Harlequin KISS November 2014 Box Set: Behind Closed Doors...Fired by Her FlingWho's Calling the Shots?Nine Month Countdown

by Anne Oliver

  But right now, the man had somehow taken up all her thoughts. And when their gazes finally connected—when she could truly see all that remarkable intensity—it was almost as if he’d taken over her body, too. Her skin was hot. Her mouth was dry.

  And from this distance, she couldn’t even see the colour of his eyes.

  Oh, God. What would happen if he was close enough for her to see if they were blue, or green, or grey?

  Based on her current reaction, she’d most likely burst into flames.

  No.

  Now she was being silly. He was just a man, just a guest at the wedding.

  Just a distraction she didn’t need.

  She was April’s chief bridesmaid. And she was Chief Operating Officer of Molyneux Mining. Neither of those things were conducive to gazing like a lust-crazed idiot across the dance floor at her sister’s wedding.

  Yet she was still doing exactly that.

  And just as she was sternly telling herself that it really wasn’t that hard to look elsewhere...anywhere...but at him...

  Something happened.

  He winked.

  * * *

  Angus Barlow always knew what he was doing. He was measured, methodical, structured. Calm. Not easily distracted, or swayed by others.

  So he’d known what he’d been doing when his gaze had first collided with Ivy as she’d walked down that aisle. He’d been having a damn good look at a beautiful woman.

  Her long black hair was looped and twisted up to leave her neck exposed above her bare shoulders. Her skin had glowed in the sunlight, and was still managing to do so now, even in the candlelit marquee without the help of the rapidly setting sun.

  She had a great profile. A long, thin nose and a strong chin.

  The sea breeze had done fabulous things to the pale purple dress she wore, plastering it hard against her curves as she’d walked. And if he’d continued to watch her rear view, rather than turning to observe the bride’s arrival—well, Angus didn’t really think anyone could blame him.

  And now, hours later, he’d found himself again compelled to look at Ivy.

  Angus supposed it could be argued that Ivy wasn’t the most beautiful woman at the wedding. In fact, Angus had heard that many considered her unlucky she didn’t inherit more of her father’s movie-star looks, the way her two younger sisters had. Although Angus couldn’t agree. It was true she did take more after her unusual mother—in both looks and personality, given the way she was following exactly in her mother’s business footsteps. But he liked the angles to Ivy’s face: the sharpness of her cheekbones, the slant to her brows.

  Plus he’d really liked the contrasting plump of her lips. He’d never noticed before tonight, never really even looked at the many photos of her that could be found in the paper, or the footage of her on TV. But right now it seemed impossible he hadn’t.

  So yes, he did know what he was doing.

  Right on cue, he felt a twinge in his bandaged right wrist, as if to remind him at least partly why he was doing this.

  Not why he was looking at Ivy Molyneux. But why he was here, at this wedding, at all.

  He wasn’t supposed to be here, of course. He’d declined the original invitation, only to break his wrist during a training exercise in Darwin a month or so later.

  So rather than where he should be, deployed with his squadron in Afghanistan, he was at Evan’s wedding. Surrounded by people who were part of a world he’d exited so abruptly more than fifteen years earlier, and that he’d truly not missed at all.

  This was not his thing: an opulent, diamond-drenched evening jammed full of the superficial and the vacuous.

  He was on a singles table of sorts. His fellow guests were a mixture of the different flavours of wealth he remembered from high school: old money, new money, and used-to-have money. Then there were the people aware of their luck and good fortune—and then those that were painfully, frustratingly oblivious. In his experience, most of the wealthy fell into the second category. But even then, they generally weren’t bad people. Just not his type of people.

  Ivy Molyneux was certainly not his type of people either. A billionaire heiress born into obscene wealth, how could she be anything but extraordinarily ignorant of what it was like to actually exist in the real world?

  And yet that was the thing. Amongst the hundreds of faces here at this wedding, amongst all this glitz and glitter, when she’d met his gaze it had felt...

  Real.

  That he certainly hadn’t expected.

  That was why he hadn’t looked away, and why his interest in her had become much more than a simple visual appreciation of a beautiful woman.

  That was why he’d winked.

  And Ivy’s jaw had dropped open, then almost immediately snapped shut.

  Then her eyes had narrowed, just before a near imperceptible shake of her head—and she’d turned her attention to the groomsman beside her, as if Angus no longer existed.

  But somehow he knew, knew deep within his bones, that this wasn’t even close to over.

  * * *

  It had taken considerable effort, but Ivy managed to avoid looking at Angus throughout her entire maid of honour speech. Thanks to years of practising public speaking, Ivy knew how to ensure the entire crowd felt she was talking directly to them. Unfortunately tonight the block of about five tables immediately surrounding Angus’s might have felt rather ignored.

  But, it couldn’t be helped.

  Not that the not looking helped a lot. Because he’d definitely just kept on looking at her.

