She tossed the peppers into the pan and began to clean up. Libra-girl time—rants had to be followed by a counter-balancing “the place could be worse” viewpoint.
The great schools. Right, did that already. And at least Margaret Hamilton, a talkative stay-at-home parent of another nerdy girl, was friendly. She provided some companionship and gossip and even better, had an older daughter, a college student, who loved to babysit on the nights Janey worked.
A car door slammed. Then another car door. Oh damn—no, darn and blast the child, she was not alone.
Janey rubbed her hands on the stainless steel sink. Someone had told her that got rid of the stench of garlic. She didn’t exactly feel like a toad the few times she met up with the fabulous Cynthia, but she didn’t feel she came across as the right kind of grown-up. The slight narrowing of the well-groomed Cynthia’s blue eyes made Janey wish she had better posture or wore designer clothing or didn’t cut her own hair. Rachel had said that Cynthia’s mother had been a model or something. And Cynthia’s father sounded even worse.
“He has buckets of money and is a mover and shaker of massive proportions,” Rachel had solemnly told her.
“Sounds like a sumo wrestler.” Janey had snickered, which had somehow offended Rachel.
Janey had deftly changed the subject of the two near-perfect Dunham households by asking, “So what do you guess a dance called The Mover and Shaker should look like?”
The two of them had ended up boogeying, moving and shaking, around the tiny kitchen. Give Rachel a chance to sing or dance and she tended to forget everything else.
The door flew open. Rachel and Cynthia thumped into the small apartment shrieking with laughter, as usual. They skittered down the hall to Rachel’s room.
“Hey, you puny, lily-livered, young rapscallion, how many times do I have to tell you to close the door?” Janey called after Rachel. She went to shove the door shut.
“Excuse me?”
The man she’d almost slammed the door on smiled. Perhaps the most gorgeous eyes she’d ever beheld stared down into hers. Deep-set brown eyes. Heavy lidded, with the hint of laugh lines at their corners to add character.
“Is that puny, lily-livered thing a line from a play?” he asked.
Her examination shifted to the smiling mouth again. The rest of his face had character too. His body was nothing to sneeze at either. Too bad he appeared to be fairly prosperous, unlike the men she’d had the instant hots for. He wore a gray suit and burgundy tie instead of the usual greasy jeans her hormones sang out for.
“Um. Well. It’s a thing. An insult thing. A Shakespeare insult page on the net. The ah, Internet. We. Um. So.” She held out her hand and smiled brightly. “You must be Mr…ah.” Fabulous? Mover and shaker? She felt fairly moved, and not just because he’d scared the bejeezus out of her. Despite the tie, he was not bad. No, indeed.
She could almost hear Penny’s whisper. “It’s a TD&H, hon. Go ferrit.” Tall, dark and handsome. Except in Penny and Janey’s past men, the “h” stood for hellish, horny, heavy-metal, Harley or ham-handed. Penny still liked bad boys. Janey had given them up years ago, about the same time she stopped smoking and a few years after she stopped drinking too much.
The TD&H shook her hand. “Toph Dunham. Cynthia’s father.”
“I’m Janey Carmody. Nice to meet you. But have we met?” She was certain she’d seen him before. Hard to imagine she’d forget Mr. Dunham.
“Perhaps the first day of swim practice about a month ago? That’s the one time I gave Cynthia a lift this year.”
“Ah. I slept through it. I usually do.” She made a face. “Not my favorite time of day.”
She could not stare at him any longer without giving the impression she was brain damaged, but she didn’t know where else to look.
Uh-oh. Maybe at her burning dinner. She ran to the stove.
He sniffed and gave a wide, bright smile. “Smells delicious.”
“Scorched,” she said, staring gloomily at the veggies. “I’ll tell Rachel it’s Cajun-blackened tofu.”
“Well,” he said, too loud and hearty. “I hate to lure you away from your feast, but how about I spring for a pizza? I mean, we could all go out.”
Janey hesitated. “But it’s a school night.”
“Yes, true. But the kids must eat. Come on. What do you say?”
Mr. Mover sounded like some kind of cheerleader.
Unfortunately it was a small apartment, so the girls had heard his jovial invitation. The veggies went into the fridge. She’d eat them for lunch for the next couple of days.
Loving him could be an adventure that gets her killed.
