USA Today bestselling author Mira Lyn Kelly’s new Dare to Love series debuts with Truth or Dare, a fabulous contemporary romance that fans of Jill Shalvis will adore. Laura Drewry returns this month as well with the witty and tender romance Prima Donna, featuring a sexy love-shy doctor. Debut author Claudia Connor introduces the McKinney brothers in Worth the Fall, where readers meet widowed mother Abby and Navy SEAL Matt, both seeking forgiveness and looking for a way to start over. A book I’m sure readers will devour is Control by Laura Marie Altom—runaway Ella escapes an abusive marriage, dot.com billionaire Liam is used to having control, and together they are explosive. Coinciding with the World Series, Katie Rose gives us The Boys of Summer with Bring on the Heat, introducing Chase and Darcy (or is it Lydia?) in this mistaken-identity love affair. And if the weather gets a little too cool, heat it up with Longing by Jamie K. Schmidt, a lighter take on erotic romance—but don’t be fooled, Anya and Clint are hot!
Lastly, don’t miss the newest Flirt title: Lauren Layne’s Broken. The second book in her Redemption series, it tells the story of a girl with secrets, a guy with scars, and a love that could save them…or destroy them.
I hope you don’t miss these stories that will warm your heart and make you blush a little, too! And share your favorites with friends—we all need a little cuddle-up time with a good book. Until next time…
~Happy Romance!
Gina Wachtel
Associate Publisher
Read on for an excerpt from the first book in Katie Rose’s Boys of Summer series
Bring on the Heat
Chapter One
Darcy Hamilton pulled up to the Moorestown estate in her 2005 blue Honda Civic. The car was good on gas, but appeared a little battered in the luxurious cul-de-sac lined with million-dollar homes and BMWs. Climbing out of the vehicle, she hoisted her overnight bag from the trunk and then started down the paved path to the enormous mansion.
It was a gorgeous summer day in New Jersey, and she paused to admire the beautiful landscaping that surrounded the impressive property. The spring tulips and daffodils had long since faded, and the hybrid tea roses were blooming in full splendor. Leather-leaf shrubs and evergreens lined the house, softening the edges of the dun-colored bricks. Towering brass planters held geraniums and ivy ribbons trailing toward the emerald-green lawn where not a single dandelion dared take root.
When she rang the doorbell, Darcy was not surprised there was no answer. A red Porsche was parked crookedly in the driveway; she made a mental note to pull it into the garage before she left. Pushing the button again and again, she heard the tinkle of music resonate from within, but nothing else.
Sighing, she hefted the bag onto her shoulder to find the key. As house sitter for the rich and fabulous Lydia Logan, Darcy wasn’t truly surprised. This wouldn’t be the first time she’d have to save her employer’s perfectly rounded butt.
She’d gotten this job last summer after breaking up with her boyfriend. Nick had moved out, claiming the problem was him, not her. But later she found out he’d been cheating on her with a girl she worked with at TJ Fridays. When Darcy confronted him, he admitted it was true and claimed she was too boring for him, that he needed excitement.
Devastated, she’d quit waitressing and then took the first position she could find: taking care of the socialite’s Moorestown mansion. Heiress to a family fortune, Lydia was beautiful, stylish, and loved to party. Euro-trash, her grandfather had called her, and it was true that the French Riviera, Paris, and London were her favorite playgrounds. Yet she was careful to keep her escapades on the down-low and away from her disapproving relative.
So she was seldom home and needed someone to take care of her place, someone she could trust. What had started as stopping by every morning to collect Lydia’s mail, water her plants, and do light housekeeping had blossomed into a role that was more of a personal assistant. But Darcy didn’t mind. While Lydia had not been overly generous with her salary, the flexibility the position offered allowed Darcy time to pursue her goal of writing a screenplay.
Fitting a key into the lock, she pushed open the door. Inside the hallway, a pair of turquoise Jimmy Choos was tossed carelessly on the polished black and white marble floor, and a gold chiffon scarf decorated the coffee table.
