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Last of the Red-Hot Cowboys

Page 26

by Tina Leonard


  June brings two scorching reunion stories: Lea Griffith’s Loveswept debut, Too Much, an erotic romance where two lovers who have shared exquisite pain and unforgettable bliss find solace back in each other’s arms; and Serena Bell’s heartwarming Hold On Tight, about a young mother and a battle-scarred veteran who must decide if they can rekindle the sparks they once shared. Speaking of sparks, in Jamie Schmidt’s stylish and sexy book, Heat, a martial arts trainer introduces an ER doctor to a passion so intense she wants nothing more than to surrender to his touch. Then the temperature rises with the first book of Tina Leonard’s seductive new Hells Outlaws series, Last of the Red-Hot Cowboys, which brings passion hotter than the Texas sun. And if you’re looking for a classic romance, look no further than Iris Johansen’s steamy novel, Wicked Jake Darcy, where fate brings together a carefree beauty and a charismatic playboy—only to separate them all too soon.

  ~Happy Romance!

  Gina Wachtel

  Associate Publisher

  Read on for an excerpt from

  Last of the Red-Hot Riders

  Hell’s Outlaws

  by Tina Leonard

  Available from Loveswept

  Chapter One

  “Don’t stop,” Saint Markham said, sure he’d explode if the sexy redhead stopped doing what she was doing. He was going to explode if she kept going, too, so either way, he was in for the ride of his life. Cameron Dix was sweet, she was hot, and she was driving him mad, stroking him with sure hands, every once in a while tantalizing him with a flick of that sexy pink tongue he’d been staring at for months. But he was determined to avoid the fiery redheaded honey trap Mayor Judy Jasper thought she was going to lay on him.

  He’d avoided the trap, but Cameron’s hands were just too soft, too eagerly determined to turn the heat up to full blast on him. “Don’t stop,” he said again, reaching for that long, red, wild hair he’d been dying to run his hands through—coming up with short, silky handfuls of hair instead.

  His eyes flew open. “Damn it, Prince!” he yelled, and the golden-furred dog greeted him with chocolate doggie eyes, gave his ear one last lick, hopped out of Saint’s bed, and headed to the back door, waiting impatiently for his bowl to be filled.

  Saint cursed, dragged himself from bed, tugging on his jeans over a rock-hard situation. Dream number one thousand by now, surely. Cameron Dix haunted him, her spell on him as sure as any spell Hell, Texas, had ever seen. He couldn’t be free of her even in his sleep. Five o’clock in the morning, and the only action he was getting was from Trace Carter’s hound, whom he’d agreed to keep for a few days, slurping at his ear to wake him for breakfast.

  He wanted Cameron Dix. Had the hots for her like nothing he’d ever wanted before. But Cameron had stayed well away from him ever since one of her fellow teammates, Ava Buchanan, had taken down his buddy Trace.

  He was fine with distance.

  “Damn dog,” he told Prince, who barked at him to open the door and get on with serving the eats. He ruffled the dog’s ears affectionately, patted his back, and pulled open the door.

  Gawked at Cameron Dix standing on the other side, her red hair wild and beautiful, her pink lips wide open as he’d clearly caught her in the act of doing something she didn’t want to be caught doing at his back door.

  Prince was going to get a treat later for alerting him to his early, early morning visitor. This woman wanted him, she wanted him bad, and now all the pretense of distance could be swept away.

  Not that she was going to get what she’d come for—but let the record note that she’d ventured onto his turf.

  “What’s up, Cameron?”

  She hid something behind her back. “Not much.”

  Ah, wasn’t she cute. She thought she was going to get away with whatever her plan was. First thing she needed to learn in Hell was that she was no Mayor Judy Jasper when it came to effective manipulation—and he was no Trace Carter to be worked like an easy mark. “Something’s up. Unless you make a habit of hanging out at my back door.”

  Her chin went up. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  She definitely had something behind her back. There was only one way to solve this standoff, show her he was nobody’s fool. Saint jerked her toward him, a mistake he rued when a cloud of strawberry-scented red hair swirled around his face and sweet, round breasts bounced into his chest. Lust swept him like a heavenly river dragging him down.

  Oh, shit. She’s got me now.

  So soft, yet lean and tight from all the riding she did. Cameron met him at almost eye level, which put him too close to her wide-eyed expression and moist, sweet lips.

  He had to avoid those lips.

  Just reach around her, find out what she’s holding behind her back. You know you’re getting set up for something. Puncture Judy’s plan so she knows just who she’s messing with—no way in hell is she going to spring the trap shut on Saint Markham the way she did your buddy, Trace.

  He kissed her, closing his eyes so he could absorb the impact of her soft mouth. Oh, God, it was good, better than his dream. He instantly returned to a rock-hard condition, only this time it was incurable—he had to have this woman. Possess every sexy inch of her.

  The stolen kiss was worth all the tortured nights in Afghanistan. This was the reward for the hell he’d lived through. He felt Cameron’s mouth give under his, realized that, though she wasn’t exactly trying to eat him up, she hadn’t pulled away, either. He couldn’t have given up the sweetness he’d hungered for so long if his life depended upon it.

  In bed. He had to get her into bed. Wasn’t that why she was really here? Wasn’t that why Mayor Judy had brought her so-called “team” of bullfighting riders here to Hell—to find unlucky, unsuspecting victims to drag to the altar?

  Saint didn’t release her. “Let’s continue this discussion in bed, beautiful.”

  Cameron’s eyes widened. She kneed him in the groin and Saint doubled over, gasping for air as his eyes watered against the pain.

  She tossed something at him, stomped off. He thought she called him something harsh, but his ears had bells in them the size of ships. Staggering into the den, he collapsed on the sofa, groaning. The woman had aim, and she was strong. She was also nearly as tall as he, and she was athletic as heck, all of which he had to grudgingly admire as the blackness began to recede. He glanced at the offering Prince brought over, the item Cameron had flung at him.

  A twisted-wood basket of cupcakes, with a card that had the words “Happy Birthday” written on it, and the signatures of his best friends: Mayor Judy, Sheriff Steel Durant, Hattie Hanover, Declan O’Rourke, Trace and Ava Carter; even Cameron Dix and Harper Castleberry had signed it, among others from the town.

  Cupcakes. They’d sent over cupcakes for his birthday, courtesy of the cupcake he really wanted. Prince went back to licking his ear, reminding him about breakfast and wanting to be rewarded for alerting him to his visitor, so Saint pulled himself painfully off the sofa, glanced at the pretty beribboned wood basket of now-smushed, chocolate-frosted cupcakes with tiny bulls atop them. Nice, no doubt delicious—but the one thing he really wanted had pulled out of his driveway, spewing dirt and tiny rocks from under her truck tires.

  He just had to have that woman.

  It was the only way to finally get her out of his mind—no way was he falling for Mayor Judy’s diabolical plan of matrimony for all in Hell.

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