Along Came Love
Page 28
from Tracey Livesay!
Coming Spring 2017 from Avon Impulse!
Click here to preorder!
Acknowledgments
I CAN’T BELIEVE I have the privilege of doing this again!
A big hug to my agent Nalini Akolekar of Spencerhill Associates for always being in my corner and giving me a loving but firm nudge when I need it. My editor, Tessa Woodward, has been such a joy to work with and she even fulfilled my dream of having an editor/author revision meeting just like Jessica Fletcher on Murder, She Wrote.
Much gratitude to the two doctors who provided invaluable information to me during the writing of this book: Dr. Imani Williams-Vaughn, one of my best friends for the past twenty-five years & Dr. Barbara Mercado, who delivered two of my children. (Surely that would be reason enough to thank her, right?)
When I had questions about criminal procedure in San Francisco, I turned to Greg Goldman, Deputy Public Defender & Tamara Barak Aparton, Communication and Policy Assistant from the San Francisco Public Defender’s office. As a former public defender, I know how hard they work to make sure everyone has access to outstanding legal representation. I want to thank them for taking time out of their busy schedule to speak with me.
To Sharon, Annette, Petra, Ashley, Leigh, Nellie & Chrissy. The LaLas: often imitated, never duplicated. By the time this book is published, I’ll be a couple of weeks out from running my first full marathon. And I never would’ve been able to do it without them. Their support and friendship has meant the world to me. But this is the last one. I mean it . . .
To Mary & Alleyne, my writing crew. They’ve listened, laughed, plotted, cried, eaten, and drank with me. They’ve restored my sanity on more than one occasion.
And finally my biggest and best thank you goes to my family: my three beautiful children who expand the boundaries of my heart daily and my husband James, my favorite person on this Earth.
I pledge my faith to you—always.
TL
About the Author
A former criminal defense attorney, TRACEY LIVESAY finds crafting believable happily-ever-afters slightly more challenging than protecting our constitutional rights, but she’s never regretted following her heart instead of her law degree. She lives in Virginia with her husband—who she met on the very first day of law school—and their three children.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
By Tracey Livesay
Along Came Love
Love On My Mind
Pretending with the Playboy
The Tycoon’s Socialite Bride
Give in to your Impulses . . .
Continue reading for excerpts from
our newest Avon Impulse books.
Available now wherever ebooks are sold.
INTERCEPTING DAISY
A LOVE AND FOOTBALL NOVEL
by Julie Brannagh
MIXING TEMPTATION
A SECOND SHOT NOVEL
by Sara Jane Stone
THE SOLDIER’S SCOUNDREL
by Cat Sebastian
MAKING THE PLAY
A HIDDEN FALLS NOVEL
by T. J. Kline
An Excerpt from
INTERCEPTING DAISY
A Love and Football Novel
By Julie Brannagh
When Daisy Spencer wrote an erotic novella about the Seattle Sharks’ backup quarterback and her #1 crush, Grant Parker, she never expected it to become a runaway bestseller. If anyone discovers she wrote the sexy story, her days as a flight attendant for the Sharks would be over. But once she gets to know the real man behind the fantasy, her heart may be in more danger than her job.
He could have hit the Stop button and kissed her in the elevator, but there was probably a security camera. He didn’t really care, but she might not like being the center of attention when the snip of video got leaked to the local press or put up on YouTube. He wasn’t letting her drive away without kissing her, though.
She paused in front of her car as she turned to face him.
“I had such a nice time. Thank you so much for dinner,” she said. She shuffled her feet a little. He’d observed her so many times while she did her job. She always seemed at ease, even during the turbulence they’d experienced on the last Sharks flight. Maybe she had the same butterflies in her stomach that he had in his.
He moved a little closer to her and slid his arm around her waist. She tipped her head back to look into his eyes. He had to smile at the flush making its way over her cheeks as she licked her lips. Yes, Daisy wanted to kiss him too.
He touched his forehead to hers for a few seconds. Her skin was so soft. He could smell her perfume. He couldn’t identify the flowers in it if someone offered him a million dollars, but it was nice. The parking garage was not exactly the backdrop for romance. Next time, he’d say good-bye to her at her front door instead.
“I had a great time too. I’m already looking forward to next Thursday,” he said.
“Maybe we could go bungee jumping.”
“Sounds perfect,” he said. He heard her laugh again. “Right after that, we’ll go zip-lining at Sharks Stadium.”
He felt her shiver. He wasn’t sure if it was the fact she was wearing an almost sleeveless dress, the idea she’d be that far off of the ground and speeding along a relatively slender cable, or that she was as attracted to him as he was to her. He needed to make his move, and he’d better do it before someone came screeching around the corner in search of a parking spot. He reached up to take her face in his hands.
“Maybe we should have a glass of wine in front of a roaring fire instead,” he whispered, and he watched her eyelids flutter as they closed. He touched his mouth to hers, adjusted a bit, and kissed her.