Defy the World Tomatoes
© 2010 Phoebe Conn
Darcy MacLeod’s Army brat childhood drives her to sink roots as deep as the plants with which she works. As part owner of a nursery/gift shop in Monarch Bay, she’s well on her way to her dream. Though she’s haunted by the lingering fear that her one chance for true love has come and gone.
When Griffin Moore asks her to landscape his sumptuous new estate, she’s entranced by the internationally renowned pianist’s air of mystery. Yet as she is inexorably drawn into his bed, her instincts tell her that secrets lurk behind his sophisticated mask.
With her carelessly styled hair, grubby overalls, and hands that see more dirt than an earthworm, Griffin finds Darcy a refreshing ray of light in his shadowy world. His globe-trotting concert schedule makes him the perfect Interpol informant—and makes a permanent relationship too dangerous to risk.
Their passion rivals the music of the great classical masters, but even as Darcy dips a toe into Griffin’s extravagant world, darkness reaches out to strike a dangerous chord. And Darcy must fight to keep her second chance at love—and her lover—alive.
Warning: Contains meddling friends, high adventure, down and dirty sex, and a couple who make beautiful music together—in bed and out.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Defy the World Tomatoes:
Griffin waited for Darcy in his driveway. “I don’t mean to shock you, but unlike most men, I actually enjoy reading directions. Let’s go on out to the terrace. I’ll read the notes with the diagrams, and you can assemble the kite. It’s shaped like a dragon with a long, notched tail. It’s very colorful. I hope you like it.”
“It’s your kite,” Darcy reminded him, but when he pulled it out of the package, she couldn’t help but be impressed. “Start reading, I want to see this thing in the air.”
“First we have to unroll it.”
“All right, I’ll hold the tip of the tail while you walk backwards, and that ought to do it.”
“Hey, I thought I was giving the directions here.”
“Sorry. I’ll keep my mouth shut,” Darcy promised.
“Well, not all the time, I hope.” Griffin soon had the dragon stretched out across the terrace. He checked the directions again and sorted through the accompanying dowels. “These go in the head and wings. Do you see the slots that hold them?”
“Slots?” The dragon was red and breathing orange flames. Darcy felt along the sides. “They’ve got to be here somewhere. This is your kite, after all. Why don’t I read the directions while you attach the dowels?”
“Don’t complicate things. Just get busy.”
Darcy raised a hand. “Let me see that diagram.”
Griffin stepped beyond her reach and hid it behind his back. “Come and get it.”
“No way. You’re the one who wants to build the kite, remember?”
“An excellent point.” Giving in, Griffin knelt beside her. “Maybe they didn’t sew this one together correctly at the factory.”
He was mere inches away and studying the kite’s construction rather than tormenting her. His lashes made shadows on his cheeks, and he was quite appealing when he was in a playful mood, but none of it seemed real to her. It was all just a trick, and he probably wouldn’t stop until he’d convinced her that she actually wanted to move Defy the World cl
ear out of town.
Then she grew curious. “Why do you need a recording studio if you’ve stopped rehearsing?”
“Later. Here we are, the slots open on the other side. Hand me the first dowel.”
Darcy slapped it into his hand. “Tell me.”
“Let’s get the kite in the air first.” Griffin slid in the dowels, then attached the string. He stood and shook out the kite, then looked up at the cloudless sky.
“Is there some trick to getting this thing in the air?” he asked.
“You’ve never flown a kite?” Darcy stood and moved out of his way.
“I began playing the piano at five and just looked up a couple of months ago. There’s a whole lot I’ve missed, including the art of kite flying.”
Darcy didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but she imagined he must have been a very serious little boy indeed. “You need to run while you let out the string, and the wind will carry it aloft for you.”
Griffin looked around to judge the distance. “If I stay on the terrace, I shouldn’t be in any danger of falling off the bluff.”
“Go for it,” Darcy encouraged. She watched him cross the terrace in an easy lope and when he turned back into the breeze, the kite bounced upward. “That’s it, just let out the string.”
Griffin fumbled with the reel, then caught it and laughed when the kite rose steadily into the air. The wind whipped the dragon’s long tail and serrated wings, pushing it higher. “Wow, it looks like a real dragon, doesn’t it?” he shouted.
“It sure does. Now just move back a little and keep letting out more string.” She raised her hand to shade her eyes, then walked across the terrace to where she could observe Griffin as well as the brightly colored kite.