  She knew it, because her whole body felt his concentrated attention. It had only been sheer will that had prevented the stupid racing of her heart or the odd, inexplicable nerves that churned through her belly from impacting her voice. Honestly, she felt as though, if she let herself, she’d come over all soft and breathy and...pathetic.

  But of course she hadn’t, and April had given her the tightest of hugs after her speech, so that was a relief. That was all that mattered tonight, that April was happy.

  Even her mother—on the parents’ table in prime position near the cake—had lifted her chin in the subtlest of actions. Ivy had learnt long ago that that was about as effusive as Irene Molyneux ever got, so she’d take it.

  With her formal duties out of the way, Ivy should now be able to relax for the remainder of the speeches. But of course she couldn’t.

  By the time dessert was served, and Evan had delivered his—hilarious by the reaction of the guests, even if Ivy registered barely a word—speech, Ivy was about to crawl out of her skin in frustration.

  Finally the dancing began—and Ivy made her escape.

  With the straps of her heels tangled in her fingers, the lawn outside the marquee was cool beneath her bare feet. She had to walk some distance before she could hear the ocean above the exuberant cacophony of music and voices of the reception.

  The hotel gardens stretched along the beach from either side of the main hotel building. Lights dotted pathways that led to bungalows and villas, but they were all empty, with every guest at the hotel also a guest at the wedding.

  And it felt empty, which Ivy appreciated. She’d flown in from London only...yesterday? No, the day before.

  Ivy smiled—it was recently enough, anyway, that jet lag still had her confusing her days.

  But after a series of intense business meetings, a thirty-six-hour journey from London after delays in Dubai, the madness that was the last-minute planning for the wedding, and then that disconcerting attention from Angus Whoever—Ivy was seriously happy to finally be alone.

  She took a long, measured breath and waited for her muscles to relax as she exhaled.

  But they didn’t.

  ‘Ivy.’

  She spun around to confront the reason for
the tension throughout her body. Angus wore a cream linen shirt, untucked, and dark knee-length tailored shorts—a variation of what the majority of male guests were wearing. Unlike the majority of male guests, he still managed what should be impossible—to look as if he was attending a wedding, rather than a barbeque. Maybe it was his posture? The extreme straightness of how he stood, combined with the way his clothing hung so perfectly from his muscular frame? Whatever it was, Ivy suspected he looked equally gorgeous taking out his garbage.

  ‘You followed me,’ she said.

  He shrugged. ‘You knew I would.’

  Ivy’s mouth dropped open. ‘Don’t be absurd.’

  While his shirt was clearly visible in the limited light, the rest of him blurred into the darkness behind him, his face all angles and shadows. Even so, Ivy knew, knew, he was looking at her in disbelief.

  ‘Look,’ she said, in her no-nonsense work voice, ‘I really don’t have time for this.’

  ‘This being?’

  He really did have a fantastic voice. Deep and authoritative.

  Not that it made any difference.

  ‘This,’ she said, waving her hands to encompass them both.

  ‘I’m still confused,’ he said. ‘Can you elaborate?’

  Ivy gave a little huff of frustration. ‘I don’t have time for whatever two random strangers might do when they meet at a wedding.’

  And she didn’t. It had been hours since she’d checked her email.

  A laugh. ‘C’mon, Ivy. I’m sure you can think up a far more interesting descriptor than whatever.’

  ‘I could,’ she said. ‘But that would take more of my precious time. So—’

  She was half a step towards the path when Angus’s hand wrapped around her lower arm. He wore a light bandage that encircled his palm and extended halfway to his elbow, the fabric just the tiniest bit rough against her skin.

  ‘Honey, everyone has time for...’ his grip loosened and his fingers briefly traced a path across her wrist ‘...talking.’

  Ignoring her body’s traitorous shivery reaction to his touch, Ivy went on the defensive. ‘This isn’t just talking.’

  But, of course, that was a mistake.

  She sensed, rather than saw, his smile.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘That’s the point, isn’t it?’

  Ivy shook her head, as if that would somehow help her brain reorganise itself. She was just...off. Unbalanced. If she was to walk away from him now, she’d be counting her steps, definitely.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘The point is there is no point. That’s the point.’ Seriously? Could she be any more ridiculous?

  She tried again. ‘You’re not my type, Angus.’

  The shadow of his smile told her immediately that she’d made a mistake. Now he knew she knew his name.

  But standing so close to him, Ivy supposed she should be relieved she could speak at all. What did this man do to her?

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ he said. As if that was that.

  And then he surprised her by casually sitting on the sand. He leant right back on his elbows, his legs crossed at the ankles. ‘Sit.’

  Logic would’ve had her back at the marquee by now, so it came as no surprise that she found herself seated beside him. She sat more stiffly though, her hands rested on the silk skirt that covered her knees, her gaze firmly on the black of the ocean.

  A big part of her knew she really needed to get back to the marquee. What if April needed her? Plus it really had been hours since she’d checked her email—maybe she could pop by her suite on the way back?