She tasted like the wine they’d been drinking with a fresh, honeyed overlay that must have been all her. Her lips were soft and cool beneath his. He felt her arms slide around his waist as he deepened the kiss. He slid his tongue into her mouth, tasting her again. As he felt her tremble, he knew it had nothing to do with the cold. He pulled back a little and laid his cheek against her smoother one.
He wanted to kiss her until they both were breathless. He wanted to spend the rest of the evening with her, and maybe tomorrow too. Mostly, he wanted to figure out how to entice a woman into falling in love with him, and he wondered if he’d been going about it all wrong. The woman who currently regarded him with a soft expression as she reached up to stroke his face deserved more than he’d offered to women before.
“Thursday,” he said. “I’ll text you.”
“Should I get more life insurance?”
“No. We’ll have a great time.” He pulled back a little and looked into her eyes. “I promise I’ll figure something out that doesn’t land us both in a body cast.”
She dug through her purse, extracted her car keys, and hit the button to unlock her car. He made sure she was safely inside. She started her car, opened the driver’s side window, and looked up at him again.
“Thursday,” she said.
He watched the taillights of her car vanish around the corner seconds later.
Click to buy Intercepting Daisy now!
An Excerpt from
MIXING TEMPTATION
A Second Shot Novel
By Sara Jane Stone
After a year spent living in hiding—with no end in sight—Caroline Andrews wants to reclaim her life. But the lingering trauma from her days serving with the marines leaves her afraid to trust the tempting logger who delivers friendship and the promise of something more.
Oh hell, she should push him away. A better friend would demand that Josh Summers share his pies with a woman willing to daydream about a place in his picture-perfect future. She shouldn’t let him waste his life waiting for her to make up her mind about a first date.
“You should do it,” she said firmly. “You should buy the land. What are you waiting for?”
He cocked his head. One red curl fell across his forehead. His hair looked as if he’d rolled out of bed, run his fingers through the loose, wavy locks and prepared to face another day looking like an Irish god who’d somehow landed in rural Oregon. Though that might have something to do with the muscles he’d fine-tuned over the years of felling trees.
But right now she kept her gaze focused on his face, waiting for his answer.
“What if I decide on five bedrooms and the woman I want to share my dream home with thinks it’s too much. I might have to settle for three in order to talk her into an outdoor kitchen that I’m thinking about building in addition to the monstrous one in the house.”
“As long as you’re not planning to turn half the house into some sort of man cave with beer pong tables lining the hallways, I think you’ll find someone who will love your dream house,” she said. “Of course to meet that special someone you will have to start dating.”
And that was as close as she was going to get to kicking him in the butt and demanding that he turn his focus away from her. They could remain friends. But another kiss would just lead to a dead end.
His smile faded. “You think I should ask someone else to be my date to the wedding?”
She forced a brief nod and let her gaze settle on the half-eaten pie.
“No,” he said slowly, lingering over the simple word. “I don’t think so. But I might put in an offer on that land.”
“You should do both,” she pointed out despite the relief that threatened to turn to joy. “I can’t move into your four- to five-bedroom dream home. Not when I’m still so . . .”
Scared.
Nearly fifteen months had slipped by since she’d run away from the military. She’d pressed pause on her life that day. There had been moments here and there were she’d felt ready to hit play again and move on. Each one revolved around the man standing across the stainless steel counter looking down at his pie.
“A couple of weeks ago you stopped wearing those baggy cargo pants.” Josh dug his fork into the dish and glanced up at her. “I like the skinny jeans better.”
Me too. And I like the way you look at my legs when you think I’m distracted . . .
“I stood out in the cargo pants and boots,” she said with a shrug. “Lily said I’d blend in more if I dressed like the university students. And Josie had some clothes she didn’t think would ever fit again even if she lost all the baby weight. She gave these to me.”
“You stand out in those jeans too. I’m glad I only have to share the view with the dishwasher.” He nodded to the machine. “And not all those young kids from the college.”
“You’re twenty-eight, Josh. Not that much older than those ‘young kids.’ Many of them are graduate students.”
“More than half would love to have you serve their drinks,” he said.
“I like it back here where no one will—”
“Notice you. Yeah, I get that. But my point is, you’ve changed since you first showed up here looking for Noah.” He set down his fork and took a step back. “Who knows what will happen next?”
“Nothing.”
I hope. I pray.
Because the only life-changing events she could imagine would land her in trouble. She’d carved out a safe place to hide. She had a cash job and a place to live thanks to her boss. If she lost this—
“Something always happens next.” He turned and headed for the door.
She’d touched the hard planes of his chest when she’d kissed him, but the view of his backside left her wanting more. More pies. More conversation. More Josh.
One . . . Two . . . Three . . .
He turned and glanced over his shoulder. And then he flashed a knowing smile. Oh, she’d seen plenty of hard-bodied men. She’d served alongside soldiers with drool-worthy muscles. There was nothing special about Josh Summers.
Except for his smile.
She was falling for that grin and the man who wielded it like an enticing treat. Tempted to trust in him. Believe in him.