“Anybody home?” she called up the grand staircase.
No response.
Resigned, she dumped her bag and began to climb the seemingly endless stairs. Slightly breathless when she reached the landing, she turned down a corridor toward the master bedroom at the end of the hall. Cautiously, she knocked three times. When no sound emitted from within, she turned the knob and flung the door wide open.
Darkness. The drapes were drawn and the room was pitch-black. Fumbling for the switch, she finally located it on the wall and turned on the light.
A woman moaned and burrowed beneath her pillows.
“Lydia?” Darcy ventured a step closer.
Another moan.
Resolutely, Darcy ventured to the windows and yanked open the curtains. Sunlight flooded the room, and she heard another groan of pain as a head finally made an appearance from beneath the pillows.
“What time is it?”
“Eight o’clock. Didn’t you say you had a nine-thirty flight?”
“Oh my God!”
The covers flew off and Darcy watched in amusement as Lydia Logan leapt out of bed as if on fire. “How the hell could this happen?”
“Beats me.” Darcy didn’t remind Lydia that oversleeping was a regular occurrence for her. Instead, she went into the dark green granite shower and started the water. “Coffee and aspirin?”
“You are a goddess.” Lydia tried to smile, but with the mascara smeared beneath her lashes, it was a little scary. Yet she was still beautiful. Darcy glanced enviously at the big blue eyes, the lips that were enhanced by collagen, the sculpted cheekbones, and perfectly arched brows that no amount of stale makeup could diminish.
“Call me in ten minutes if I’m not out of there.” Stripping off a sleep shirt, Lydia raced for the shower. Darcy caught a flash of a twenty-three-year-old body that had benefited from every modern-day technology available. Her breasts were full and firm, augmented just enough so they’d stay that way. Her tummy and hips had been lipoed, every hair plucked, shaved, or lasered, and her skin had a golden glow thanks to the tanning salon.
Darcy glanced down at her Sonics T-shirt, ratty shorts, and sneakers. Although only a year older than Lydia, she felt like she lived in an entirely different generation. She’d spent the previous night working on her script, and had only bothered with a five-minute shower before falling into bed at ten. Lydia, she imagined, had probably gotten home sometime this morning.
Descending the steps, Darcy made her way to the enormous kitchen. There was a French press on the granite counter and coffee in the custom-designed cupboard. She filled the kettle and put it on the stove to boil. The coffee, specially selected just for Lydia from a local shop, smelled heavenly as Darcy scooped three heaping spoons into the pot and then filled it with the hot water. While the brew steeped, she fished through her purse for the little tin of aspirin she kept just for emergencies like this.
Thankfully, she didn’t have to remind Lydia of the time again. The young socialite descended a few minutes later and gratefully accepted the steaming cup and pills Darcy handed her.
“Thank God you came early.”
“I thought I might be needed.” Darcy grinned. “I also called James before leaving my house. I assume you don’t want to leave the Porsche at the airport?”
“Hell no!” Lydia cringed as she scalded her tongue on the coffee, downing the aspirin in one gulp. “I just had the damned thing detailed.” Glancing impatiently at her watch, she nodded when she heard a car arrive. “Right on time. I mean it, Darce. You are a godsend.”
“Where are you headed?”
“Dubai.” Lydia shrugged, her mouth curving into something resembling a smile now that the coffee w
as beginning to take effect. “I met a Saudi prince last year at the Driscolls’ party in Paris. Let me tell you, the guy was hot. He offered to take me out on his yacht. I thought it might be fun.”
“I bet.” Darcy couldn’t even imagine. “How long will you be gone?”
“Don’t know.” Lydia indicated the mail lying on the kitchen counter. “Can you make sure the bills get paid? Just use my credit card like last time. Also, if my granddad calls, don’t tell him where I am. The old man gave me hell last week and threatened to cut me off if I don’t start behaving. Can you imagine?”
“No.” She had to laugh.
