Thor meets Tony Hawk in this comedic, low-angst/high spice MM romance about a serious hockey goalie who is drawn out of his shell by a bratty skateboarder, a dare involving cake, and a lesson in how to use joysticks-for video games of course.
Bad Pucking Influence
Colorado Bulldogs #2
by Michele Lenard
Blurb:
On the surface, I’ve got it all. I’m the starting goalie and Captain of the Colorado Bulldogs hockey team. I’ve got more money than I know what to do with. I can count an entire team of elite athletes as my friends. And according to the pundits, I’m an eligible bachelor.
That’s the image everyone sees, but it’s just a role I play. A part dictated by my career. I have to be just as perfect off the ice as I am on it since everything I do reflects on my team in some way or another. So, those questions I have about why I don’t crave sexual contact the way my teammates do–questions I’m afraid to ask with the world watching… I decided a long time ago it didn’t make sense to look for answers until after I retire.
Then I ran into him.
Tripp is loud, obnoxious, and full of confidence. Some people find his sass off-putting, but not me. I find it intriguing, and I admire his ability to be himself, consequences be damned. Apparently, I also admire the way he looks, since my eyes seem to linger on him longer than they should, and when he sets his sights on me…
Waiting for retirement to explore who I am seems like too big a sacrifice, so when Tripp offers to help me answer some of those questions about myself, I jump.
I’m tired of pretending to be Mr. Perfect… Tripp and his playboy antics might be just the thing I need to figure out who I am outside of hockey. The only problem is, everyone–including our mutual friends–see him as a bad pucking influence.
Bad Pucking Influence is a low-angst, high-spice MM romance featuring a hockey player and a brat, not a hockey book featuring a romance. Fans of bratty playboys and gentle giants will enjoy this light-hearted, steamy yet touching love story.
Since I first saw Tripp at a team barbeque Xander dragged him to last summer, I’ve found myself noticing him more and more. In my defense, it’s hard not to. Standing at six feet, with perfectly mussed bleached-blond hair and dark stubble that’s hard to miss since the contrast is so stark, it’s the mischievous tilt of his lips that really captures my attention. I often find myself wondering what’s going on in his mind, particularly since he’s a professional at giving people the shock-and-awe treatment. His antics amuse me more than they should, even when they involve silly excuses to measure my biceps with his hands.
Between his loud looks and even louder personality, he doesn’t exactly fade into the background, and if I’m being honest, I find his brash nature freeing. I sort of like that he’s become a bit of a regular fixture in our social circle. What’s confusing to me is that it’s not just his personality that catches my attention. His appearance fascinates me, especially now, with him skating around shirtless.
Tall and lean, every muscle is on display, showing off a smattering of tattoos that would otherwise be hidden. They’re kind of mesmerizing to watch as they ripple under his skin. So is the youthful gleam in his eye. It’s not arousing exactly, but it’s something. Something I’ve yet to put a label on, but I only seem to experience it around him. Which might mean sitting here watching him is a bad idea, at least until I sort out some of my confusion.
If only I could look away.
*****
Review:
I liked the characters – Noah is a big, ol’ teddy bear and Tripp is as in-your-face as you can get – but there’s definitely something more lurking beneath the surface of both. We get an understanding of Noah’s pretty early on, and Tripp is definitely all in for helping him explore his sexuality, which means he also brings his own baggage into their situation. There’s a reason he’s not willing to get involved with people and it takes a while to share it with us. I don’t know that everyone is willing to put in the time needed to go from casual sex to Tripp opening up & spilling all his secrets but I found it a satisfying resolution to their relationship.
While it isn’t necessary to have read the first book, Bad Pucking Timing, I do think it will help with how quickly Noah and Tripp fall into a sexual relationship together. It also gives a better look at the fun, & supportive, side of Tripp and how he & Noah have gotten to this point. While the beginning is oh-so-steamy, I think that foundation may be needed so that Tripp’s bratty side is better understood and to help readers get through the slower transition of their relationship.
*****
Author Info:
Michele is a tomboy who writes contemporary romance (usually sports themed) that is both sweet and steamy. Her goal is to make you fan your face as you wipe a tear from your eye. Her books are part of a series but there are no cliffhangers so each can be read as a standalone. When she isn’t reading or writing she enjoys the outdoors, something that pops up in her books from time to time.
He’s Emerald Creek’s hottest cowboy—and the one man she shouldn’t want
On the surface, Egan Donnelly is hometown hero material—top gun, commanding an elite fighter training squadron and ranching royalty. Inside, he feels like a fraud, convinced he’s responsible for his best friend’s death. At least he won’t let himself succumb to the heat between him and Jack’s widow, Alana. Yet. Now that she’s making regular trips to his ranch to care for his dad, that vow is getting harder to keep.
Alana Davidson isn’t just grieving her husband’s loss, she’s feeling betrayed over his secret infidelity. Wanting Egan makes things even more complicated. As a nutritionist, she can help Egan’s dad recover from his health scare, but it’s not so easy to get her own heart back on track. Because despite shared guilt and family pressure, she’s falling fast, and Egan is right there with her…
That whole deal about bad news coming in threes? Well, it was a crock. Lieutenant Colonel Egan Don- nelly now had proof of it.
First, there’d been the unexpected visitor, AKA the messenger, who’d started the whole bad-news ball rolling. That’d teach him to open his frickin’ door before he’d even finished his frickin’ coffee.
Then, there was the so-called celebration that would stir up the worst of his past and serve it up to him on a silver platter. Or rather on a disposable paper plate, anyway.
Then, a letter from his ex, which he figured was never a good sign. Who the heck actually wanted to hear from their cheating ex? Not him, that was for sure.
Those were the three things—count them: one, two, three—that was supposed to have been the final tally of bad crap even if for only a day, but apparently the creator of that old saying had no credibility what- soever. Then again, Egan had known firsthand that bad news didn’t have limited quantities.
Or expiration dates.
Now he was faced with ironclad confirmation that
those other three things were piddly-ass drops in the proverbial bucket compared to bad-news number four.
And now, everything in his world was crashing and burning.
Again.
Thirty Minutes Earlier
In the dream, Lieutenant Colonel Egan Donnelly saved his best friend’s life. In the dream, the explosion didn’t happen. It didn’t blast through the scorched, airless night. Didn’t tear apart the transport vehicle.
Didn’t leave blood on the bleached sand.
Didn’t kill.
In the dream, Egan was the hero that so many people proclaimed he was. He made just the right decisions to save everyone, including Jack. Especially Jack.
Egan didn’t fight tooth and nail to come out of this dream—unlike the ones that were basically a blow-by-blow account of what had actually happened that god-awful night nearly three years ago. Those dreams were pits of the darkest level of hell where everything spun and bashed, stomping him down deeper and deeper into the real nightmare. Those dreams he fought.
Had to.
Because Egan had learned the hard way if he let those dreams play out, then it was a damn hard struggle to come back from them. Heck, he was still trying to come back from them.
Despite wanting to linger in this particular dream
where he got to play hero, it didn’t happen, thanks to his phone dinging with a text. He frowned, noticing that it was barely six in the morning. Texts at this hour usually were not good. Considering that all three of his siblings were on active duty, not good could be really bad.
He saw his father’s name on the screen, and the worry instantly tightened Egan’s gut. His dad had just turned sixty so while he wasn’t in the “one foot in the grave” stage, he wasn’t the proverbial spring chicken, either. Added to that, his dad still ran the day-to-day operation of Saddlebrook, the family’s ranch in Emerald Creek, Texas. The ranch that’d been in the Donnelly family for over a hundred years and had grown and grown and grown with each succeeding generation. All that growth required hours of upkeep and work.
Found this when I was going through some old photo albums, his dad had texted.
What the heck? That gut tightness eased up, some, when Egan saw it was a slightly off-center image taken in front of the main barn on the ranch. His dad had obviously used his phone to take a picture of the old photo. Emphasis on old.
It was a shot that his grandmother, Effie, had snapped thirty years ago on Egan’s eighth birthday. His brother, Cal, would have been six. His sister, Remi, a two-year-old toddler, and his other brother, Blue, was just four. Stairsteps, people called them, since they’d all been born just two years apart.
In the photo, his dad, looking lean, fit and young,
was in the center, flanked by Egan and Remi on the right, and Cal and Blue on the left. Remi and Blue were both grinning big toothy grins. Cal and Egan weren’t. Probably because they’d been old enough to understand that life as they’d known it was over.
