrils.
He grabbed her wrist and pressed his mouth into her palm, raising heated eyes to hers.
Cassandra could feel herself melting. She had no power in the face of such irresistible persuasion. The age-old barriers of self-protection were slipping away, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. If the marquess continued to pursue her, before long repercussions would have no meaning. Until it was too late.
He was aware of the effect his lovemaking had on her, and she wanted to be indifferent to him. In desperation she tried to remember why she was here in the first place.
"Timothy," Cassandra said, slipping her hand from his grasp and drawing away from him.
"What? Oh, yes. . . ." The marquess sat, blinking as though clearing his vision. "I forgot," he said in a sheepish voice. An odd expression on his face indicated that he, also, had been moved by their exchange.
"You were going to tell me how our patient is doing." She sounded normal even though her insides continued to tremble.
"Timothy is healing quite nicely," Lord Sutherfield said in a businesslike fashion. "I'm worried about what we are to do with him once he is well. I know Mr. Bailey has been searching for his son."
"We can't return that child to his father."
"Do you have any suggestions?" His attitude did not encourage optimism that Timothy's problem could be solved easily.
"No. I hoped you had something in mind."
"Can't say I do, but I'll see what can be done."
"Would you?" Cassandra gazed at him imploringly. It was her turn to use wiles to gain what she wanted. She had to refrain from batting her lashes at him.
He chortled softly. "When you look at me like that, dear heart, I feel pushed to make the effort. But then you already knew that, didn't you?"
Unable to help herself, she laughed with him. "I've never met anyone like you."
"Is that a good thing?" the marquess asked tenderly.
Cassandra glanced at him before quickly looking away. "I haven't a clue, my lord. I'll have to let you know when I discover the answer."
Lord Sutherfield rose to his feet and took her by the hand. "Walk with me."
"Shouldn't I go back to the party? I'm sure to be missed," she said, allowing him to help her stand.
"What would you do if you were back in London and still living with Quintin James? Would a stroll in the garden be such a wicked thing?"
The question was a shrewd one. She didn't intend to let him know it, though.
"Perhaps not, but my father doesn't know you. I think if he were to meet you he'd be as cautious as my grandfather."
The marquess drew her arm through his and leaned down, his mouth close to her ear. "I'd like to think the caution is yours."
"That makes no sense at all," she said impatiently.
"It does if it is you rather than me you do not trust."
Lord Sutherfield's warm breath drifted down her neck, causing her skin to prickle with excitement. Just when she had herself in check, he began the onslaught anew. Her body responded as it always did when his tone turned suggestive.
Ambling down the winding path, they moved away from the safety of the house. The doors to the parlor had been thrown open to the main garden, and the voices of those guests still partying could be heard drifting from inside. If she were taking her little walk with the marquess right outside those doors, it would probably be considered completely respectable.
They came upon a majestic oak looming out of the darkness at the end of the path, its branches spanning nearly thirty feet. Moonlight seeped through the aged limbs, splintered patches of illumination creating a fey realm beneath the sprawling canopy of the tree. The gauze of Cassandra's dress sparkled like dozens of tiny, glowing night beetles in the dimness. Just like a sprite, she reflected whimsically, touched by the enchantment of the balmy evening.
All at once, she wanted to make the most of the magical moment. Did she want the marquess to kiss her? Yes, she thought, perhaps she did. She liked it when he kissed her, although she had spent a lot of time denying that fact, and maybe now she would kiss him back.
Several steps in front of Lord Sutherfield, she whisked around to face him. With her hands clasped behind her back, she leaned coquettishly against the massive trunk of the tree. His expression was drawn tight with desire as he moved closer, and an intoxicating power welled within her. How the next few minutes went were hers alone to decide. Unless he were a cad. Her instincts denied that possibility. She tilted her head, smiling faintly at him.
His gaze sharpened. "This is a dangerous game, Miss James. Are you certain you wish to play so deep?"
