Yours to Keep: A Loveswept Contemporary Romance

by Bell, Serena

  THE EDITOR’S CORNER

  Welcome to Loveswept!

  The holidays are approaching and I’ve so many things to do, don’t you? So why is it all I want to do is cuddle up on the couch with a good book? I’ll tell you why, there are so many amazing Loveswept stories on sale this month that all you’ll want to do is read too!! For starters, LOVING THE EARL (11/11) by Sharon Cullen features our hero’s sister from THE NOTORIOUS LADY ANNE (2/11), and OMG ladies, this book is for you! Sharon writes with wit and steam a combination that keeps me reading all night long. Double your historical delight with Samantha Kane’s finale in The Saint’s Devils, DEVIL IN MY ARMS (11/26) – its Hil’s story and what a match he’s made. Then, Loveswept debut, Serena Bell releases, YOURS TO KEEP (11/11), a captivating story of a woman living on the edge—and the man who’s destined to love her (sigh).

  And there’s more!

  Ruthie Knox releases a series of short stories, Roman Holiday. Over the next weeks look for each installment: CHAINED (11/12) - book one launches the series; followed by, HITCHED (11/19); then, BLINDSIDED (11/26), plus books four and five are right around the corner, ten books in all!!

  And, you can’t miss these classics:

  Fran Baker’s, THE WIDOW AND THE WILDCATTER, the captivating story of a woman haunted by the ghosts of the past, and a daredevil who promises a future filled with love; Sandra Chastain’s, REBEL IN SILK, about an unconventional beauty who refuses to back down from a challenge—or a handsome loner with a taste for trouble; and Sandra’s classics continue with, TOO HOT TO HANDLE, and, THE SILVER BULLET AFFAIR. Look for favorite Loveswept author Iris Johansen and her re-release of, STAR-SPANGLED BRIDE. Readers have continued to adore Ruth Owen’s Loveswepts including, SORCERER, a sexy tale of an emotionally guarded computer whiz and the princess who makes virtual reality come to vivid life. And, to wrap up the month Jean Stone’s, BIRTHDAY GIRL, and Connie Brockway’s, AS YOU DESIRE, will keep you toasty on those cold winter nights.

  Holiday lovers won’t want to skip these contemporary reissues, ROOM AT THE INN by Ruthie Knox, and Molly O’Keefe’s, ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS, guaranteed to put you in the holiday spirit.

  New this winter is, HEATING UP THE HOLIDAY’S, a fabulous anthology that takes you through the seasons: New York Times bestselling author, Lisa Renee Jones, leads the lineup with, PLAY WITH ME, a Thanksgiving romance; SNOWFALL, by Mary Ann Rivers, will warm you up for Christmas; and knock off your New Years with, MIDIGHT AFFAIR, by Serena Bell – love could not be any more special!

  Be swept away with Loveswept, ’tis the season!

  Happy Holidays –

  Gina Wachtel

  Associate Publisher

  Read on for excerpts from more Loveswept titles …

  Read on for an excerpt from Elisabeth Barrett’s

  Slow Summer Burn

  Chapter 1

  “Sweet office,” a tall, dark-haired man wearing a pair of hipster glasses and a well-cut suit said as he stepped inside and leaned his broad shoulders back on the door frame. “Why don’t you spend more time in it?”

  Val Grayson looked up at his brother, put down the pen he was holding, and rubbed his eyes. “Because when I’m here, I actually have to work. You know how much I hate work.”

  Theo smiled, the corners of his green eyes crinkling at the edges. “Liar. You just hate being indoors.”

  Val inclined his head in agreement. “That, too. Looks like you got through security all right. Marion escort you in?” He could always count on his secretary, Marion Heeps, as a gatekeeper.

  “Yeah,” Theo said. “This place is like Fort Knox, though. Thought they were going to give me a full-body search.”

  “What did you expect? It’s the Feds.” Not just the Feds—the Drug Enforcement Administration, the premier drug enforcement organization in the world. For more than a decade, Val had been putting his life on the line to dismantle major drug-trafficking operations up and down the Eastern Seaboard. But because it was the government, there was always a hell of a lot of paperwork to get through.