Their lives hadn’t exactly gone to hell in a handbasket, but this particular shot had been taken only a couple of weeks after their mother had died from cancer. A long agonizing death that had left their dad the widower of four young kids. Still, his dad was eking out a smile in the picture, and he’d managed to gather all four of them in his outstretched arms.
Bittersweet times.
That’s when their mom’s mom, Grammy Effie, had come to Saddlebrook for what was supposed to have been a couple of months, until his dad got his footing. Effie was still living on the ranch thirty years later and had obviously put down roots as deep as his father’s.
Egan was wondering what had prompted his dad to go digging through old family albums when his phone dinged again. It was another text from his dad, another photo. It was an image that Egan also knew well, and he mentally referred to it as the start of phase two of his life.
The first phase had been with a loving mother that sadly he now couldn’t even remember. That had ended with her death. Phase two had begun when his dad had gotten remarried four years later to a young fresh-faced Captain Audrey Granger, who’d then been stationed at the very base in San Antonio
where Egan was now. It was an hour’s commute to the ranch that Audrey had diligently made.
For a while, anyway.
In this shot, his dad and new bride dressed in blue were in the center, and both were flashing giddy smiles. Ditto for Remi and Blue. Again, no smiles for Cal and Egan since they’d been ten and twelve respectively and were no doubt holding back on the glee to see how life with their stepmom would all play out.
It hadn’t played out especially well.
But then, it also hadn’t hit anywhere near the “hell in a handbasket” mark, either.
If there’d been a family photo taken just two years later, though, Audrey probably wouldn’t have been in it. By then, she’d been in Germany. Or maybe England. Instead of an hour commute, she’d come “home” to the ranch a couple of times a year. Then, as her career had blossomed, the visits had gotten further and further apart. These days, Brigadier General Audrey Donnelly only came home on Christmas. If that.
Egan sent his dad a thumbs-up emoji to let him know he’d seen the pictures, and he was considering an actual reply to ask if all was well, but his alarm went off. He got up, mentally going through his schedule for the day. As the commander of the Fighter Training Squadron at Randolph AFB, Texas, there’d be the usual paperwork, going over some stats for the pilots in training, and then in the afternoon, he’d get to do one of the things he loved most.
Fly.
Of course, it would be under the guise of a training mission in the T-38C Talon jet, not the F-16 that Egan used to pilot, but it would still give him that hit of adrenaline. Still give him the reminder of why he’d first joined the Navy and then had transferred to the Air Force so he could continue to stay in the cockpit.
Egan showered, put on his flight suit, read through his emails on his phone and was about halfway through his first cup of coffee when his doorbell rang. He had the same reaction to it as he had the earlier text. A punch of dread that something was wrong. It wasn’t even seven o’clock yet and hardly the time for visitors. Especially since he lived in base housing and therefore wasn’t on the traditional beaten path for friends or family to just drop by.
Frowning, he went to the door. And Egan frowned some more when he looked through the peephole at the visitor on his porch. A woman with pulled back dark blond hair and vivid green eyes. At first glance, he thought it was his ex-wife, Colleen, someone he definitely didn’t want to see, but this was a slightly younger, taller version of the woman who’d left him for another man.
Alana Davidson, Colleen’s sister.
“Yes, I know it’s early,” Alana sighed and said loud enough for him to hear while she looked directly at the peephole. “Sorry about that.”
Wondering what the heck this was all about, he opened the door and got an immediate blast of heat. Texas in June started out hot as hell and got even hotter. Today was apparently no exception. He also
got another immediate blast of concern because there was nothing about Alana’s expression that indicated this was a social visit.
Then again, Alana and he never had social visits.
Never.
Just too much old baggage, old wounds and old everything else between them. Ironic, since she’d been married to his best friend. Now, she was his dead best friend’s widow and bore that strong resemblance to his cheating ex-wife who’d left him just days before Jack’s death.
Egan was no doubt an unwelcome sight for her, too. He was the man who’d not only failed to keep her husband alive, but he was also the reason Jack had been in that transport vehicle in the first place.
So, yeah, old baggage galore.
“Sorry,” Alana repeated, looking up at him. Not looking at him for long, though. Like their avoidance of social visits, they didn’t do a lot of eye contact, either. “But I have an appointment at the base hospital in an hour, and I wanted to catch you before you went into work.”
“The hospital?” he automatically questioned.
She waved it off, clearly picking up on his concern that something might be medically wrong with her. “I’m consulting with a colleague on a chief master sergeant who’s being medically retired and moving to Emerald Creek. I’ll be working with the chief to come up with some lifestyle changes.”
Alana made that seem like her norm, and maybe it was. She was a dietitian, and because as Jack’s widow
she still had a military ID card so she wouldn’t have had any trouble getting onto the base. Added to that, Emerald Creek was a haven for retirees and veterans since it was so close to three large military installations. There were almost as many combat boots as cowboy boots in Emerald Creek.
“How’d you know where I live?” he asked.
“I got your address from your grandmother.” She glanced over her shoulder at the street of houses. “I occasionally have consults here, but it’s the first time I’ve been to this part of the base.”
Yeah, his particular house wasn’t near the hospital, commissary or base exchange store where Alana would be more apt to go. Added to that, Jack had never been stationed here, which meant Alana had never lived here, either.
“Full disclosure,” she said the moment he shut the door. “You aren’t going to like any of what I have to say.”
Now it was Egan who sighed and braced himself for Alana to finally do something he’d expected her to do for three years. Scream and yell at him for allowing Jack to die. But there was no raised voice or obvious surge of anger. Instead, she took out a piece of paper from her sizeable handbag and thrust it at him.
“It’s a mock-up of a flyer that Jack’s mom intends to have printed up and sent to everyone in her known universe,” Alana explained.
At first glance, he saw that the edges of the flyer had little pictures of barbecue grills, fireworks, the
American flag and military insignia. Egan intended to just scan it to get the gist of what it was about, but the scanning came to a stumbling slow crawl as he tried to take in what he was reading.
“Join us for a Life Celebration for Major Jack Connor Davidson, July Fourth, at the Emerald Creek City Park. It’ll be an afternoon of food, festivities and remembrance as a celebratory memorial painting for Jack will be unveiled by our own Top Gun hometown hero, Lieutenant Colonel Egan Donnelly.”
Well, hell. Both sentences were full-on gut punches and thick gobs of emotional baggage. Memorial. Life celebration. Remembrances. The icing on that gob was the last part.
Top Gun hometown hero.
Egan was, indeed, a former Top Gun. He’d won the competition a dozen years ago when he’d been a navy lieutenant flying F-16s. The hometown part was accurate, too, since he’d been born and raised in Emerald Creek, but that hero was the biggest of big-assed lies.
“I can’t go,” Egan heard himself say once he’d managed to clear the lump in his throat.
She nodded as if that were the exact answer she’d expected. “I’m guessing you’ll be on duty?”
He’d make damn sure he was, but wasn’t it ironic that the memorial celebration would fall on the one weekend of the month he usually went home to help his dad on the family ranch? Maybe Jack’s mom knew that, or maybe the woman just believed that such an event would be a good fit for the Fourth of July.
It wasn’t.
Barbecue, hot dogs, beer and such didn’t go well with the crapload of memories something like that would stir. He didn’t need a memorial or a life celebration to remember Jack. Egan remembered him daily, hourly even, and after three years, the grief and guilt hadn’t lost any steam.
“I’ll let Tilly know you can’t be there,” Alana said, referring to Jack’s mother. “She’s mentioned contacting your stepmom to see if she could be there for the unveiling.”
“Good luck with that,” he muttered, and Alana’s sound of agreement confirmed that she understood it was a long shot.
What would likely end up happening was that his brother Cal would get roped into doing the “honors.” He’d known Jack, and Cal’s need to do the right thing would have him stepping in.
“The last time I ran into Tilly, she didn’t want to discuss anything involving Jack’s death,” Egan recalled.
Alana nodded. “That’s still true. Nothing about how he died, et cetera. She only wants to chat about the things he did when he was alive.”
“So, why do a memorial painting?” Egan wanted to know.
“I’m not sure, but it’s possible the painting will be another life celebration deal that she’ll want hung in some prominent part of town like city hall or the library. In other words, maybe the painting will have nothing to do with Jack even being in the military.
Tilly was proud of him,” she quickly added. “But she’s never fully wrapped her mind around losing him.”
