Love is a Battlefield: Games of Love, Book 1

by Tamara Morgan

  Before she had a chance to ponder the meaning of that statement, Michael added, “Besides, a Scot never takes the easy road. Why take the beaten track when you can move ass-first through the brambles?”

  “Um…because it makes more sense?” Because there was a chance, however small, that she might have listened? Because they could have saved themselves—saved her—a heartache she was afraid gaped so wide and open there was nothing big enough to fill it? Well, nothing except the one man she’d ever met with enough honor and dignity to put the rest of the world to shame.

  “Not to Julian it doesn’t,” Michael said, adding cryptically, “A man never knows what he’ll find in those brambles. Could be a burr stuck to his balls. Could be something a hell of a lot sweeter.”

  Kate didn’t know how to respond, but they’d reached their destination, so she didn’t have to. They were at a field set off from the spectators with the kind of fence they used at ballparks. A black piece of wood marked the throw point, an open grassland for hundreds of yards in a sixty-degree-angle all around it.

  “Listen, I’m going to park you right here. Don’t move, will you? The hammer throw starts in about ten minutes, and I’ve got to get warmed up. You should be able to see everything from here.”

  “And Julian wants me to watch—to see him win?” Kate’s head swam. There was too much going on around her. The excited crowd. The heat. The sponsorship. The fact that she was almost in danger of needing someone to loosen her stays.

  “Sure, Kate. Whatever. Just don’t move.”

  She didn’t. She didn’t know what else to do.

  Getting back to the Fauxhall Gardens suddenly seemed like the least important thing in the world.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Buckskin Breeches

  Julian stood in front of the mirror, cursing at the white piece of cloth in his hand. “Can’t I just tie it in a knot?”

  “No, Jules. That’s what the poor people did. You’re supposed to make it look all tall and fancy.” Nala reached around and adjusted the stupid thing—a cravat, she called it—until it forced his chin to rise at least two inches above its normal position.

  “I look ridiculous,” he muttered.

  “No, you don’t!” Beth interjected, clapping her hands excitedly. “You look like a real gentleman from that play Mom and I went to see a few years ago. You just need a top hat.”

  “I’m not wearing a top hat.”

  “But—”

  “It’ll look so—”

  Julian held up a hand and shook his head at his sisters, who were taking far too much delight in this whole thing for his peace of mind. “No hat. I’m done being your Ken doll. If this isn’t good enough, then I’m backing out of the whole thing.”

  They all knew he would do no such thing. His pants felt like nothing more than a pair a tan-colored tights, his feet had been shoved into a pair of boots that reached almost up to his knees and his shoulders were stuffed into a tuxedo-like jacket that hung way longer in the back than any item of clothing had a right to do. But from the way Nala and Beth kept sighing and swooning, he knew he looked good.

  It was enough. It had to be.

  He lifted a debonair eyebrow at the mirror’s reflection. “Shaken, not stirred.”

  “Oh, God, Jules. You are such a dork.” Beth hid her face in her hands.

  “But a dork who’s going to win the lady’s hand, right?” he asked anxiously.

  “Only if you get out there and do it already,” Nala said confidently. She put both of her hands on Julian’s back and pushed. “Now go. She might have left by now.”

  He turned back only to give his sisters a warm thank you, which they promptly covered by screaming at him to leave before he made them both the laughingstocks of the entire world. How they were going to compete with him for that title, he had no idea.

  But right now, he would have walked out the kitchen doors of Kilroy Hall buck naked if he thought it would get him that much closer to Kate. She was here. Despite all the awful things he’d said and done, she was here, and he wasn’t letting her leave until he had a chance to tell her how he felt.

  He’d had a very long conversation with his mother that morning, comprised mostly of the little truths she’d been keeping from him for so long. Everything Gareth had said was true, his mother confirmed, and more. She wasn’t the poor little widow Julian thought she was, and her years of hard work had formed a comfortable cushion for the family. She’d been happy in marriage, but she was finding just as much happiness alone. She’d simply never had the heart to break down all Julian’s youthful illusions about the man who gave him so much.