She remembered the kids who had played in the high school band as being rather nerdy. Not that she’d been Miss Popularity, but at least she hadn’t always had her nose in a book. With Griffin’s looks, no one would have ever called him a nerd, but it saddened her to think he must have missed out on a lot of the fun of growing up.
“Is this all there is to it?” he asked.
“Not really. The wind can shift and send a kite right into the ground, or into a tree. The power lines are buried underground up here, but usually they pose a threat too. Then, if there are others flying kites, your string can become tangled in theirs and send both kites plunging to earth.
“Depending on the wind conditions, flying a kite can be frustrating, or like today, just plain fun. Let it go up as high as you’d like, but remember you’ll have to rewind all the string when you bring it down.”
“I’ll keep it in mind. Why don’t you come here and try it?”
Here we go, Darcy thought, but the prospect of having him wrapped around her wasn’t all that unappealing. She moved to his side and gradually took control of the string. To her infinite dismay, however, he stepped back out of her way.
“Now, tell me why you need a studio,” she prompted, as much to distract herself as to discover his intentions.
Griffin moved up behind her and began to rub her shoulders. “You look rather stiff. Does this feel good?”
His touch was light but sure and incredibly soothing. “Christy Joy said you’d have great hands.”
“Did she?” Griffin chuckled.
Darcy hadn’t meant to pay the compliment out loud. “Please don’t tell her I said that.”
“I’m going to be tempted, but maybe we can work out something.”
“Do you expect a bribe?” Darcy felt a strong tug on the string and released a bit more. The kite was way out over the bluff now and dancing against the sun.
Griffin leaned down and nibbled her right ear. “Stay for dinner. I bought a roasted chicken. You eat those, don’t you?”
Darcy felt his breath on her cheek and couldn’t recall his question. “Chicken?” she mumbled numbly.
Griffin kissed her left ear lightly. “Yes, do you like them?”
He was wrapped around her now, and as snugly as she had imagined—no, hoped. She relaxed against him, and he began to trace teasing circles around the tip of her left breast with his right hand, while his left crept slowly down her stomach toward the sweet spot between her legs. His hips were pressed against her back, and there was no mistaking the intensity of his desire.
“This is what you had in mind all along, isn’t it?” she nearly moaned.
“Do you blame me?”
Darcy dipped her head. She supposed this was simply his usual routine. He would be in town for a few days to give a concert, and if he wanted to connect with a woman, he would waste no time in going about it. Even better than a sailor with a girl in every port, she bet he had women all around the world eagerly awaiting his return.
“Darcy? What was his name?”
Startled, Darcy turned to look up at him. “Whose name?”
“The man who broke your heart.”
Enfolded in his embrace, Darcy could not recall any of the other men she’d known. “Griffin Moore,” she breathed out softly.
Love is a Battlefield
Tamara Morgan
It takes a real man to wear a kilt. And a real woman to charm him out of it.
Games of Love, Book 1
It might be modern times, but Kate Simmons isn’t willing to live a life without at least the illusion of the perfect English romance. A proud member of the Jane Austen Regency Re-Enactment Society, Kate fulfills her passion for courtliness and high-waisted gowns in the company of a few women who share her love of all things heaving.
Then she encounters Julian Wallace, a professional Highland Games athlete who could have stepped right off the covers of her favorite novels. He’s everything brooding, masculine, and, well, heaving. The perfect example of a man who knows just how to wear his high sense of honor—and his kilt.
Confronted with a beautiful woman with a tongue as sharp as his sgian dubh, Julian and his band of merry men aren’t about to simply step aside and let Kate and her gaggle of tea-sippers use his land for their annual convention. Never mind that “his land” is a state park—Julian was here first, and he never backs down from a challenge.
Unless that challenge is a woman unafraid to fight for what she wants...and whose wants are suddenly the only thing he can think about.
Warning: The historical re-enactments in this story contain very little actual history. Battle chess and ninja stars may apply.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B
Cincinnati OH 45249
Love is a Battlefield
Copyright © 2012 by Tamara Morgan
ISBN: 978-1-60928-763-4
Edited by Linda Ingmanson
Cover by Kendra Egert
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: February 2012
www.samhainpublishing.com
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixtee
n
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
About the Author
Also Available from Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
Copyright Page
Love is a Battlefield: Games of Love, Book 1 Page 29