That made sense. The one time he’d tried to talk to her about Jack’s death, she’d shut him down. As if not talking about his death would somehow breathe some life back into him.
“There’s one more thing,” Alana went on, and this time she took a pale yellow envelope from her purse and handed it to him. “It’s a letter from Colleen.”
Egan had already reached for it but yanked back his hand as if the envelope were a coiled rattler ready to sink its fangs into his flesh. The mention of his ex-wife tended to do that. Memories of Colleen didn’t fall into the “hell on steroids” category like Jack’s. More like the “don’t let the door hit your cheating ass” category. Colleen had obviously liked that direction just fine since she hadn’t spoken a word to him since the divorce.
He glanced at the envelope, scowled. “A letter? Is it some kind of twelve-step deal about making amends or something?” he asked.
Alana shook her head. “No, I think it’s a living will of sorts.”
That erased his scowl. “Is Colleen dying?”
“Not that I know of, but she apparently decided she wanted to make her last wishes known. She sent letters for me, our aunt and your dad. I have his if you want to give it to him.”
Egan reached out again to stop her from retrieving it, and Alana used the opportunity to put the letter for him in his hand. “I don’t want this,” he insisted.
“Totally understand. I read mine,” she admitted. “Along with spelling out her end-of-life wishes—cremation, no funeral, no headstone—she wants us to have some sister time, like a vacation or something.”
Egan had no idea how much contact Alana and Colleen had with each other these days, but it was possible when Colleen had walked out on him, she’d also walked out on Alana. He thought he detected some animosity in Alana’s tone and expression.
He went straight to the trash can in the adjoining kitchen and tossed the envelope on top of the oozing heap of the sticky chicken rice bowl that had been at least a week past its prime when he’d dumped it the night before.
“I’m not interested in wife time with her,” he muttered, knowing he sounded bitter and hating that he still was.
Unlike what he was still going through with Jack, though, his grief and anger with Colleen had trickled down to almost nothing. Almost. He now just considered her a mistake and was glad she was out of his life. Some days, he could even hope that she was happy with the Mr. Wonderful artist that she’d left him for.
When he turned back to Alana, he saw she had watched the letter trashing, and she was now combing those jeweled green eyes over his face as if trying to suss out what was going on in his head. Egan decided to diffuse that with a question that fell into
the polite small talk that would have happened had this been a normal visit.
“Uh, how are you doing?” he asked. On the surface, that didn’t seem to be a safe area of conversation since it could lead to that screaming rant over his huge part in her husband’s death. But Egan realized he would welcome the rant.
Because he deserved it.
Alana took a deep breath. “Well, despite nearly everyone in town deciding I should live out the rest of my life as a widow, I’ve started dating again.”
That got his attention. Not because he hadn’t known about the town’s feelings. And not because he believed she shouldn’t have a second chance at romance. But Egan had thought she didn’t want such a chance, that she was still as buried in the past as he was. Apparently not.
“I’m only doing virtual dating for now,” she went on, not sounding especially thrilled with that. “Last week, I had a virtual date with a guy who has six goats and eleven chickens in his one-bedroom apartment in Houston.”
Egan didn’t especially want to smile, but he did, anyway. “Sounds like a prize catch. You’d never have to buy eggs again. Or fertilizer.”
She shrugged. “He was a prize compared to the one I had the week before. Within the first minute of conversation, he wanted to know the circumference of my nipples.” Alana stopped, her eyes widening as if she hadn’t expected to share that.
Egan smiled again, but this one was forced. He
hadn’t wanted Alana to think he was shocked or offended, though he was indeed shocked. He’d never considered nipple size one way or another.
He’d especially never considered anything about Alana’s nipples.
And he hated that was now in his head. That kind of stuff could mess with things that already had a shaky status quo.
“Dating at thirty-five isn’t as much a ‘fish in the sea’ situation as it is more of a, uh, well, swamp,” Alana explained. “Think scaly critters, slithery, that sort of thing, with the potential and hope that some actual fish lingering about will eventually come out of hiding.”
That didn’t sound appealing at all, but then he hadn’t had to hit any of the dating sites. He could thank the eternal string of matchmakers for that. Unlike the widowed Alana, apparently everyone thought a divorced guy in his thirties shouldn’t be solo. Especially a guy who’d had his “heart broken” when his wife had walked out on him right before his best friend had been killed.
“How about you?” she asked, clearly aiming for a change of subject and her own shot at small talk. “Have you jumped into dating waters?”
He shook his head. “Too busy.”
She broke their unwritten rule by locking her gaze with his for a second or two. “Yeah. Busy,” she repeated. And it sounded as if that were code for a whole bunch of things. For instance, wounded. Damaged. Guarded. Guilty.
All of the above applied to him.
It was hard for Egan to think about his happiness when he’d robbed Jack of his. Busy, though, was a much safer term for it.
“Well, I gotta go,” Alana said when the silence turned awkward, as it always did between them. “I’ll let Tilly know you won’t be at the life celebration so she can find someone else to do the unveiling.”
Egan frowned when a thought occurred to him. “She won’t ask you to do it, will she?” Because he couldn’t imagine that it’d be any easier for Alana than it would be for him.
“No.” Another sigh went with that. “Tilly still has me firmly in the ‘grieving widow’ category, which apparently will preclude me from lifting a veil on a painting and doing other things such as dating or appearing too happy when I’m in public.”
He wanted to ask, Aren’t you still a grieving widow? But that would go well beyond small talk. It could lead to an actual conversation that would drag feelings and emotions to the surface. No way did he want to deal with that.
Obviously, Alana wasn’t on board for such a chat, either, because she headed for the door, giving him a forced smile and a quick glance before she left and went to her car. Egan watched her, doling out his own forced smile and what had to be a stupid-looking wave.
Since he didn’t want to stand around and think about this visit, Colleen’s trashed letter—or Alana’s nipples—he grabbed his flight cap and keys so he could go to his truck. He barely made it a step, though, before his phone dinged with another text.
Great. Another photo trip down memory lane.
But it wasn’t.
It was his father’s name on the screen, but there was no picture. Only six words that sent Egan’s heart to his knees.
USA Today bestselling author, Delores Fossen, has sold over 125 novels with millions of copies of her books in print worldwide. She’s received the Booksellers’ Best Award, the Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Award and was a finalist for the prestigious Rita ®. In addition, she’s had nearly a hundred short stories and articles published in national magazines. You can contact the author through her webpage at http://www.deloresfossen.com
My time playing pro hockey will be up soon. I can feel it. And I’ve heard the rumors: he’s too old, he’s had too many injuries, he’s lost his edge. I don’t want to admit it, but they could be right. Next season might be my last.
Or this season. Because of course, this is when the universe decides I need another concussion. It’s a doozy too—the kind that’s going to keep me off skates for a while.
Which is how I end up in a small New England town in the middle of nowhere Vermont, eating every meal at a diner where a grumpy chef from Quebec makes haute cuisine…and burgers. Jean-Claude is funny and charming and—
Okay, I have a crush on a gay man.
This is a new one.
Jean-Claude
Confused straight men are entertaining. But Riley is…fascinating, sexy, and curiously vulnerable. His injury has rocked his confidence a bit, so perhaps he’s in need of a friend. Any friend. Even moi.
I’m an unlikely choice, but maybe he just likes my tuna salad.
No…I think it’s me.
And though I’m happy to help him explore his bisexual curious side, I have career concerns of my own. See, the things I love most about Elmwood seem shaky and uncertain, but not Riley. He’s solid and genuine. Suddenly, this temporary secret liaison feels more real than anything in my life.
I need more than this season. I want it all. With Riley.
Next Season is an MM bisexual-awakening romance featuring a grumpy chef, an injured hockey player, and a big HEA in a small town where anything can happen.
Riley shook his wrist and stole a glance my way. “You don’t strike me as the type who likes to follow rules.”
“Not true. Religion was a big part of my life when I was a child. Church on Sundays and high holidays, Catholic school. I always did well with structure and discipline. Hockey gave me that too. The practicing, the camaraderie…the game is always bigger than one player, but your contribution matters. It’s like that in a kitchen too. Everyone has a role to play, and we’re better at it when we work as a team. Rules are good, but…” I pulled the dough from him and grinned. “It’s fun to break them.”
He snickered, diligently pushing and folding the dough. “Uh-huh. Now, me? I was a quintessential rule follower. Even after I left home, I made my own rules about…everything in my life. Food restrictions, daily exercise, sleep, alcohol…I even had a no masturbation rule twenty-four hours before a game.”
