Harlequin KISS August 2014 Bundle

by Amy Andrews, Aimee Carson, Avril Tremayne

  Mother Nature knew better than to ruin an Avery Shaw creation.

  ‘It’s perfect, Avery,’ Claudia whispered, squeezing her best friend’s hand as they stood with their fathers before the petal-strewn sandy aisle, waiting for the music to strike up.

  ‘They’re perfect,’ Avery whispered back, looking at their men waiting at the other end.

  Claudia nodded. ‘Yes, they are,’ she agreed as the first violin note rent the tropical air and the guests all turned in their beribboned chairs, then stood, smiling at the brides.

  The two women couldn’t have looked more different. Avery, dressed in designer squillions, looked all lean and long in her filmy white mermaid gown that brushed the sand, her shoulders bare, her hair falling in long, elegant, surfy waves down her back, a Swarovski crystal flower catching up one side of her locks in dramatic fashion.

  Claudia, despite threatening to wear her uniform, looked stunning in a white, georgette slip dress with shoestring straps. It hugged her body close and fluttered around her ankles. She wore her hair swept up as she had that night she and Luke had first made love, a hibiscus flower tucked behind her ear.

  The only things in common were their simple frangipani posies.

  Luke held out his hand for her and smiled as she reached him and Claudia’s heart felt as if it were bursting from her chest. He was looking his shaggy best, all suntanned and stubbly, his hair longer now and sunstreaked.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ he murmured.

  ‘So do you.’

  And he did, his mocha-coloured trousers and cream shirt showing off his tan and his muscles to perfection. He’d thrived on the challenge of setting up his own business and become honed and fit from his early morning beach runs.

  ‘Are we ready?’ the celebrant asked.

  Claudia looked at Avery. Her father was murmuring something to her and Claudia was pleased that Avery’s parents had set aside their differences and had both travelled from the US to be here for her today. Mr Shaw kissed his daughter on the cheek, then passed her hand to a scrummy-looking Jonah, clad in sand-coloured linen trousers and white linen shirt.

  ‘We’re ready,’ Jonah said.

  Hull, who was sitting beside him, a big white bow attached to his collar, barked in agreement much to everyone’s amusement.

  And with the mighty Pacific in front of them and their beloved Tropicana behind, the couples pledged their love and fidelity.

  ‘You may kiss your brides,’ the celebrant murmured, after the rings were exchanged and the ceremony came to an end.

  Jonah whooped and dramatically dipped Avery to much applause. Claudia laughed and shook her head, enjoying their moment until Luke picked her up, her feet dangling well clear of the sand, and twirled her in his arms.

  ‘You’ve made me happier than I ever knew I could be,’ he said.

  Claudia smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck. ‘I love you,’ she said, pulling him close, kissing him with greedy intent.

  When they finally surfaced some time later her head was spinning and she grinned at him. ‘I feel giddy.’

  ‘Good.’ Luke chuckled. ‘Because you make me giddy.’

  And then he twirled her around and around and around beneath the tropical sun.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from DARE SHE KISS & TELL? by Aimee Carson

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin KISS story.

  You think of flirting as an art form! Harlequin KISS stories are all about the delirium of a potential new romance—where fun-loving heroines and irresistible heroes just can’t get enough of each other.

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  ONE

  Arms crossed, legs braced shoulder width apart, Hunter Philips stood in the Green Room at Miami’s WTDU TV station and studied the woman on the monitor, mentally preparing for the upcoming clash. On screen Carly Wolfe smiled at the talk-show host and the audience. The little troublemaker was prettier than he’d imagined, with long, glossy brown hair pulled forward over one shoulder and elegant legs crossed. Her leopard print slip dress was flirty and seductively short, matching a pair of killer heels. An outfit perfect for the host’s live midnight show, but mostly for visually seducing a guy into a stupor of compliance. Every man in the viewing area with a functioning libido was quite likely licking their TV screen about now.

  Clearly smitten, the blond talk-show host leaned back in his chair, his mahogany desk catty-corner to the leather love seat where Carly Wolfe sat. “I enjoyed your daily blog accounts of your...shall we say...” Brian O’Connor’s smile grew bigger “...creative attempts to obtain Hunter Philips’s comment before running your story in the Miami Insider. Owning a network security consultant business must leave him little time for the press.”

  Her smile was warm and genuine. “I was told he’s a very busy man.”

  “How many times did you contact him?”

  “I called his secretary six times.” The woman laced her fingers, hooking them at the end of her knee, and sent the host a delightfully mischievous look. “Seven if you count my attempt to hire his company to help with my social networking security settings.”

  The wave of laughter from the audience blended with the host’s chuckle. He was clearly charmed by his guest, and Hunter’s lips twisted in a humorless smile. Carly Wolfe’s fun-loving nature had the audience firmly twined around her delicate pinky finger, which meant Hunter was in some serious trouble.

  “I don’t know for sure,” Brian O’Connor said, oozing the easy sarcasm that made him so popular with the heavily sought-after twenty-to-thirty-five-year-old demographic, “but I imagine Hunter Philips’s company usually deals with more complicated accounts than simple social networking settings.”