“I’ll see you at the wedding,” he called and then he walked his delicious smile out the door of the bar’s back room.
She abandoned her fork and dipped her fingers in the pie dish. Sugar. She needed a burst of sweetness to take her mind off Josh Summers.
Next time he asks you to lick the whipped cream from your lips, say yes!
Because Josh Summers was right. Something always happened next. And if she wanted to reclaim her life—or at least a small piece of it—if she wished for another chance to land in Josh’s arms with his lips pressed to hers, then she needed to find out what happened when she said yes.
Click to buy Mixing Temptation now!
An Excerpt from
THE SOLDIER’S SCOUNDREL
By Cat Sebastian
From debut author Cat Sebastian, an enthralling regency male/male romance about a former criminal who has never followed the straight and narrow and a soldier whose experiences of war have left him determined to find order in a chaotic world.
Jack could almost feel the heat coming off Rivington’s body, almost pick up the scent of whatever eau de cologne the man undoubtedly wore. If he moved half a step closer he’d be standing between Rivington’s legs. He knew that would be a bad idea, but at the moment could not seem to recall why.
“What I don’t understand”—Rivington tipped his head against the back of Jack’s worst chair as if he hadn’t just been told to leave—“is why she didn’t destroy the letters. If she knew the contents would harm her, why not throw them on the fire?”
Ah, but the ladies never did. Not in Jack’s experience, at least. Mothers and governesses ought to spend more time instructing young ladies in the importance of destroying incriminating evidence and less time bothering with good posture and harp lessons and so forth.
Besides, that wasn’t the right question to ask. The real wonder was that Mrs. Wraxhall hadn’t kept the blackmail letter, the one clue that might lead them to her stolen letters.
Of course, people did all manner of foolish things when they were distressed, but Jack would have thought a woman who had the presence of mind to stay so tidy on such a muddy day wouldn’t do something as muddle-headed as flinging a blackmail letter onto the fire.
Jack looked down at Rivington, who still hadn’t moved. The man was apparently under the impression that they were going to sit here and discuss the Wraxhall matter, and really Jack ought to waste no time in disabusing him of that notion.
But instead Jack kept looking. A man this handsome was a rare pleasure to admire up close. He was younger than Jack had first thought—somewhere between five-and-twenty and thirty. Perhaps five years younger than Jack himself.
Yet he looked tired. Worn out. For God’s sake, his coat was all but falling off him, despite obviously having been well-tailored at one point. “Shouldn’t you be home, resting your leg?” Such a question might just be rude enough to send Rivington packing, and besides, Jack couldn’t remember the last time he had seen a gentleman in such clear need of sleep and a decent meal.
Rivington opened his mouth as if to say something cutting but then gave a short, unamused huff of laughter. “If only rest worked.” He didn’t seem offended by Jack’s rudeness. He was, Jack realized, likely a good-natured fellow. He had arrived here in a pique of anger—and likely pain—that had since worn off. Now he had the wrung-out look of someone exhausted by an unaccustomed emotion. Jack would guess that Rivington was not a hot-tempered man. And now he was contemplating his walking stick with something that looked like resignation bordering on dread.
“They always keep the letters,” Jack said quickly, before he could remind himself that he ought to be ordering th
is man to go home, not engaging him in conversation.
When Rivington looked up, something flashed across his face that could have passed for relief. “Sentiment, I suppose.”
Jack stepped backwards and sat on the edge of his desk to preserve the advantage of height. “I tend to think people hang on to love letters in the event they might choose to blackmail the sender.” But then again, he never did quite expect the best from people. Maybe the lady was simply being sentimental, but in Jack’s experience of human nature, people were more likely to plot and connive than they were to indulge in sentiment. Jack’s experience with humanity was admittedly a trifle skewed, however.
Rivington’s eyes opened wide with disbelief. “I knew a man who couldn’t bring himself to sell his father’s watch, even though he had creditors banging on his door at all hours. But he kept the watch because he couldn’t bear to part with it. It may be the same with your Mrs. Wraxhall.”
Jack shrugged. “Could be.” Never having had a parent who inspired any feelings of tenderness or loyalty, or indeed any sentiment at all beyond a resentment that lingered years after their deaths, Jack mentally substituted his sister for Rivington’s example. What if Sarah had a brooch or some other trinket—would Jack hesitate to sell it in the event of a financial emergency? He doubted it. Sarah would be the first person to tell him to sell all her brooches if need be. If she had any, which she did not.
“What will you do to recover the letters?” Rivington stretched one leg before him and started rubbing the outside of his knee.
Jack knew he ought to send the man on his way, but found that he didn’t want to. Not quite yet. Maybe it was the dreariness of the day. Maybe it was the fact that this man clearly needed to rest his injured leg. Maybe it was simply that it had been a long time since Jack had been able to discuss his work with anyone. Sarah thought—correctly—that Jack’s work was too sordid to be discussed. Georgie never sat still long enough to have an entire conversation. And nobody else in all of London was to be trusted.