I wrinkled my nose in distaste. “Is this some kind of testosterone bullshit?”
He blushed, and it was so fucking cute I couldn’t resist looping my arm around his waist, nuzzling his neck, and pressing kisses behind his ear.
“Cut it out.” He wriggled in my arms, then leaned against me. “To be honest, I got carried away with the rules. I have a mild obsessive-compulsive streak, and I’m hard on myself. I was like this as a kid too—always trying to be the best and do the best. It’s fucking exhausting.”
“I bet. I can’t relate. I was terrible.” I sighed. “My poor parents. I was the kid who fell asleep in church, ditched school to smoke with my hooligan friends, and the D-man who showed much promise, but spent far too much time in the penalty box for using my fists instead of my brains. It’s not that I didn’t want to follow rules, but some of them seemed pointless to me.”
“Yeah, that sounds more like you.”
“Oui. I had too much energy or not enough. I never got the balance right until I worked in a kitchen and found out the hard way that everything I touched would turn to shit if I didn’t pay attention. So I learned to be patient and put in the work. And because of that, I don’t have to cross my fingers or double-check my recipes. I know this bread will be amazing…unless you fucked it up somehow.”
Riley swatted my ass with a dish towel. “I made it better. Admit it.”
“We shall see.”
*****
Review:
I loved this story. It’s low angst, so sweet, and I didn’t even mind that 90% of it is just the two of them together (although seeing JC interact with others is a hoot and a half). It is a joy getting to know all of JC’s secrets as Riley gets him to open up bit by bit. He had a few forks in the road that helped make him into the grumpy, caring, funny man he is today.
Riley is impatient to get back on the ice, but JC proves to be a good distraction. Maybe too good as Riley starts to realize that his feelings are turning a direction he didn’t anticipate. I didn’t mind that Hayes lets them explore this new side to Riley without a lot of drama. He just goes with the flow, evaluating his comfort level every step of the way, and JC’s calm support definitely helps as things get steadily more steamy.
When I read You, Again I felt that any issues with the book were squarely on me and I was right. With this follow up book Hayes reminds me what I like so much about her stories. Her MCs are great together – I love JC’s playfully gruff personality and Riley is a superstitious mess as he faces his future & his feelings for JC. Together, they are loving, so supportive, and they made me very happy. I’m excited that there’s a holiday story coming soon because I’m ready to get back to Elmwood.
*****
Author Info:
Lane Hayes loves a good romance! An avid reader from an early age, she has always been drawn to well-told love story with beautifully written characters. She loves wine, chocolate and travel (in no particular order). Lane lives in Southern California with her amazing husband and her fabulous pup, George.
Readers who love books about books will fall for Erin La Rosa’s latest rom com—a friends (with benefits)-to-lovers story about a romance author who’s never been in love, and needs to find out why before her next manuscript is due! For fans of BY THE BOOK and BOOK LOVERS.
Plot Twist
by Erin La Rosa
ISBN: 9781335458117
Publication Date: November 14, 2023
Publisher: Canary Street Press
18.99 US | 23.99 CAN
Blurb:
Romance author Sophie Lyon’s ironic secret just went viral: she’s never been in love. Though her debut novel made readers swoon, Sophie’s having trouble getting her new characters to happily-ever-after, and she blames it on her own uninspired love life. With a manuscript deadline looming, Sophie makes an ambitious plan to overcome her writer’s block: reunite with her exes to learn why she’s never fallen in love—and document it all for her millions of new online followers. Which also means facing her ex-girlfriend Carla, the one person Sophie could have loved.
Luckily, Sophie’s reclusive landlord, Dash Montrose—a former teen heartthrob—has social media all figured out and offers to help. But he doesn’t mention that he’s an anonymous online crafter, a hobby that helps him maintain his sobriety. No one knows about his complicated relationship with alcohol and he intends to keep it that way. His family is Hollywood royalty, so Dash has to steer clear of scandal.
As Sophie and Dash grow closer, they discover a heat between them that rivals Dash’s pottery kiln. But Sophie needs to figure out who she is outside her relationships, and Dash isn’t sure he’s stable enough for the commitment she deserves. So Sophie suggests what any good romance author would: a friends-with-benefits arrangement. Surely a casual relationship won’t cause any trouble…
More specifically, she’d had one (or three) too many the night before. So instead of falling asleep on her bed, she was lying on the couch with a paperback book as a makeshift pillow. Her legs were tucked up in the fetal position inside her billowy dress. And as she licked her lips, she tasted vodka and fried chicken, which she didn’t remember drinking or eating.
She attempted to open her eyes, but her lashes stuck together from the makeup she’d forgotten to remove the night before. With the help of her index finger and thumb, she managed to peel one lid open. White-hot summer light poured in through the arched living-room window and her mint green walls, a color she’d specifically chosen for its soothing properties, were mockingly chipper.
But even more unsettling was the book on the coffee table directly in front of her, Whisked Away. Sophie’s first published book. She closed her one good eye and wished she’d never opened it.
Her mom had always dreamed about Sophie filling an entire bookshelf with all her titles, the years of working multiple day jobs while tinkering on romance books finally worth the struggle. But, as it turned out, Whisked Away would be Sophie’s one and only book. Had she known she’d be a one-hit wonder, she wouldn’t have ordered the little placard for her writing desk: Ask Me about My Tropes.
The worst part was that she had sold a follow-up book—or, at least, a pitch plus the first three chapters—but she hadn’t been able to finish The Love Drought (a title so tragically similar to her own personal problems that it made her cringe). She’d been given multiple extensions but missed all of them. And, per her contract, her publisher had the right to terminate their deal if those deadlines weren’t met. But no matter how many drafts she started, Sophie couldn’t find her way to the happily ever after that all romance books promised and that she loved.
The phone call with her agent started with We need to talk… and ended with You have six weeks to finish this book or your contract, plus the advance, will be taken back.
She’d spent most of that advance, though, along with the royalty checks that grew smaller and smaller as interest in her last book waned. She needed money from turning in the next book if she wanted to continue paying for things like food or a place to stay.
She should’ve seen the implosion coming. Her horoscope had warned that the entire month of June would be bad for important communication. But the damage was done: Sophie was a romance author with writer’s block, and in six weeks’ time, she’d lose her publishing deal.
So she’d done the only thing she knew would make her feel better: called Poppy. And her best friend had suggested a night out at their favorite downtown karaoke bar to drown away the loud whir of failure.
She cautiously sat up, then settled her feet into the woven jute rug. Her legs were as firm as Jell-O when she stood. Still, she managed to make it to the hallway mirror, where she saw that her normally side-swept curtain bangs had morphed into Medusa, snakelike tendrils across her forehead, and she had more flakes on her face than her pet goldfish had in his bowl.
She cringed. Rain Boots. Her goldfish was twelve years old and the longest relationship she’d ever had. She planted her hand on the wall for support and shuffled over to her bedroom where a large glass fishbowl sat on her bedside table. Rain Boots swam in the exact middle and blinked at Sophie with large accusatory eyes.
“I’m sorry, honey,” Sophie croaked out. “I know we have our bedtime routine, but Mommy got horribly drunk.”
She tapped the glass with her index finger and waited for a response, but none came. Eventually the silence broke when her doorbell loudly ding-donged and caused her to jump in surprise. The next, and bigger, surprise came when she made her way to the front door and saw her landlord waiting on the porch.
Dash Montrose wasn’t a tall man, but he had presence. Part of that was because he always seemed to be fidgeting—tapping his fingers, shifting his feet, or pacing slightly—but also, he had thick arms with swirling, inky-black tattoos.
It’s not that Sophie had stared at those arms in prior instances but…well, yeah, she probably had.
Still, her first instinct was to hide behind the couch because what the hell was Dash doing there? She and Dash lived next door to each other, but they were not close. In fact, Dash hardly ever acknowledged her existence. He lived in the large house tucked behind her bungalow, but he was always walking away in some kind of a hurry. If she waved, he only ever nodded back. She didn’t think he was intentionally being a jerk, but he clearly had no interest in interacting with her. They hadn’t spoken actual words to each other in at least a few months. She Venmoed him the rent, and sometimes he left a thumbs-up in response. That was the extent of it.
But there he was, in jeans and a T-shirt. What could he want? Did he somehow know her funds were about to run out and he was preemptively evicting her? Sophie avoided confrontation at all costs, but she couldn’t run away from him, not when his face was pressed against the window of her door and he was peering directly at her. She clutched her arms across her chest, extremely aware that she was still dressed in her clothes from the night before, as she made her way to him.