  At least, not until now.

  Harold might not have been the man Julian thought he was, but he’d been a good man. He’d been an excellent husband and an even better father. All his mom wanted, she’d said firmly, was for Julian to have a chance to be those things, too.

  And they both knew who he wanted to help get him there.

  He moved across the grounds quickly, surprised at the range of motion the Regency garb allowed him. Tartans and plaids blended into the background as he searched for one figure, elegant and iridescent among so much blaring Scottish fanfare.

  “Have you seen—?” he started to ask a woman holding a squalling baby in one hand and a bagpipe in the other. The woman’s eyes grew wide when he loomed into view, and her mouth fell open in what he hoped wasn’t ridicule.

  “The other one? You two sure make a fine pair, don’t you? I think she’s over by the hammer throw. It’s about to get underway.”

  Julian thanked her warmly and moved off in that direction, even as his heart surged within his chest. Kate was getting ready to watch the hammer throw—his hammer throw.

  It wasn’t difficult to spot her in the crowd. Even with so many people here to watch—much more than any of them had anticipated—there was an aloofness to her that couldn’t belong to anyone else. It was impossible for another woman to come even close to her beauty as she stood there in the green lawn, her low-cut gown a rich blue that almost matched the one of his plaid, sweeping wide circles every time she moved.

  As Kate came even more into view, he slowed his pace and tried to remember all the things he wanted to say. He could see the other guys in the distance, all of them getting ready to participate in what was expected to be the biggest event of the weekend. Kilroy’s record-setting throw from so many years past was already marked on the field, and they were gauging the distance with their eyes and their egos.

  Let them.

  The real prize was standing right here.

  “Kate,” he said.

  She whirled and caught her foot on the edge of her dress, falling almost completely into his arms. He wrapped himself around her and felt an overpowering urge to keep his arms in place, to refuse to sever the physical ties until she became the pliant, passionate woman he knew she could be. But that wasn’t what he wanted. So he righted her and stepped back, allowing her to take in his attire with as much hilarity or mockery she felt she had a right to.

  She offered neither.

  “Julian? What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be warming up for the hammer throw.”

  “I know,” he replied softly.

  “But you can’t… But you aren’t…”

  “I can and I am.” He crooked his arm at the elbow and offered it to her. “I hear there’s an incredible ball going on across town. I was wondering if you’d allow me to escort you there.”

  “Julian, don’t. I won’t let you.”

  He quirked a brow. “Do I look like a gentleman to be trifled with?”

  She took in his apparel from top to bottom, her gaze lingering on the tight fit of his pants and the full width of his shoulders contained in the dark, heavy fabric. Each part of him came to life when her eyes hit it, starting with a pricking sensation that felt like a body awakening from sleep and melting into full-bodied, blood-pounding lust.

  “You look…”

  “Ri
diculous?” Julian asked, a smile on his lips.

  She shook her head firmly, the ringlet curls over her shoulder bouncing as she did. “Gorgeous. And you know it.”

  His blood heated up even more.

  “But I’m not letting you do this. Michael told me about all of it—the record you’re trying to break and the sponsorship you’ve been trying to get. There’s no way I’m letting you toss all that aside for a silly ball.”

  A wave of pleasure washed over him at her words, and the physical separation suddenly became too much. He reached out to pull her forward into an embrace, not wanting to crush either of their clothes but not really giving a damn when something silk and floral fluttered to the ground between them.

  “I’ve never let you tell me what to do yet,” he said, smiling into her hairline. “What makes you think I’m about to start now?”

  “Because this matters to you,” she said, her voice muffled. It sounded thick—he hoped it was with emotion. The good kind. “Therefore it matters to me.”

  “I’m glad.” And he was. “But you have to believe there is nothing I want more right now than to take you to that damned ball of yours. I’ve heard about nothing else for weeks.”

  He felt soft laughter shaking her body, all her delicious, rounded parts quivering in response.