“I try to stay the hell away from the press so he doesn’t hear a lot of gossip. My grandfather seems to think because he had to bust his hump selling potato chips to make the family fortune, everyone else should too. I mean why? If I’m an heiress to a fortune, what does he expect me to do? Wait on tables, for God’s sake?”
“Maybe he’s just worried about you. Didn’t he have to bail you out when your last boyfriend tried to smuggle pot out of Thailand in your bag?”
“Big deal.” Lydia waved her hand in dismissal. “It took all of a phone call from him and we were free. That and a little money. Cash is, after all, the international language everyone understands.” She batted her eyes as Darcy laughed.
The horn beeped and Lydia refilled her cup and then grabbed her bag. “Gotta’ go.” She started for the door as the horn sounded again. “I’m coming! Oh, I meant to tell you.” She glanced up as one slender hip shoved the door open. “There should be an invite to a charity thing somewhere in that mess. You know, for that baseball team you’re always talking about?”
“The Sonics?” Darcy gave Lydia her full attention.
“Yes. You are welcome to go if you want. It’s some black-tie event. It’s pretty exclusive.”
“What does that mean?”
“You have to have an invite to get in. I think they sent this one because my grandfather donates to their charity.”
“But I can’t go to that!” Darcy was astonished. “The invitation was meant for you!”
“Don’t worry, I get these things all the time and never go.” She waved her hand breezily. “They will never know the difference.”
“But…” Darcy stammered. “I don’t have anything to wear…”
Her employer’s eyes flickered impatiently over her. “Borrow something of mine, for God’s sake. Just get it cleaned when you’re done.”
Then she gave her a second glance, amusement now twinkling in her gaze. “You might also want to check into the salon and let them do something with that hair.”
Self-consciously, Darcy fingered her dirty-blond, shoulder-length tresses.
“I think I have an appointment set up next week, right?” Lydia continued. “You go instead.”
She handed the bag to her driver, and then turned back to the house sitter with a grin. “Bye!” Hefting her coffee cup, she climbed into the BMW that was waiting at the curb and the car sped off.
Darcy felt like a cyclone had just left town. Breathing a sigh of relief, she poured a cup of coffee for herself and began sorting the mail. Bills she put into one pile, magazines in another, the cards and invitations into a third, until…
She stopped when she saw the elegant embossed envelope.
It was from the Wives of the New Jersey Sonics. Trembling with excitement, Darcy ripped open the creamy linen paper. Sure enough, it was an invitation to an exclusive cocktail party and fashion show.
“Our annual event will benefit the children who go to a school in Camden. This year we will provide state-of-the-art computer equipment, tablets, and Internet access. The event will feature jewelry exclusively designed by Sasha Primak, and the opportunity to meet the Sonics…”
It was the last part that froze her into place. She could actually meet the team? Not just watch them from the stands as she did every Sunday of her life, not just cheer them on in her humble living room when they won or cry with them when they lost, but she could see them, speak to them, maybe even shake their hands live and in person?
“Special guests include Chase Westbrook, the ace pitcher for the Sonics…”
Darcy’s heart pounded as she thought of the handsome ball player. Hollywood, they called him because of his jet-black hair, killer eyes, and a body to die for. He took the mound with a confidence that was stunning for a youth of twenty-five, and when he flashed that megawatt smile…
And she, Darcy Hamilton of little old Medford, New Jersey, would be in the same room with the man of her dreams!!!
Darcy giggled at the thought. Venturing excitedly to Lydia’s walk-in closet, she flung open the doors and gazed at the bewildering array of clothes.
Doubt crept in as she viewed the stylish wardrobe. It was like paging through People magazine the day after the MTV Video Music Awards. Every cut-out, funky, dominatrix-type outfit she could think of dangled before her. There was a black leather catsuit with a bare midriff, a leopard-print minidress with a big gold zipper up the middle, a backless microfiber red cocktail dress, and a gold sequined gown that plunged far below the waistline. A midnight-blue gown looked conservative from the back, but when Darcy took it out she saw the front was nothing more than a sheer lace bra.