When she opened the door, she was hit not only with the heat from the high sun above but by the sight of Dash’s wet hair slicked around his face. Water trickled down his neck and splotched his faded shirt, like he’d come straight over from a shower. Which meant a few minutes prior he’d been totally naked, covered in soap and water and…
“Hey, uh, whoa.” His voice cut through Sophie’s thoughts. When she glanced up, Dash gave her an uneasy expression, then gestured down the length of her. “What happened…”
She never left the house without a minimum of tinted moisturizer, but of course Dash came on the one day where she closely resembled a Madame Tussauds wax statue melting in the sun. Sophie gently swiped her index finger under her eye, and it came back coated in black liner. Excellent.
“Vodka happened,” she muttered.
She rubbed the liner between her fingers. Something was wrong. Mercury must’ve been in retrograde. If thirteen-year old Sophie had known that she would be renting a place from Dash Montrose—former teen heartthrob movie star turned still hunky landlord—and he was seeing her hungover…she’d be even more embarrassed than she already was. And she’d probably also be delighted. Because Sophie had maaaybe had a photo of him from a magazine cover on her wall when she was growing up. His film Happy Now? was her all-time favorite movie.
She absolutely did not have a crush on adult Dash, though. Well, he was undeniably hot. No point in glossing over that thick, dirty-blond hair, the dimple in his chin, or any of the other tatted-up details. But he was Poppy’s brother and so off-limits that Sophie had built a wall around Dash in her mind. Though bits of the wall appeared to crumble at the sight of his strong jaw and the dark circles under his eyes that made him all the more mysterious to her.
“Poppy asked me to come check on you. She said you weren’t answering your phone.” He glanced behind her, as if searching for a potential thief holding her cell hostage.
“My Poppy?” Sophie had worked at Poppy’s spa, Glow, for years—one of the many day jobs she’d had before quitting to write full-time. Though, now that she had endless writer’s block, she might have to beg for her old job back.
“She’s my sister, so she’s technically our Poppy.” His hands landed in the pockets of his jeans.
Sophie looked behind her to where the phone usually was, and blessedly, while she’d been drunk enough to use a book as a pillow, she’d been just sober enough to plug in her phone. She rubbed at one of her throbbing temples and walked over to her desk, grabbed her phone, then held down the power button and watched the white icon flash back.
As she waited for the phone to boot up, she walked back toward Dash.
“Okay, she wants me to tell you that there’s a video of you going viral?” Dash gestured to his phone, which made his forearm flex and Sophie’s eyes widen in response.
She tried to process what he’d said. She needed an intense boost of caffeine—maybe a matcha—to be able to comprehend the words coming out of his mouth. “A video?”
“I don’t know, she said you needed to see it. And that I needed to make sure you saw it.” He shrugged, but the small motion lifted the edge of his shirt up just enough for Sophie to catch a glimpse of his boxers.
Sophie didn’t want to be impolite—Dash was Poppy’s older brother, after all—but what was she supposed to do? She couldn’t so much as look at a candle shop without rushing in to buy one. Dash was the male equivalent of fresh beeswax. She was definitely staring.
Just then, her phone erupted in a series of pings, vibrations, and what sounded like one deafening goose honk. If she owned pearls, she’d be clutching the hell out of them. The screen filled with notifications—emails, texts, missed calls, and push notifications from Instagram—but she pulled up Poppy’s text conversation first.
Soph, are you up?
It’s 10. You never sleep this late.
I’m at work, ARE YOU OK
I’m sending Dash over.
YOU’RE NOT DEAD! YIPPEE!
OK, here’s the vid. Don’t freak out!
Dash’s phone pinged too, he looked down, then sighed. “Did you get it?” He sounded a little irritated.
Sophie frowned at the blurry thumbnail of a woman, but clicked the link, which sent her to the TikTok app. Then, almost immediately, she saw herself reflected on the screen. The video was taken at the karaoke bar, and Sophie was the main event. She stood onstage as the undeniable background music to Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer” played. She had requested that song, hadn’t she? The small pieces of her lost-memory puzzle began to click into place.
Only, in the video, she was sobbing, with tears running down her cheeks, as she gazed wild-eyed into the crowd. Poppy ran onto the stage and attempted to coax Sophie off, but Sophie grabbed the mic and shouted, “I’ve never been in love, okay?!” Her voice so angry and vehement that she appeared to be deranged. The person holding the phone zoomed in at that exact moment to capture Sophie’s grimace as she shrieked out, “Love isn’t real!” Then Poppy yanked the mic out of Sophie’s hand and dropped it for her. End of video.
“Stop, stop, stop!” The words screeched out of her as she furiously poked the screen to try and delete the video. Then she remembered this was not her video—someone else had uploaded it. Eventually, her eyes drifted down to the caption, which read Relatable! The video had over two hundred thousand views and thirty thousand likes.
“Oh my holy hot hell.” She was a writer but could not think of any other words in that moment. Her mind raced at the thought of hundreds of thousands of people watching her have a public meltdown and liking it.
Normally, Sophie was an optimist, but after the last twenty-four hours, she was beginning to understand the appeal of pessimism. Her hand instinctively went to her chest and her fingers tap-tap-tapped at her pacemaker—something she always did to steady herself—as she scrolled through the comments and saw that not one but multiple people had recognized her.
Sophie Lyon is FUN
Sophie Lyon is secretly unhinged and it’s sending me
I hated her book, but I like this?
“Just breathe.” Then Dash’s hand was on her back, steady and warm, which momentarily distracted her, but not for long.
The heat outside had intensified to Palm Springs–level boiling and caused Sophie to break out in either hives or a rash. She furiously clawed at her throat with her free hand. She walked away from Dash and down the porch steps. Her bare feet hit the cool blades of grass in her yard, and when she looked up, the iconic Hollywood sign perched in the Santa Monica Mountains shined pearly white in the distance. Seeing those letters from her yard every morning used to make her feel closer to the success she so deeply craved, but now she felt buried under the weight of its implied expectations.
She stumbled, and Dash was next to her within seconds, holding her steady. He grabbed her elbow with one hand, and the other wrapped around her waist to cup her hip. His skin was warm against her, even through her dress. Her stomach flipped, probably from the lingering alcohol. “Sophie, you really need to sit. You look like you’re about to faint—”
The sound of her phone pinging cut him off. And when she looked down, a familiar name flashed across the screen. Carla. Sophie stopped scratching her throat. Her ex. The woman who had single-handedly led her on for close to a year. A year in which Sophie could feel herself beginning to fall head over heels, and then… Carla had ended it and dragged their relationship to the trash. Sophie stared at Carla’s name, and the text underneath, which read Saw the video… As in her ex had seen the video of Sophie having a full-on meltdown.
It was at this moment that she tilted her head back, let the punishing sun burn her eyes, and shouted as loudly as she physically could. When she eventually stopped screaming, her head felt light. The edges of her vision blurred with the realization that she had nothing left, her life was over, and she was completely mortified.
“Seriously, Sophie? My ears are ringing.”
Sophie was so focused on her own humiliation that she must’ve forgotten that Dash was right there.
“Are you on something?” Dash asked.
Sophie frowned. No, she was not on something. She may have been braless, hungover, and hanging by a thread emotionally, but what kind of an accusation was that?
And even if she were on ayahuasca and beginning to see rainbow caticorns encircling her feet—which sounded great, actually—what she did with her body was absolutely none of his business. She paid her rent on time. This was her place. He was the one who’d come bounding over, all wet and wearing a too-tight shirt, and now he had the nerve to suggest she was the one out of line?
She would tell Dash that he needed to leave. But when she opened her mouth to say as much, she felt the bile rise in her throat. Her eyes bulged wide as she closed her mouth and held back something akin to a burp. Dash clocked her panic, and his eyes narrowed. She shook her head, but there was no use. She was definitely going to hurl all over her high-school celebrity crush. And without even being able to call out a warning, she projectile-vomited all over Dash.
*****
Author Info:
ERIN LA ROSA is a writer living in Los Angeles. As a writer for BuzzFeed, she frequently writes about the perils and triumphs of being a redhead. Before BuzzFeed, Erin worked for the comedy websites Funny or Die and MadAtoms, as well as E!s Fashion Police, Wetpaint, and Ecorazzi. Erin has appeared on CNN, Headline News, Jimmy Kimmel, and The Today Show on behalf of BuzzFeed. She is the author of Womanskills and The Big Redhead Book.