  She’d levered herself onto her knees to stand when she felt Angus’s hand on her arm. Electricity shot across her skin and she found herself completely still.

  ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘We’re supposed to be having a conversation, remember?’

  ‘But, my emails—’

  The man’s laughter was loud, and strong and totally unexpected in the darkness.

  ‘Emails? You’re on a deserted tropical beach with a guy who is seriously attracted to you—and you’re thinking about email? That cuts deep.’

  Ivy smiled despite herself, and rearranged her legs so she was sitting again, his hand—unfortunately—falling away.

  ‘You’re seriously attracted to me?’ she said.

  ‘I’ll take smug if it means no more talk of work.’

  Ivy smiled again. ‘Deal,’ she said. For a long minute, she studied the ocean again. Her eyes had adjusted now, and she could just make out the occasional edge of foam along the crest of a wave.

  Something had changed, Ivy realised. The stiffness in her shoulders had loosened. A tightness in her jaw was gone.

  She couldn’t say she was relaxed, not sitting beside this man. But the tension she felt had shifted—maybe it was that her everyday tensions had lifted? Only to be replaced by another flavour of tension, but Ivy had to admit the tension that radiated between her and Angus was vastly, vastly preferable—no matter how uncomfortable it felt.

  Uncomfortable, because she didn’t know what to do with it. But also...different. Unfamiliar. Exciting.

  She twisted to face him.

  ‘Hi, I’m Ivy Molyneux,’ she said.

  ‘Angus Barlow.’

  And she smiled. It had been an intense few days, so frantic that she’d barely acknowledged her beautiful surroundings.

  For the first time, she really felt the beach sand beneath her toes. Felt the kiss of the ocean breeze.

  She deserved a break, even if she didn’t have time for a holiday.

  And really, what was the harm of letting her guard down with a gorgeous, charming stranger, just for a few minutes?

  Then she’d go check her email, and then back to the wedding.

  Simple.

  Copyright © 2014 by Leah Ashton

  ISBN-13: 9781460344484

  Fired by Her Fling

  Copyright © 2014 by Christy McKellen

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  Lights... Camera... Sizzling attraction!

  Director Jack Douglas needs a hit. High ratings keep his volatile father sweet, and therefore his mother happy—and she’s the only thing Jack cares about. New TV show Perfect Match looks ideal.

  A dating reality show is not contestant Brooke Wright’s idea of fun. But it’s an incredible chance to promote her family’s deluxe sports brand and give something back to her adopted sisters. If only she could ignore the maddeningly hot guy in charge!

  So when the cameras stop rolling, how long will they be able to keep their eyes on the prize...and their hands off each other?

  SNEAK PEEK EXCERPT FROM

  Who’s Calling the Shots?

  In the darkness of th
e bar with the slow, sexy beat of the music in the background, Jack was looking...delicious.

  He saw her and smiled and she steeled herself against the anxious flutter in her chest.

  Don’t look at his smile, look at his teeth. White, straight—perfect. No, not helping. Look away.

  His hair. Look up. It looked thick and wavy and was being held up over his forehead. Very nice hair. Don’t look at his hair.

  His eyes. Dark and velvety. Chocolaty. Sexy. Bedroom eyes. Definitely don’t look there.

  A lazy layer of dark stubble sat on his jaw. It made him look a little rougher, a little more manly—maybe even a little dirty.

  Brooke swallowed hard and pulled at the collar of her shirt. She’d wanted to look sophisticated, in charge and in control. But now all she felt was exposed. She tried to cover herself up a little before pushing her lips into a wide smile and attempting to saunter toward him.

  He smiled and said, “You look incredibly sexy tonight. Hot date?”

  Dear Reader,

  Something that has always fascinated me is finding out why people make the choices they do and where their emotions stem from. Reality TV is supposed to be a fly-on-the-wall interpretation of real life, but often it’s not. It’s manipulated to increase drama and sex appeal. This thought led me to social media and the way people use it to manipulate the way people interpret your life. Often through a filter and where you supposedly only have good-hair days. Modern dating has become an exciting but scary place. All it takes is a “like” on Instagram and a couple of Snapchat exchanges and next thing you’re tearing each other’s clothes off on your lounge room floor. Before you get to know each other. Before you consider the realities of spending time with that person.

  We live in an age of filtered reality and it ain’t changing anytime soon. But I’m old-school. I’d rather meet someone in person and find out whether they’re a sandwich short of a picnic or exude a strange smell rather than “like” them on social media and think later. Brooke and Jack’s involvement in a reality TV show skews the way they look at life, love and each other. It takes time spent alone with each other to realize that the only way to fall in love—really fall in love—is to switch off, push aside your prejudgments and filtered realities, and reach deep into each other’s souls. Love is not a filtered reality. It’s dirty and messy, heartbreaking and exhilarating. But when Jack and Brooke realize they need to experience it to feel it, their lives can really begin.