In the Garden of Seduction by Cynthia Wicklund
Available at Ebook Retailers
Excerpt, Jane I'm-Still-Single Jones by Joan Reeves
When she found the person responsible for this, she would make them pay. Big time!
Jane Jones stared at the plastic-encased name tag in her right hand. No way would she wear this! She wasn't some boy-crazy teenager! Or a desperate woman on the make! She was a successful businesswoman. She'd even been called one of "the new sophisticates" in a New York Times column! But did that matter in Vernon, Louisiana? Heck no!
So what if she still wasn't married? It shouldn't matter to anyone, with the possible exception of her mother, that she was still flying solo through life. Jane's eyes narrowed. Which of her former classmates was responsible for this embarrassment?
"Jane Louise Jones! Quit staring at that name badge as if it were a water moccasin from Pine Slough and put it on."
Jane's focus shifted from the detestable piece of plastic to the woman who'd handed her the reunion packet. Her eyes widened in dismay. Belatedly, she recognized her high school nemesis presiding at the reception table. Of all people, why did it have to be Earleen Mushmak?
The teacher's thin lips stretched in a grimace that almost resembled a smile. "Welcome to your ten-year high school reunion, Jane Louise." She cocked her head to the side as if in deep thought. Then she said, "That's very daring of you to wear red, dear. Most redheads would think better of it."
Some high school traumas never die, Jane thought. This one looked as if she hadn't aged a day.
"Thank you, Miss Mushmak," Jane murmured, trying hard to remember that she was a grown woman, not some high school kid unused to dealing with difficult people.
Often, Jane joked with her family about traveling through a time warp to get from New York to her sleepy hometown tucked away in the rolling hills of north Louisiana. But, looking at the woman who had taught at the local high school since before Jane was born, she half-believed it was true.
Her former teacher hadn't changed a bit. Unfortunately. The years appeared to have had no softening effect on the woman who struck fear into the heart of every freshman entering Vernon High School. Same straggly bun. Same steel-rimmed granny glasses. Same piercing gray eyes that made you believe she had x-ray vision.
The bossy old maid had never liked her,
Jane thought resentfully, nor any of her other students except one. And thinking about him only increased Jane's ire. She fingered the name tag and took a deep breath. She'd laugh and toss it back on the table. They could darn well give her a blank one. Then she'd write her own inscription next to her name.
"Did you hear me, Jane Louise?" Miss Mushmak demanded, pushing her glasses down on her nose and peering over them.
The double moniker rubbed Jane the wrong way. In New York, she was J. L. Jones, owner of JLJ Design. Here, she was meek little Jane Louise.
"Jane Louise?" Miss Mushmak repeated, with more snap to her tone this time. The woman, who'd tried her best to hammer into Jane's decidedly un-mathematical brain various forms of math, from her freshman to her senior years, stared at her just as she'd done back in high school.
Jane reacted like the new sophisticate she was. She squirmed and replied meekly, "Yes, Miss Mushmak."
"Good. Don't dawdle. Step aside to pin on your name tag."
"Yes, Miss Mushmak." She'd step aside, but she darn well wasn't going to wear the name tag.
Coward, she scolded herself, even as she moved away from the reception table. Ten years after graduation, and she was still terrified of the woman. It made no sense. What could Miss Mushmak do now? Flunk her again?
Her gesture of defiance in not pinning the nametag on might be small, but it lifted her spirits. Looking around she saw refreshments set up on gold crepe paper-covered tables in the center of the large room that served as cafeteria and auditorium for the old school.
Maybe some caffeine would short circuit the tension headache that threatened at the base of her neck. Jane had taken only a few steps when someone grabbed her arm and spun her around.
"Amber!" Jane's scowl changed to a grin. She grabbed her best friend from high school and hugged her. Amber squealed and giggled.
Even at twenty-eight, Amber Hicks. No, Amber Hicks Chalmers, Jane mentally corrected. Amber still couldn't control her excitement. Same old Amber, Jane thought fondly, stepping back to look at her friend.