This man of the month has it all, but his world goes up in smoke when a saucy out-of-town woman crashes into his life. If only she would let him capture her heart. Readers who love Sweet on Wilde by Fabiola Francisco and Something That Could Last by Ashley Cade will enjoy Hot Stuff by Ashton Brooks, a steamy, small town, enemies-to-lovers, cinnamon roll hero, thriller, found family romance.
Hot Stuff
Candy Cane Key
Man of the Month: November
by Ashton Brooks
Blurb:
This man of the month has it all. His own pizza restaurant, a family of five loving sisters and a mother who dotes on him, best friends he can always count on, and he’s one of the town’s most eligible bachelors. Watch as his world goes up in smoke when a saucy out-of-town woman crashes into his life. If only she would let him capture her heart.
“CalSone Day?” I read the banner that is currently being hung up outside our family restaurant in preparation for the big celebration that is a week away.
“Joseph, it’s Cal-Zone. With a Z!” I yell up at him, and watch his body sway slightly on the ladder. He looks over it and checks his phone.
“That is a Z,” he shouts back and waves his hand over the sign.
“It’s a fucking S.” I growl back. “Hold on.” I leave him and head into the restaurant to find my backup. Thank god all five of my sisters are in today so they can back me up. Our mother is in the kitchen preparing for the big event, so I won’t bug her, but the rest of them are needed.
“Rosie, I need you all,” I whistle at her from behind the register, waving her outside. The look she shoots me is as sharp as daggers, but I know it’s only because I dared call her in such a manner. She must see the frustration on my face though, because her scowl quickly turns to concern.
I hear her yell for the others and I let the door shut while I keep an eye on Joseph. He’s mumbling to himself, words I can’t hear, but the redness on his cheeks shows he must have realized he’s wrong.
“What the heck, Rome?” My oldest sister, Romi, flings her hands up in the air. She’s scowling at me, and I meet her raised brows with my own. The rest of them follow out and stand amongst each other.
“What happened?” Rumer asks, and I love that, as usual, she remains the calmest in the chaos. She’s the second oldest child and she has always been the peacekeeper.
“I don’t know, he flipped a lid inside and said we all had to be out here,” Rosie lifts her shoulders. She is the youngest in our family so I can’t help but smile at her, even though she isn’t helping me.
“The sign,” I point up at it and all five sets of dark eyes, the one trait we all share, jump to where the hanging red tarp is.
“Cal..Sone Day,” Reagan reads, and I see her brow furrow. “With an S?”
“Ahh, fuck,” Remi, the sister closest to me in age, laughs, “Joseph, what the hell did you do?” She is the wildest of my sisters, and she cusses about as much as I do, much to our mother’s dismay.
“It says Calsone Day!” He yells down at all of us.
“Calzone is spelt with a Z, Joseph,” Romi snaps back, her big- sister voice coming out. She sounds scarily like our mother when she does that, and Joseph is speechless.
“Baby,” Joseph calls to her, “My phone says S. I’ll change it, I’ll change it.” He throws his hands in the air and starts taking down the sign.
I wait him out, my hands on my hips, standing next to Romi. Joseph is her new fiancé, and he’s been trying to help out around the restaurant, but he still gets on my nerves.
“Quit scowling at him,” She whispers next to me and nudges her elbow into my side.
I grunt from the impact and turn to her with a smirk, “It’s not my fault the guy can’t spell Calzone right. And he wants to work here? Take over a share?”
“He doesn’t want a share,” She sighs and stomps her foot, something all the women in my family are known for, “He just wants to be part of the business with us. I would think that is what you all would want. We need the extra hands. Rumer’s baby is due in a month, and her shift will need to be picked up.”
“Romi,” I slide my arm around her shoulders, “It will be fine. And leave Joseph to me. He needs to learn just like Tommy did for Rumer. And now look, he’s the best meat guy in the town.”
“I know you mean well Rome, but we both know that Joseph will never be good enough in your eyes. You hold grudges like no one else, and the fact that he ran over your bike tire when you were ten still makes you mad,” She argues, and I see the turmoil in her eyes.
“It was a great bike,” I shrug my shoulders.
“Roman!”
“I’m kidding,” I give her a squeeze, “I will try and take it easier on him. Once he fixes the damn sign.”
Romi huffs, shaking her head, but I do see a small smile on her lips. She heads back into the restaurant, and my gaze finds its way back to Joseph, who is rolling up the sign and tapping away on his phone.
“Are we good?”
His eyes shoot up to mine, “I ordered a new one, with rush delivery. It will get here before Wednesday.”
“Great. We can hang it up right as everyone is walking in,” I grunt and shake my head. Joseph grabs his bag and his ladder, and scurries to his work truck. I watch him drive away and try to remember to breathe in and out.
Calzone Day needs to be perfect. It’s a staple holiday at Mohagen’s, and has been since my grandfather first built it here in Candy Cane Key. My father, Rebel, inherited it from him, and when he married mother, they took it over. Their wedding reception was hosted here, all six of us were raised in these kitchens, and took afternoon naps in the booth. The sign needs to be perfect. We can’t not have Calzone Day.
Copyright 2023 Ashton Brooks
*****
Author Info:
Ashton Brooks is an author with a variety of stories that are in Contemporary Romance and New Adult romance. Her writing style is suspenseful and sometimes leads to heart-wrenching conclusions. With a background in forensic psychology she really goes for those investigative, dark and twisty feels. And of course, lots of love! Brooks enjoys reading as much as writing. Television shows such as Criminal Minds, Scandal, and One Tree Hill are her go-to binge worthy series. She loves spending time with her friends and family with a good glass of beer or wine. If she isn’t reading or writing, Brooks is Pinteresting future home projects for her wonderful husband to accomplish.
Blaine Wicked is used to women doing as he says in and out of the bedroom. Find out happens when he falls for the one woman who won’t submit to his wicked ways in the newest insanely sexy, deeply emotional, and laugh-out-loud funny standalone romance by New York Times bestselling author Melissa Foster.
Blaine Wicked can spot trouble a mile away. As the eldest of five and raised in a Dark Knights biker family, he has always been a protector. Rescuing a stripper from a bad situation comes with the territory, regardless of the hell the mouthy, slightly awkward, and seriously hot leggy blonde gives him for it. She’s far too innocent to bend to his wicked ways, but the more he learns about her, the harder it is for him to walk away.
Forensic scientist Reese Wilder never imagined herself as the entertainment at a bachelor party, but she’d do anything to keep food on the table for her teenage sister. With their mess of a mother in rehab—Third time’s a charm, right?—Reese is stuck paying off their mother’s debt to a dealer and trying to make ends meet. Reese has had it rough, and she knows better than to rely on anyone for help, much less a pushy biker with piercing blue eyes who probably has dozens of women at his beck and call.
The more flames Reese throws, the more determined Blaine is to walk through them. The closer he gets, the hotter they burn—and the more curious she becomes. But Blaine Wicked has the power to torch Reese’s walls to embers, and with her sister’s well-being at stake, that’s a risk she can’t afford to take.
When I first started this one, and Blaine started to show his more dominant side, I wasn’t sure I was going to be ok with him. Not because I’m opposed to that take charge, demanding type but there was just something about his attitude that didn’t sit right. He seemed a little too inflexible and uncaring about his partner. He talked about how he made sure they were ok with things but … I don’t know. His attitude was just off.
Then Reese showed that she wasn’t going to let him get away with it. He made demands of her but she made her demands as well and she wasn’t going to let him get away with not giving her what she needed. There’s definitely a submissive thing going on with her but it’s also a give & take relationship on both sides. Which, to me, seems much more healthy than what I was afraid we were going to have going it.
I also appreciated that it wasn’t an overly bumpy ride emotionally. They had their issues but they worked thru them and moved on. I enjoyed the relationship that Blaine built with both Reese and her sister, providing them both with the support and care that they needed. And that Reese was there to help him come to terms with his own issues and look a little more closely about why he does the things he does.
As is to be expected with a Whiskey man, when they meet the one they fall and fall fast. And usually take a little convincing to realize it 🙂 But once they do, *whew*, especially since it takes a strong woman, one willing to stand up to him when he needs it, to win that Whiskey heart. His Whiskey Ways is Foster’s trademark (and delicious) blend of sweet and oh-so-steamy, heart and sass, humor and love.