  “But this is your life, Julian. Your passion.”

  “No, Kate. You are.”

  He brought his lips to hers in a soft kiss, wrapping his hand around the back of her neck to bring her closer to him. Her arms wound around his back, and she let loose a low moan when he slipped his tongue past her lips, exploring the warm recesses of her mouth without a thought for the crowd gathered mere feet away.

  The crowd, however, didn’t do the same. Applause broke out around them, accompanied by catcalls and the vulgar appreciation that could only come from so many people wearing skirts and drinking too much whisky.

  “Photo opportunity?” a clipped voice asked. Before Julian could respond or pull away, a camera flashed. His first response was to growl in irritation, but Kate laughed and laid her hand gently on Julian’s cheek.

  Bonnie stood behind them, a cameraman at her side ready to snap again.

  “I have to say, Mr. Wallace. This is not exactly the sort of show I was expecting from you.” She looked pointedly out toward the hammer-throw field.

  Julian hugged the suddenly stiffening Kate close by his side. “Not a word out of you, got it?” he whispered. “Nothing you’re about to say is going to change my mind.”

  Louder, and with more authority, he turned to Bonnie and the slightly bewildered cameraman. “I regret to inform you, Ms. Horton, that I’m withdrawing from the Spokane Games and from Rockland Bluff’s consideration. I’ve got a pressing matter of business to attend to.”

  Bonnie laughed. “You bet your buckskin breeches you do. As of right now, I’m happy to offer you a contract with Rockland Bluff Whisky. And as your first order of business as our official spokesman, I’m sending Randy here with you to that little ball of yours. I want him to capture all the ladies eating you up and the pair of you waltzing across the dance floor like there’s no tomorrow. Is that understood?”

  Kate let out a whoosh of excitement beside him. “Really?”

  Bonnie smiled at her. “Yes, really. Your boyfriend here has everything we want. He’s charming, he’s an amazing athlete, he’s a man of upstanding honor and he looks damn good in that get-up of yours.”

  Kate wrapped a possessive arm around Julian’s waist and pulled him close, sizing up Bonnie with narrowed eyes.

  “And the Spokane Games?” Julian asked, inordinately pleased with Kate’s reaction. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the players gathered at the edge of the field, watching them. Michael pumped a fist in the air, and Peterson shook his head with a rueful grin.

  Kilroy had disappeared. Julian was happy to let him. He had everything he wanted right here.

  “There are always more Games, Mr. Wallace, and much more whisky to peddle. Now go. Dance. Make us both look good.” With a wink, she sauntered away, pulling the cameraman along with her. “I’ll send Randy on ahead. You kids take your time.”

  “We should probably go if we don’t want to miss any more of the Fauxhall Gardens than we have to,” Julian murmured into Kate’s hair.

  “You’re really coming with me?”

  Julian nodded. He planned on accompanying her for as long as she’d let him.

  “Does that mean I win?” Kate teased, her head angling up for a kiss.

  Their lips touched, and the crowd roared its appreciation. His heart roared it too.

  “No, Kate. It means we did.”

  About the Author

  Tamara Morgan is a romance writer and unabashed lover of historical reenactments—the more elaborate the costume requirements, the better. In her quest for modern-day history, she has taken fencing classes, forced her child into Highland dancing, and, of course, journeyed annually to the local Renaissance Fair. Her long-lived affinity for romance novels survived a B.A. degree in English Literature, after which time she discovered it was much more fun to create stories than analyze the life out of them.

  Tamara lives in the Inland Northwest with her husband and daughter. She can be found online at www.tamaramorgan.com or, much more often than is good for her, on Twitter at @Tamara_Morgan.

  She has a deft hand with banana flambé…and a touch that sets his body on fire.

  Unnatural Calamities

  © 2011 Summer Devon

  Janey knows all too well she looks a wreck. What hard-working chef wouldn’t, operating on three hours of sleep? Stuck in a dull Connecticut town, taking care of her beloved niece, Rachel, Janey spends her days looking for a job and her nights working high-end catering gigs.