  Papers were piled everywhere. Each pile represented a separate ongoing drug investigation that he was either supervising or organizing. His whole life’s work, neatly laid out. He placed a few sheets on top of the nearest stack. No matter how messy things got during the day, they were always organized when he left. “Is it time to go?”

  “Yes,” Theo said, taking a quick glance at his wristwatch. “The event starts at six, but from what I’ve heard, it’s going to be a late night.”

  “I’ll definitely be working from home tomorrow,” Val muttered, standing up and retrieving his own suit jacket from the back of his chair.

  “Which one?”

  “Boat,” he said. His refurbished houseboat in Star Harbor was his home base. If he could, he’d work there every day, but special agents were encouraged to work from the office anytime they weren’t in the field. Val came in a few times a week, and to keep his boss happy, he rented a bare-bones studio apartment in Boston as a place to crash when he was in town.

  “You don’t have to come,” Theo said, a twinkle in his eye. “It’s not that big a deal.”

  Val swung his jacket over his shoulders and regarded Theo. “Yeah, I do. It’s a huge honor for you.” Tonight, his younger brother was receiving a Kirkland Award for his series of local, historical seafaring novels. And if watching Theo get one of the state’s highest artistic awards wasn’t enough of a reason to attend, someone being investigated by his office was expected to be there. It was the perfect excuse, even if the ceremony and reception at the Commonwealth Club wasn’t really his type of thing.

  Theo cocked his head and muttered something.

  “What?” Val asked.

  “You should wear nice clothes more often. You look good.”

  Val just snorted. He was far more comfortable in worn jeans and a henley. But he knew how to dress the part when the situation required.

  “If you’re ready, we’d better leave,” Theo said. “Avery’s meeting us there.” Avery Newbridge, a kindhearted social worker with fiery red hair, was Theo’s fiancée. She’d been good for his brother, both grounding and inspiring him.

  “I’m ready,” said Val, flicking off his office lights. As he escorted Theo through the building, he gave a wave to his secretary. “Night, Marion.”

  “Good night, Agent Grayson,” the middle-aged woman replied. “Have fun tonight.” She dipped her head down to her desk, but not fast enough for Val to miss the teasing look in her eye.

  “ ‘Agent Grayson,’ are we?” Theo said, laughter coloring his voice as they passed through the double glass doors to the elevator lobby.

  “Only when I have guests in the office. Otherwise I’m just Val.”

  “Sure you are,” Theo said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

  Val let it lie. If his brother wanted to think he was some bigwig at the DEA, let him. But with dozens of successful missions completed, with an increasing number of junior agents under his command, and with every passing year, he had gained some serious experience. And some serious age. Damn, he wasn’t that old. Just thirty-five.

  But his success at work had come at a cost. He spent so much time working, he’d neglected his personal life. At night, instead of a woman and children to come home to, he returned to an empty place. He had a few too many gray hairs and some days, an aching back from all the gym time he had to put in to keep fit for his fieldwork. Some things never changed. As the oldest of four brothers, he’d given up his youth to help his mom care for the family after his dad died on his boat in a freak hurricane two decades ago. High school weekends hadn’t consisted of parties and football games; they entailed helping his younger brothers with their homework and then scrambling to finish his own. And when their mom died of a stroke, eight years after their father’s death, every ounce of Val’s energy went into making sure his brothers were doing all right, both personally and professionally.

  Over the past year,
all his brothers had found happiness with good women, and he was glad for it. Of course he was. But he hadn’t found a special woman of his own, and so he’d filled that void with work, work, and more work.

  Val held open the lobby door as they stepped out into the early summer evening. Though they were many blocks from the water, he still caught a waft of the harbor, salty and musky.

  “Really glad you’re coming tonight,” Theo said, as they began to walk down Cambridge Street. “Lately I’ve been wondering if you do anything but work. It’s good for you to get out.”

  Val made a noncommittal noise in his throat.

  Theo paused for a second, then laughed. “This is work, isn’t it?”

  “Of course not,” Val said smoothly. “I’m coming to support my brother. A Grayson is about to receive a Kirkland Award. You bet your ass I’m going to be there.” No way could he tell Theo about his latest case—or the man he was shadowing.