  A playful twinkle appeared in her gaze. “That’s the impression I got from his secretary.”

  Hunter stared at Carly’s captivating amber-colored eyes and creamy skin, his body appreciating the entire package. Physical attraction he’d learned to ignore, but these last few weeks he’d grown intrigued and amused as Carly Wolfe’s attempts to get his comment had proved increasingly more ingenious. Unfortunately the sassy sex appeal and the spirited sense of fun was an irresistible combination.

  No doubt she’d learned to use her charms to her advantage.

  Despite the need to pace, the urge to move, Hunter remained still, mentally running through his options for handling the journalist as he assessed her on the monitor. Years ago he’d undergone extensive training, learning how to wait patiently and ignore the chaotic pump of adrenaline surging through his body—no matter the danger. And what did it say about the sad state of his life when danger now came in the form of a pretty reporter?

  Hunter forced himself to listen as the host went on.

  “Ms. Wolfe,” Brian O’Connor said. “For those few Miamians who haven’t read your article, tell us about the program Hunter Philips created that has you so upset with him.”

  “It’s a break-up app called ‘The Ditchinator,’” she said. There was a second ripple of laughter from the audience, and Hunter’s lips twisted wryly. Leave it to Pete Booker, his partner, to choose an insulting name. “Voicemail, text messages, even email,” she went on. “We’ve all been dumped coldheartedly before.” She turned to the audience with an inviting smile that called for solidarity among the rejected. “Am I right?”

  A rousing round of applause and whistles broke out from the crowd, and Hunter grimaced. His reason for designing
apps on the side was to fight his growing restlessness—an uneasy edginess he couldn’t explain—not to bring about a potential PR problem for his company. Especially with a program he’d created eight years ago during a moment of weakness. He never should have given his partner the go-ahead to rework the idea.

  Forcing his attention back to the monitor, Hunter listened as the host addressed Carly. “Are you still interested in speaking with Mr. Philips?”

  “I’m more than interested, Brian,” Carly Wolfe said. “I’m dying to talk to him—if only for a minute.” She turned her winning expression toward the audience, and her beguiling charm reached through the television screen and tugged hard on Hunter’s libido. “What do you guys think?” she said. “Should I keep pursuing Mr. Philips to hear what he has to say for himself?”

  It was clear from the whoops and cheers that the audience was ready to string Hunter up, and his muscles tightened with tension, like rubber bands stretched to the max.

  Long ago he’d been secretly tried, convicted, before being metaphorically hung for being the bad guy—all thanks to another beautiful reporter who had needed her story. This time he had every intention of fighting back...with any means necessary.

  “Mr. Philips?” a crew member said as he entered the room. “You’re on in one minute.”

  * * *

  With the announcement of a commercial break, Carly relaxed in the love seat arranged diagonally to the host. She hoped Hunter Philips was watching the show and saw that the audience was as fired up about his insulting app as she was.

  She was no stranger to humiliation—was becoming quite the expert, in fact. And who hadn’t experienced an impersonal break-up these days? But the memory of Jeremy’s insensitive Ditchinator message boiled Carly’s blood. If he’d simply broken it off with a quick text message she would have been over him in about forty-eight hours. Okay, probably less. The way she’d learned Thomas had dumped her—via a newspaper article and, worse, to save his financial bottom line—had been a theme park ride of embarrassment, minus the thrills and fun. The Ditchinator took the experience in a different direction. It was heartless, for sure. But the worst part? It was so...so...flippant.

  And just how horrendous would it have been if she’d actually been in love?

  There was no way she was going to let the elusive Hunter Philips remain in the shadows, raking in money at other people’s painful expense.

  The commercial break over, the host said, “We were lucky to receive a surprise phone call today. Ms. Wolfe, you’re about to get your wish.”

  Carly froze, a strong sense of foreboding and inevitability curling in her chest, and she forgot to breathe as the host went on.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the show the creator of The Ditchinator—Mr. Hunter Philips.”

  An electric flash zapped Carly’s every nerve, leaving her body numb. Great. After chasing Hunter Philips for weeks, he’d trumped her maneuvers by turning up when she was most unprepared. Crafty little devil.

  Stunned, and irritatingly impressed by his move, Carly felt her heart hammer, and she forced herself to breathe as the man appeared, heading toward her amid the audience’s applause. He wore dark pants and a classy black, long-sleeved knit shirt that hugged a chest too delicious to contemplate. Talk about feeling unprepared. Delectable torsos could definitely prove to be a distraction.

  His dark hair was short on the sides, with just the right amount of thickness on top. His tall frame, replete with lean muscle, moved with a sinewy grace that exuded a lethal readiness—conjuring images of a night prowler poised to pounce.

  Carly had the distinct impression she was the target.

  Brian O’Connor stood as the man strode toward the couch and the two shook hands across the desk. The applause died down as Hunter Philips sat on the love seat beside her. The leather cushion dipped slightly...and Carly’s stomach along with it.