  Just her luck, she runs into Mr. Perfect two days past her designated laundry day. And she’s just found out her niece is passing her off as “Mom” to avoid the embarrassment of admitting her real mother, Janey’s identical twin, is serving time.

  Despite Janey’s questionable fashion sense and the juicy gossip about her checkered past, venture capitalist Christopher Dunham finds himself drawn to her spark. And warmed by her obvious affection for Rachel, so like what he feels for his own daughter.

  When sexy, way-out-of-her-league Toph offers her a business loan, Janey can’t believe her long string of bad luck with bad boys has come to an end. At least, until a blast from her sister’s shady past turns up the heat on their attraction. And sets off a chain of events that could snuff out the flame just as their love starts to come to a boil…

  Warning: A comedy of errors, mistaken identity, poor girl meets rich guy, kidnapping at gunpoint, and hot handcuffed sex in a hotel bathtub—and that’s all before lunch.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Unnatural Calamities:

  Janey tucked the phone onto her shoulder so she could rummage through the refrigerator’s vegetable drawer. She glared at the slippery mushrooms. “I’m tired of this discussion. It’s a school night, Rach, so the answer is no. You have to come home for dinner.”

  “Jaanneey. We’re working on homework.”

  “You will be home in five minutes or you will be grounded. No swim team. No debate team. No band. No Gilbert and Sullivan. Heck, no school. I will force you to watch television for three days straight. Nothing but Cartoon Network.”

  “Jaaaaannnnnneeeeeey.”

  “Okay, listen. I’m coming to haul you out of the fabulous Cynthia Dunham’s fabulous father’s fabulous house. You will be ready. Do you hear me? I’m leaving here in five minutes to get you. Understand?”

  Silence.

  “Well?”

  Silence. Was Rachel finally turning into a sulky teenager? Janey had been waiting for this moment for years. She held her breath.

  Silence.

  “Rachel Carmody. I am talking to you.”

  “Oh, whoops. Hi. Sorry, I put the phone down for a second ’cause Mr. Dunham was talking to me. He said he’ll
give me a ride home. We’ll be leaving in about five minutes. Will that be okay?”

  Janey sighed with relief. “Yes. Great. See you soon.”

  But really, on the other hand, what was America’s youth coming to? Fourteen years old and her niece barely managed a decent whine, much less all-out rebellion. Janey and her sister, Penny, had turned into teenagers soon after they hit double digits. Ten-year-olds with attitude. Twenty years later, Penny still had the ’tude.

  Janey chopped up an onion and dumped it into a pan. Of course, Rachel’s clean, wholesome life was probably her form of rebellion. Poor Rachel had to grow up fast with Penny as a mother.

  Janey herself had only faced the entire grown-up scene when Rachel needed her, usually on weekends when Rachel stayed in her apartment while Penny partied. Then, after Penny was busted last spring, Janey faced even bigger changes. Like moving to this stultifyingly dull, way-too-wealthy suburb of Penny’s.

  No, no, Janey had to give Penny credit for renting the semi-converted apartment over the garage. Even self-absorbed, spacey Penny must have figured out West Farmbrook was the best way to get her daughter the education she deserved. Public schools in West Farmbrook were more hoity toity than private schools in the real world.

  But God almighty, let Janey count the ways she hated West Farmbrook as a place to live. She counted as she dismembered the green pepper.

  Thump. One. Thump. The thin, chic mothers who stood in closed little circles at the one and only PTA meeting she’d gone to, and gave her the weirdest looks.

  Two. Thump, thump, thump. The tennis club.

  Three. Thump, thump. She grabbed another pepper and continued her list. The lack of any kind of life outside the PTA, the soccer team, the lacrosse team and the swim team.

  Four. Thump, thump. The commute to reach any kind of life other than the PTA, soccer, etc. A half-hour drive, no buses, of course, to any of Janey’s friends and her various jobs and even a decent movie in the center of the city. No sidewalks. Thump, thump.