  “Uh-huh,” Theo said, sounding unconvinced. “All the same, I’m glad you’re joining me. Seb is back in New York again and Cole couldn’t take the time off.” Sebastian, Theo’s twin, was a famous chef who owned a popular restaurant in Manhattan. He’d met his match in Lexie Meyers, a firecracker of a cook who was his equal, both in and out of the kitchen. And Cole, Star Harbor’s sheriff and a war veteran, had found peace with Julie Kensington, a beautiful doctor with a backbone of steel.

  “I thought Seb was coming back to Star Harbor this summer.”

  “He is,” Theo said. “In a week or two. He told me he had to get his schedule squared away before he opens up his new summer place in town.”

  “Damn, he’s really pushing this, time-wise.”

  “He’s not as organized as you are,” Theo said with a smile. “But you know Seb. He thrives under pressure. He’ll pull it together.”

  “Hope so,” Val said, just as they reached the parking lot.

  After paying the cashier, they hopped into Theo’s Jeep. “Tell me again why we aren’t taking the T?” Val asked.

  “Because after the ceremony, I want to get back to my hotel as quickly as possible. Avery and I are taking the next week off from work to explore Boston.”

  “Forgot you weren’t driving back to Star Harbor afterward,” Val sighed. “Guess I’m crashing in my apartment.” It probably wasn’t such a bad thing. If he was able to make contact with his target, he’d have plenty to write up at the office the next day.

  “Maybe you’ll find a good reason to stick around the city,” Theo said, starting the vehicle.

  “Maybe,” Val said as he settled into the seat and strapped on his seat belt. Doubtful.

  A trickle of perspiration dripped down Cameron Stahl’s neck and lodged right between her breasts. Though it wasn’t that hot outside—or even inside, for that matter—she was sweltering. “I have to get out of here,” Cameron whispered to her mother, who was seated next to her in the ballroom of Boston’s Commonwealth Club.

  “Must you leave now, Cameron?” Clarissa whispered back through clenched lips, the inclination of her silvery head the only physical indication that she might be speaking.

  “Yes,” Cameron answered, tilting her head away. She was embarrassed to show her mother the pleading look on her face, a look Clarissa Endicott Stahl would only see as weak. But if she had to spend another second in this airless room with her filmy evening gown sticking to her damp skin while they listened to the club’s president drone on and on about the benefits of the arts and the importance of the Kirkland Awards, she was going to scream.

  Granted, she had promised her mother that she would attend a certain number of social engagements each season, but this one was turning out to be intolerable. There had to be close to four hundred people in attendance, all members of Boston’s elite and all dressed to the nines.

  How many hours could the speeches go on? And the awards hadn’t even been presented yet. Then there’d be dancing. Another slow trickle of perspiration slid from the nape of her neck and began to wend its torturous way down her back. It was agony. Her younger sister, Cecile, sat on Clarissa’s other side, utterly still, her face a marble mask. How Cecile managed not to move a muscle, Cameron had no idea. Everything inside her was screaming to get free.

  “Well, go then,” her mother said softly with a flicker of her sparkling eyes and a wave of her elegant hand. “But make sure you’re back for the awards.”

  Cameron gave a grateful sigh and quietly slid out of her uncomfortable wooden chair. Within moments, she’d slipped through the double doors of the ballroom. As soon as she left the room, her chest lightened, free from some invisible weight. Taking a deep breath, she began to walk down the long hallway. What would have happened if she’d lost her composure in front of all those people? She’d never have heard the end of it from her mother.

  When had going to a stupid charity engagement been so difficult for her? It used to be so easy. Show up in a lovely gown, have a glass of champagne, make the rounds, and then head home, mission accomplished. But over the past few months—since she’d opened her second boutique—all she wanted to do was to ditch the charity circuit and focus on her work. If her mother knew, she’d be horrified. According to Clarissa, a prominent philanthropist, one did not work, one simply gave of one’s time. One boutique could be considered a hobby, but two? That was a business, and Clarissa made no bones about the fact that she’d be delighted—no, thrilled—if Cameron gave it up and followed in her footsteps to become a society wife.