Like always, the Whiskeys show that they are all heart under gruff, tattooed exteriors. They live big and love big, protecting those that need it and supporting everyone in their ever expanding circle. Showing us that family is more than just the ones you share blood with.
If you are new to Foster’s world, this is a good place to start. There’s a little bleed over from The Wicked Truth (and a lot of history & characters as always) but this one does a pretty decent job of standing on its own.
*****
Author Info:
Melissa Foster is a New York Times, Wall Street Journal, & USA Today bestselling author. She writes sexy and heartwarming contemporary romance and new adult romance with emotionally compelling characters that stay with you long after you turn the last page. Melissa’s emotional journeys are lovingly erotic and always family oriented–perfect beach reads for contemporary romance lovers who enjoy reading about wealthy heroes and smart, sassy heroines.
Bain Hillridge is new to the Titans and he’s building relationships with his new team, both on and off the ice. If only he could keep his hands off his teammate’s little sister.
I loved playing for the Arizona Vengeance but I’m stoked to be part of the legacy the Pittsburgh Titans is building. A team that has risen from the ashes, I’m eager to help them achieve their goal of winning a championship. I’m also looking forward to becoming part of a new hockey family. A night out with my new mates introduces me to the little sister of our goalie, Drake McGinn, and I’m powerless to resist her.
Keira and I have an instant and insatiable attraction and it doesn’t take long before we find ourselves tangled up in one another. While Drake has declared his sister off limits, I’m not deterred because I always go for what I want. I refuse to heed Drake’s warnings and take great pleasure in goading him every chance I get. It’s become one of my favorite hobbies, outside of making his sister scream my name.
As things with Keira get hotter, feelings start to develop making it a little more complicated than we intended. But a bucket of ice-cold water is tossed on our relationship and we’re forced to reprioritize everything. Neither of us were looking for more than a hot fling but fates get twisted all the time. Faced with tough decisions, Keira and I know that no matter what choices we make, our lives are never going to be the same.
Bain contains subject matter that may be sensitive to some readers. If you would like additional details, please https://bit.ly/TW_Bain.
Grab your copy of Bain directly from Sawyer by shopping the Sawyer Bennett Bookstore!
New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestselling author Sawyer Bennett uses real life experience to create relatable stories that appeal to a wide array of readers. From contemporary romance, fantasy romance, and both women’s and general fiction, Sawyer writes something for just about everyone.
A former trial lawyer from North Carolina, when she is not bringing fiction to life, Sawyer is a chauffeur, stylist, chef, maid, and personal assistant to her very adorable daughter, as well as full-time servant to her wonderfully naughty dogs.
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In this follow-up to A PROPOSAL THEY CAN’T REFUSE, single dad Santiago “Saint” Vega gets a second shot at love when he falls for his daughter’s teacher, but when duty to his family forces him to do something she’ll never forgive, will everything he’s built come crumbling down?
A Dish Best Served Hot
A Vega Family Love Story
by Natalie Caña
ISBN: 9780778333500
Publication Date: October 31, 2023
Publisher: MIRA
18.99 US | 23.99 CAN
Blurb:
Santiago “Saint” Vega gets a second shot at love with Lola León, but when duty to his family forces him to do something she’ll never forgive, will everything he’s built come crumbling down?
Years ago, Saint walked away from the girl he loved to fulfill his duty. Now he’s struggling to build bridges between his drifting family, take on more responsibilities at his uncle’s construction company, figure out why his daughter refuses to talk at school and curtail his mischievous abuelo’s escalating pranks. Then she walks back into his life.
Social justice advocate Lola León has returned to Humboldt Park for two reasons: to help care for her dear abuelo and to serve the community center she loved, particularly the shelter for unhoused LGBTQIA+ youths. When she finds out that the Vegas are responsible for endangering both, she is more than ready to go to war—even if the boy she never forgot is standing at the front of the battlefield.
Neither of them expects to become allies in saving the shelter, helping Saint’s daughter or ending the decades-long feud between their grandfathers. They definitely don’t expect all of their old feelings to come rushing back. As Saint and Lola enter combat, they can’t help but wonder where the other’s true allegiance lies, and whether they’ll win these battles only to lose each other.
Santiago Vega II—known to family and friends as Junior much to his annoyance—took his time getting back to the front office after dropping off paperwork for Miss Wallis, the school secretary. He loved it when the halls of his high school were empty and mostly silent. It gave him a sense of calm he never got otherwise. Not when he was the oldest of a five-child family who lived in a tiny apartment directly above the restaurant his family ran. The restaurant where his grandpa’s band loved to play music at all hours of the day, because it was always filled to the gills with people from the neighborhood. Junior was surrounded by people all the time—loud, demanding people—so he enjoyed moments of quiet stillness whenever he could.
That made it all the more annoying when he heard raised voices down the hallway.
“You better stay away from her!”
“You two aren’t even together anymore.”
“She’s mine!”
Oh great. Two idiots were about to fight over a girl and Junior had to go that way to get back to his work-study.
Junior turned the corner to one of the side hallways and stopped dead in his tracks. It was worse than two idiot guys. It was Jose Mendez, one of the largest offensive linemen on their high school football team, and Lola León, the biggest troublemaker in the school.
Lola was constantly in the office when he was there, but where Junior was there helping out during his free period, she was always there to talk to the principal after getting kicked out of one class or another. Sure, he didn’t know her well, she was a junior to his senior, but it wasn’t hard for Junior to tell why she was constantly pissing everyone off. She had a terrible attitude and a mouth to accompany it. She said what she wanted and did what she wanted without a care for anyone around her.
As if to prove his point she opened her mouth and said, “Aww, is your fragile male ego hurt because she liked my kiss more than yours?”
Junior’s eyebrows rose. He’d heard that Lola liked girls, but he’d assumed those were ignorant rumors based on how she dressed—in baggy clothes that looked like she’d taken them from a large man’s closet. At least, he’d hoped that was the case after seeing her for the first time in the office a few weeks ago. It didn’t matter that he had no intention of actually talking to the pretty girl. A part of him was selfish enough to be hopeful.
Her taunt seemed to be the last straw for Jose. “Bitch. I’ll give you something to do with that smart mouth of yours.” He rushed her and crowded her into a corner before she could dodge. His hand tangled into her long dark hair and pulled it hard.
Junior jumped into action without thinking. There was no way he was going to sit back and let someone be hurt. Especially not a young woman who didn’t even reach Jose’s shoulder. He charged forward, trying to remember everything his abuelo had taught him about taking down someone bigger than you.
He wrapped his forearm around Jose’s neck and locked it into place with the crook of his other arm. He moved his head to one side just in case Jose decided to try to headbutt him. He looked down at Lola, whose head was pulled back exposing her neck and a pair of wide brown eyes.
Junior didn’t think he’d ever seen her look scared. Pissed off and scowling yes, but not afraid. For some reason her fear released a new level of anger in him. Junior was quiet and serious, but not usually angry. Except at that moment he was livid.
“Let. Her. Go.” He growled in a voice he’d only ever let out when someone was messing with one of his younger siblings. When Jose didn’t immediately do as he said, Junior tightened his grip.
Jose let go of Lola’s hair to grab Junior’s arm with both hands and attempt to pull him off. Somehow he couldn’t. Instead he wheezed.
“Get behind me,” Junior barked to Lola, who was rubbing her no-doubt tender head.
It took her a second, but eventually she did.
As soon as she was behind him, Junior started to loosen his grip around Jose’s neck. However, he knew the impulsive hothead would do something in retaliation, so, at the same time he released his neck, he kicked Jose in the back of the knee.
He jumped out of the way as Jose went down coughing and rubbing his throat. Then he spun on his heel, grabbed Lola’s hand, and began running in the opposite direction. He wanted to put as much distance as possible between them and Jose.
His head swiveled back and forth, trying to find a place for them to lie low, before he grabbed the handle to a door and swung it open. He herded Lola through the empty classroom door, pulling it closed behind them, and backed them both away from the narrow glass window. A second later Junior heard uneven pounding footprints rush past the door. He stayed there silent and still until the footsteps faded.
Finally, he turned his attention to the girl next to him. He took a deep breath and told himself to ignore how pretty she was, but wasn’t prepared for the way her eyes would snare him as soon as they met his. Her eyes were a reddish-brown that made him think of lava the moment it hit air and began to cool—dark around the edges and still burning bright in the middle. Junior lost his ability to breathe. He couldn’t do anything but stare.
