“No, this color. Here.” His thumb caressed her cheek, his fingers settling beneath her jaw.
Was it possible for a man to have eyelashes that looked as if they were smudged with soot, all soft and curled up at the ends? It didn’t seem possible to her. Yet, that’s exactly what she saw as he studied her. Knowing that her skin had betrayed her thoughts in a blush should make her want to shy away. Yet, she’d gone too long without being noticed to feel an ounce of shame. Instead, she reveled in the attentiveness of his gaze, the nearness and warmth of his body, and the contact of his flesh on hers—even if it was a false show for him.
While not entirely certain that he expected her to answer, she indulged him. “Some roses are pink.”
“True.” He tilted her chin. Four thin, horizontal lines appeared above the bridge of his nose as if he truly were studying her. “Though when I think of rosy pink, it is darker, redder, than this.”
She tasted his breath on her lips. Other than their clumsy spill on the ice, this was the closest she’d ever been to a man. Heat poured from his body, sweeping over her, compelling her to draw nearer to the source. She couldn’t help it.
“Berries are sometimes pink,” she whispered, wondering if he could feel her breath as well.
He licked his lips. “Only unripe berries are pink, and you are a most decidedly ripe fruit, sweeting.”
The tone of his voice changed ever so slightly. The silky timbre turned deeper, indulgent, like slipping into a pair of warm velvet slippers.
She wanted to sink into that sound. “Pink carnations.”
“Yes. That’s it.” His hand slipped away. “A carnation pink blush, and berry-stained lips.”
Missing the contact, her chin tilted of its own accord. His gaze slowly dipped to her mouth. Whatever this game was, she wanted it to continue. “Is this a lesson in flirting or is the color of actual importance?”
Abruptly, he turned from her and headed toward a tasseled bell-pull on the far wall. It was almost as if he suddenly wanted to put as much distance between them as possible.
She had her answer. He was only flirting in order to gain something. The only thing she possessed that Rafe Danvers wanted, however, was not for sale. No matter how tempting the currency, she would not give him Greyson Park.
An Excerpt from
NEED ME
A Broke and Beautiful Novel
by Tessa Bailey
In the second Broke and Beautiful novel, college student Honey Perribow can’t stop fantasizing about her sexy, young English professor, Ben Dawson . . . and forbidden love has never been so hot.
When choosing the perfect panties for a seduction, one couldn’t be too selective. Careful consideration had to be given to the cut, the style, and, most importantly, the almighty color. Honey Perribow rifled through her underwear drawer from her position on the rug, picking up and discarding undies with the efficiency required of premed students the world over. Red silk was a little too on the nose. It didn’t give the guy any credit. Blue? Hinted at mood swings. Yellow with a strawberry pattern . . . what am I, five?
There was no help for her. She had to call in the big guns. “Roxy!”
Her roommate of one month propped a hip on the inside of Honey’s door a moment later, biting into a piece of toast. “Did you lose your indoor voice in that pile of underpants?”
“What color would you wear if you wanted to seduce your English teacher?”
The toast paused halfway to Roxy’s mouth. “Aw, shit. Today is the day?”
Honey took a deep breath and nodded. “I’ve finally worked up the nerve. No more hiding under my hoodie in the back row. Professor Dawson is going down to Honey town.”
“How long have you been waiting to say that?”
“A while. How was my delivery?”
“Not too shabby.” Roxy shoved the remainder of the toast in her mouth and plopped down onto the floor, cross-legged, eyeballing the mountain of panties. In the month since they’d become roommates in one of the oddest interview processes of all time, they’d formed a friendship that sometimes seemed as if they were feeling their way in the dark. Honey could still sense some hesitancy on Roxy’s part to open up completely, but Roxy’s new boyfriend, Louis, seemed to be unlocking a new part of her. Considering Roxy had hidden out in her room at the outset, commiserating over panties was a vast improvement. “All right. So, we know he’s studious. He teaches Intro to Literary Theory. How does he dress?”
Honey hid her swoon by turning and pressing her face into the rug. “He has this tweed jacket. It’s like a greenish-brown, which should be ugly, but it looks so dang amazing on him. If I got up close, I bet it would smell like honest-to-goodness man mixed up with old book leather. He keeps candy in the pockets, too. I can’t tell from the back of the room which kind of candy he always pops into his mouth, but if I had to guess, I’d say butterscotch. So the jacket might have a hint of butterscotch smell going on, too.”
“Are you telling me tweed inspired all that?”
“It’s crazy, right? I know it. I can hear myself.” Honey rolled back over and stared up at the ceiling. In the few weeks since she’d started courses at Columbia University, Professor Dawson had wiggled his way under her skin like a splinter from a yellow poplar tree. No one back home in Bloomfield, Kentucky, would ever have accused her of being shy. In fact, they would have laughed over the very suggestion. But the day she’d walked into the lecture hall and seen Professor Dawson, quietly gorgeous, in his tweed jacket and black-rimmed glasses, a mixture of confidence and nerves, she’d slunk into the back row like a scolded basset hound.
Starting today, she would seduce Professor Dawson. Just the thought of it raised goose bumps all over her arms. From the back of the room, he was a movie star. Like something she watched on a screen from a safe distance. What would he be like up close?
“If you rub your thighs together any harder,” Roxy broke into her thoughts, “this pile of panties is going to turn into a bonfire.”
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Excerpt from The Wedding Date copyright © 2013 by Lisa Connelly
Excerpt from The Wedding Favor copyright © 2014 by Lisa Connelly
Excerpt from Bad for Me copyright © 2015 by Codi Gary
Excerpt from Wild With You copyright © 2015 by Sara Jane Stone
Excerpt from The Devilish Mr. Danvers copyright © 2015 by Vivienne Lorret
Excerpt from Need Me copyright © 2015 by Tessa Bailey
THE WEDDING GIFT. Copyright © 2015 by Lisa Connelly. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition MAY 2015 ISBN: 9780062323835
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062323842
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