  But Cameron wasn’t her mother. Not yet, anyway. Not ever, if she had anything to say about it.

  The club was dark, the event having gone on long past its expected ending point. All nonessential staff had left for the evening, leaving the mansion eerily quiet. Cameron’s perspiration began to dry in the cooler air, and now her skin was unpleasantly clammy. She could do this. All she needed was a few minutes alone. A few minutes to give her the strength to finish out the evening.

  The doors lining the hallway were locked. Even the expressions on the portraits on the walls looked grim, as if they’d been cooped up for far too long.

  She felt the exact same way.

  At the end of the corridor, Cameron saw a dim glow of light from beneath a large wooden door. Hoping that light meant the room was available for use, she hastily made her way toward the door. It was unlocked. Nearly losing her balance in her strappy, high-heeled sandals, she managed to pry the heavy door open enough to give her room to slip inside.

  Unseasonably, someone had built a fire, which was slowly dying in the huge, stone hearth. Close to the fire it was light, but darkness engulfed the edges of the room.

  The fire’s embers glowed invitingly and Cameron couldn’t resist. She walked right up to the hearth and put an arm on the mantel, leaning on it for support. It was a strain, keeping up this act, trying so hard not to disappoint her family, while the whole time she was just disappointing herself. But no one was watching now. She slumped a little, letting her head drop down. She was tired, so very tired. Tired of not doing what she wanted, when she wanted. Tired of dancing to her mother’s tune. Most of the time, her mother didn’t seem to be happy, and Cameron certainly wasn’t making herself happy.

  “What am I doing?” she said, her voice quickly swallowed up by the cavernous room.

  Then, she heard a man’s voice say, “Gotta go,” and in a flash, she realized she wasn’t alone. Quickly adjusting her posture and standing up straight, she searched out the source of the sound. Her eyes lit on a darkened corner of the room and she saw him—big, broad-shouldered, lounging in a giant wingback chair. Though she couldn’t see his face, Cameron had the distinct impression that the man wanted his privacy even more than she did. Instinctively, she drew back.

  And then he stood up.

  For the briefest instant, her heart stopped before kick-starting back into gear.

  She knew who he was—Val Grayson, the soft-spoken eldest brother in the Grayson clan.

  Even from twenty feet away
, he looked powerful. His hair was black—as dark as her own raven tresses, tinged with a bit of gray at his temples. Prominent cheekbones were set off by the glowing firelight, the shadows dipping into the hollows of his cheeks. His jawline was strong and his skin was lightly tanned. No hint of a smile lay on his well-formed lips.

  From so far away she couldn’t gauge the color of his eyes, but she remembered they were some unusual shade of blue. Silently, she watched as he tucked his cell phone into an inside pocket of his suit jacket and moved toward her, eyes never leaving hers, his gaze searing.

  Dangerous.

  He looked dangerous. And haunted.

  Tonight, Val’s strong, lanky frame was covered in a fine-fitting suit. She’d seen him a few times in Star Harbor, working on his boat on the piers not far from her boutique and hanging out with his brothers. Once on the beach, she’d even seen him shirtless. He’d been wiry, with the build of a twenty-year-old, though he had to be in his mid-thirties. Somehow, covered in fine, woven cloth, he looked even sexier than he had when she’d seen his bare chest, his refined clothes juxtaposed with his rugged looks a fascinating study in contrasts.

  Why hadn’t she noticed him—really noticed him—before now? The answer hit her hard. Was she really so snobbish that the sight of a man in an Italian suit would turn her on? What was wrong with her?

  “I didn’t realize this room was occupied,” she said. “And I’m sorry I interrupted your phone call. I’ll leave now.” She turned to the door.

  “Don’t go,” Val said, his deep voice rumbling through her. “It looks like you needed to get out of there as much as I did.” She turned back toward him—toward the heat. The temperature in the room rose when he graced her with a slight smile. “You all right?”

  “Yes. Perfectly all right. I should really get back to the awards ceremony now.” Now that he was near her, she realized just how big he was. There were lines etched on his face, light brackets at the corners of his lips and little crinkles at the edges of his eyes, which gave his handsome face an air of worldliness.