There was also a question of fit. Her size six suddenly seemed enormous when she held up a sheer nude Givenchy that appeared the width of one of her stockings, and a Versace skirt that barely covered the essentials.
The shoes were even worse. There were shiny black heels, stilettos of every imaginable color, gold leather sandals that strapped up to the knee, spiky boots that looked tortured, and even a pair of platforms that had platforms.
Her heart sank. Lydia’s closet hammered home her worst fear: she didn’t belong with the rich and fabulous crowd. She couldn’t picture herself showing up in public in any of these clothes. And even if she did meet the Sonics and Chase, what did she think was going to happen? Especially when they realized she wasn’t anyone wealthy or important, but simply an employee of the woman who’d actually been invited?
Snatching her cell phone on its first ring from her bag, she could only smile as she saw her best friend on the caller ID. “Hey, Cara.”
“So are you at the Wild Child’s house?”
“Yes. I just got her out of bed and on her way. Good thing I arrived when I did. She was dead to the world and would have missed her flight again.”
“She is lucky you look after her the way you do,” Cara huffed.
“You’ve got that right,” Darcy agreed. “She is nice sometimes, though. She offered me an invite to the Sonics Foundation party.”
“OMG, that’s amazing! I am so jealous! You are getting to meet the Sonics? And Chase?”
“It does sound great, but I don’t think I’m going.”
“Why the hell not?” Cara demanded.
“It’s a really upscale affair,” she said, tracing the embossed lettering on the invitation. “The event is being held at the Union League Club in Philadelphia. You know that building on Broad Street with the big winding staircase?”
“So what?”
“It’s just kind of…intimidating. And I’m sure they are hoping for a donation. I don’t have the means for something like that.”
“Then how did she get invited? Somehow I can’t see Lydia Logan as Lady Bountiful.”
“Apparently her grandfather contributes to the sponsored charity,” Darcy explained.
“There you go. So he has already given them money. You aren’t doing anything immoral by attending in her place. Next?”
“It’s black tie. I don’t have anything appropriate.”
“So borrow something of hers,” Cara said impatiently. “She has more than enough clothes.”
“She said I could wear one of her outfits as long as I get it cleaned. But you should see her wardrobe.” She fingered a slashed cocktail dress held together by chains. “I can’t decide if I would look more like a female impersonator or a
stripper.”
“Oh come on. So her clothes are a little edgy. You could pull that off; you look a lot like her. Listen, I’m not letting you say ‘no’ to this. This is your chance to get out among real people, to have fun, and even meet stud-boy Westbrook!”
“But—”
“No buts. You and I have been watching the Sonics play for what, ten years now? You’ve been a baseball fan since we were kids! You even have that autographed baseball on your nightstand that your dad gave you, signed by all the greats!”
“Yes, but even if I went, I’m no Lydia Logan. This is high society, people with real money. They would be expecting someone like her and I wouldn’t have the first idea what to say to them. You’ve never met her, but Lydia is a lot of fun and a man magnet. She is cool, beautiful…she simply lights up a room.”
“So does a thunderstorm,” Cara snorted. “You sell yourself short—you’re a helluva better person. She tries on men like they’re hand-me-downs. And didn’t she sleep with her best friend’s fiancé?”
“That might just be loose talk—”
“I doubt it. Listen, all you have to do is laugh at everything anyone says and act like you’re having a great time,” Cara insisted. “Keep an open mind and just try on a couple of her dresses. I know you’ll find something that looks good.”
“You really think so?”
“Yes. Listen, don’t blow this. I get to live vicariously through you. I can’t remember the last time I got laid, and you’re getting to meet Chase! If you don’t go, I will.”
Chapter Two
“Fastball, ninety-five miles an hour!”
“Slider, eighty-three. How about a curveball?”
Chase Westbrook removed his hat, wiped the sweat from his brow, and shook his head negatively at the pitching coach. “No, I want to work on my slider.”
Dick Dubell lowered the radar gun and walked up to the mound, signaling to the catcher to hold up from throwing another ball. “Your slider is good. Excellent, in fact. You don’t need to practice that.”
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