  The host said, “So, Mr. Philips—”

  “Hunter.”

  The man’s voice was smooth, yet with an underlying core of steel that triggered Carly’s internal alarms, confirming that this was not a man to treat lightly. But after all the stunts she’d pulled, well...it was too late to back down now.

  “Hunter,” the host repeated. “Miami has been following Ms. Wolfe’s blog updates as she tried several unusual techniques to get you to comment before she ran her column, and I’d like to know what you thought of her attempts.”

  Hunter Philips shifted in the seat to face her, his intense iced-blue eyes landing on Carly. A static energy bristled along her nerves, paralyzing her. A classic “deer meets headlights” moment.

  Hunter’s smile was slight. Secretive. “I was disappointed we couldn’t accept your social networking job. It sounded fascinating,” he said dryly. “And sadly,” he went on, “I wasn’t able to use the Star Trek convention tickets you sent as an enticement to accept your offer.”

  An amused murmur moved through the audience—most likely because Hunter Philips was so far from the stereotype to attend such a function it was laughable.

  Which was probably why Brian O’Connor was chuckling as well. “Thoughtful gift.”

  Hunter Philips studied Carly, his brow crinkling mockingly. “It would have been even better if I were a fan of the franchise,” he said, his nerve-racking gaze pinning her down.

  Mentally she shook herself from her stupor. Now’s your chance, Carly. Just keep it cool. Keep it easy-breezy. And for God’s sake, whatever you do, don’t let your emotions get the best of you again.

  She tried for her standard disarming smile, the kind that usually won people over, holding out little hope that it would sway this darkly dangerous man next to her. “Sci-fi isn’t your thing?”

  “I prefer mysteries and thrillers...”

  “I’m sure you do.” He was mysterious, all right. “I’ll keep your genre preference in mind next time.”

  His lips curled at one corner, more in warning than humor. “There won’t be a next time.”

  “Pity.” Those watchful eyes made the hair at her neck prickle, but she refused to back down from his gaze. “Even though chasing your comment ultimately proved fruitless, it was still fun.”

  The host chuckled. “I liked the story of when you tried to deliver a singing candy-gram.”

  “That didn’t even get me past Security,” Carly said wryly.

  Hunter lifted an eyebrow at her, even as he addressed the host. “My favorite was when she applied online for a position at my company.”

  Despite her nerves, and the smoldering anger she was beginning to feel building inside her, she tried injecting a little more false charm into her smile. “I’d hoped a job interview would at least get me personal contact.”

  “Personal contact is good,” Brian O’Connor commented slyly.

  Hunter’s gaze grazed purposefully across her lips—setting off a firestorm of confusion in her body—before returning to her eyes. “I can see how Ms. Wolfe’s charms would be more effective in person.”

  Carly’s heart contracted, and her anger climbed higher as comprehension dawned. He wasn’t simply checking her out; he was accusing her of flirting with intent. And the warning in his gaze made it clear he was less than amused. But engaging others came naturally to her. She liked people. Especially interesting people. And the fascinating Hunter Philips was overqualified for the title.

  “Well...” She struggled to keep her irritation from showing. “While you specialize in avoidance, I’m much better at one-on-one.”

  “Yes.” His tone held an intriguing combination of both accusation and sensual suggestion, setting her every cell thrumming. “I imagine you are.”

  Her lips flattened. If she was going to be accused of using flirting as a tool, she might as well give him her best shot. She leaned a tad closer and crossed her legs in his dir
ection, her dress creeping higher on her thigh as planned. “And you?” she said, as innocently as she could.

  His glance at her legs was quick but hair-raising, followed by a look that acknowledged both her attributes and her attempt to throw him off. In contrast to the wild knocking in her chest, he was cool and collected as he went on. “It depends on who the other ‘one’ is.”

  She wasn’t sure if he was truly attracted to her or not. If he was, he clearly could control himself.

  “I’m good with a face-to-face with someone I find intriguing and clever,” he went on. She got the impression he was referring to her. And yet somehow...it wasn’t a compliment. “The encrypted résumé you sent to my office was interesting and creative. The simple substitution cipher you used was easy to decode, but still...” a barely perceptible nod in her direction “...it was a genius touch that ensured it got passed directly to me.”

  “As one who seems overly keen on protecting information,” she said with a pointed look, “I thought you’d appreciate the effort.”

  “I did.” His tiny smile screamed Caution! Trouble ahead! and his words made it clear why. “Though my silence on the matter should have been response enough.”

  “A simple ‘no comment’ would have sufficed.”

  “I doubt you would have settled for that.” His powerful gaze gave her the impression he knew her every thought. An impression made even more annoying by the fact that he was right—she wouldn’t have been satisfied with that easy get-out. “And since I declined your offer of a meeting,” he went on, “I’m returning the secret decoder ring you sent as a gift.”

  As another twitter of amusement moved through the studio audience, Hunter reached into his pants pocket and then held out the tiny object, his gaze on hers. For a moment she detected a faint light in his eyes. Despite everything, he had been amused by her attempts to meet with him.