She was the one to break the silence. “I think he’s gone,” she whispered.
“He’ll double back,” Junior murmured.
“How do you know?”
“Because he’s not one to let things go.”
That caused her to make a face and a sound almost like a snort.
Junior noticed a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her screwed-up nose and pale cheeks. He blinked in confusion. It was just so incongruous for Lola León, whose entire family was known for being dangerous hard-asses, to have something as sweet and innocent as freckles.
When he realized how long he’d been staring at her face, and no doubt making her feel uncomfortable, he cleared his throat. “So what’d you do to piss off Jose?” he asked.
Lola looked like she contemplated lying, but must’ve decided against it because she replied. “I kissed his ex-girlfriend.” She looked away from him and the air around her seemed to still. It was like she was waiting for him to say something messed up.
“Why?” he asked. He knew Jose’s ex, Yesenia. Part of the dance squad and daughter of everyone’s favorite gym teacher, she was one of the most popular girls in the school. Sure, she was beautiful, but she was also dumb as a bag of rocks and selfish to boot.
“‘Why’ what?” Lola asked.
“Why’d you kiss her? I’ve known Yesenia since we were kids and she’s awful.”
Lola just stared at him.
Junior rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m just saying. I don’t think there’s a whole lot going on in that girl’s head. You could do better. Not to mention, she’s a very traditional girl from a very traditional family. So just, you know, be careful…”
Lola’s voice was full of incredulity when she asked, “Are you trying to protect my feelings?”
He blushed. “It’s just that.” He paused. “I mean. It can’t be easy for you to be, you know.” He paused, unsure if it would be okay for him to say the word. He didn’t want to offend her.
“Bisexual?”
So she did like guys. The warmth on his cheeks deepened for some reason. “I just wouldn’t want you to fall for someone who would just make things harder. That’s all. You can love whoever you want, but I just think it should be someone who loves you back.” He shrugged awkwardly.
She tilted her head and looked at him like he was a brand-new species of animal. “You know, I think you might be one of the first people in this school to tell me that.”
“Tell you what?”
“That I can love anyone I want. Most people I know tell me it’s just a phase or that I like being difficult.”
Junior didn’t know how to respond, so he stayed quiet.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Junior,” he replied. Then he shook his head as if to clear the cobwebs. “I mean, no. That’s not right.”
Her smile was wry. “Do you not know your own name?”
He gave her a look. “My name is Santiago Vega. Like my dad, so everyone calls me Junior which really makes no sense because no one even calls my dad Santiago.”
“Santiago, huh? Like the city in Chile?”
“Right, but the city is actually named for Saint James.”
“I’m sure whatever he did to get that title was something super cool and not at all colonialist.”
Junior was so nervous that he totally missed her ironic tone. He just started talking.
“He was one of Jesus’s first disciples. He eventually traveled to Spain while spreading the word and ended up becoming Spain’s patron saint. You can actually follow his path from France through Spain if you want. It takes like a month to walk and leads to a huge church,” He shut his mouth abruptly, highly aware that he was babbling. The daughter of Humboldt Park’s most notorious gang leader didn’t give a shit about the religious origins of his name.
“You’re a bit of a nerd, huh?” Lola asked with a curl to her lips. “Makes sense you’d be named after a saint.”
He didn’t hear any derision in her tone, but he felt defensive anyway. “Why do you say that?”
“Because look at you.” She gestured to him. “You jump into the middle of fights to save the underdog. You dish out words of wisdom to protect people. Don’t you volunteer in the office for fun? Shit. I bet you have straight As and help little old ladies cross the street. You basically are a saint.”
His brow creased. “I don’t think that’s how it works.” Besides, it wasn’t like he was perfect. He had plenty of flaws. Junior was no doubt about to embarrass himself more by enumerating said flaws, but he was quite literally saved by the bell, which blared through the room and caused them both to startle.
Lola recovered first. “Well, to answer your earlier question, I kissed Yesenia because she asked me to. I’m not in love with her or anything.” She slipped around him and made her way to the door. At the last moment she turned back to him. “Thanks for saving me… Saint.” Then she closed the door behind her and rushed to her next class.
The next morning when they saw each other down the hallway she shouted, “What up, Saint?” in her loudest voice, making sure everyone heard her, and that was it. The nickname spread around the school and then the neighborhood like a forest fire. He was no longer Junior or even Santiago. He was Saint. And Lola was no longer the troublemaker from the office. She was everything he wanted and everything he eventually lost.
*****
Author Info:
Natalie Caña writes contemporary romances that allow her to incorporate her witty sense of humor and her love for her culture (Puertominican whoop whoop!) for heroines and heroes like her.
A sexy, but growly author gets annoyed at his quirky landlord’s attempts to cure him of his writer’s block, but the more time he spends with her, the more her personality seeps into his story. Will his book have a happy ending? Or will his surly attitude run off his gorgeous new muse? Fans of Hope Ford, Kat Baxter, and Mia Brody will love Mister Write by Elyse Kelly, a steamy, small town, grumpy/sunshine, forced proximity, instalove romance.
Mister Write
Candy Cane Key
Man of the Month: November
by Elyse Kelly
Blurb:
He’s moody, she’s perky, and he might wind up punched in the face…
When a sexy but growly author finds himself chasing away his cheery, quirky, and maddeningly adorable landlord, he’s annoyed at her attempts to cure him of his writer’s block. But as Nate spends time with the charming beauty, more and more of Teddie’s alluring personality seeps into the pages of his manuscript.
Will his book have a happy ending? Or will his surly attitude run off his gorgeous new muse?
MISTER WRITE is a stand-alone, super sexy, grumpy/sunshine, beach romance with a HEA! So get yourself a fan because you’ll definitely need to cool down after reading this spicy, fast-paced, instalove book!
“And the hits keep coming,” I say as I answer the call.
Peter gives me a faux-offended look. “I’m just checking in on my dear little brother! For all we know, your Tracey—”
“Teddie,” I answer before I can stop myself. I immediately regret opening my mouth when Peter gives me a mischievous grin.
“Right,” he drawls. “Tawney—”
I suck on my teeth. “Pete. Petey. Peter, Peter, Pumpkin Eater…”
He snorts and raises an eyebrow. “I thought you were never going to call me that again.”
“Well, you’re intentionally goading me.”
His grin quirks up at the sides. “I’d call it more of a test. You failed, by the way.”
“What? How could I fail?” I blurt out before relaxing back into my seat. “I mean, I don’t know what you’re testing, but I’m good at taking tests. I’m quite intelligent.”
Peter shakes his head in amusement. “And yet you fall for my tricks every time. I can’t lie, though. I rather enjoy it.”
I’m getting annoyed that he’s beating around the bush. “What was the test?”
“Well, I thought I’d check and see how you’re getting on with… Teddie.” I narrow my eyes at him, and he rolls his before adding, “Yeah, I knew her name. And the fact that you corrected me means you know it too.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Of course, I know it. We’ve been together for five days, fourteen hours, and twenty-seven minutes. Give or take.”
“So, you’d say your routine has been shaken up? And how does that make you feel?”
“Don’t lose sight of your qualifications, Peter. You’re a pencil pusher, not a therapist.”
He shrugs. “My plan is working. I don’t care what you say. You obviously like her since you’ve felt bothered enough to remember her name. She might be just what you need.”
I grunt and lean back in my chair, far enough to crack my back. “What I need is peace and quiet. What I need is time alone. But what I get is Teddie.”
“What do you mean?” Peter cocks his head to the side like a dog trying to understand his owner’s gibberish.
“She’s everywhere, all the time! Whenever I leave my room, she’s in the kitchen baking cookies or cakes or whatever the fuck she’s making for the day.”
Peter gives a low whistle. “Sounds rough.”
I glare at him, trying to think of other things I find annoying about Teddie. “She’s always… humming or singing.”
“Yikes. Can’t carry a tune?”
I throw my hands up. “No! Always on-key with perfect pitch, which makes it even worse! She’s like an angelic little songbird.”
Peter gives me a sarcastic look through the screen. “Ah, yes, that must be fucking horrible.”
“And she’s practically sunshine in a sundress. I’m losing my goddamn mind.” I run my fingers through my hair as if to showcase the point. “I know this is all some sort of cover, like she has a nefarious plot to snuff me out before I can leave a bad review or something.”
Peter shakes his head at me. “Oh, my sweet, naïve little brother… You’re in a mess—that’s for sure. Let me tell you what’s actually going to happen.” He leans in closer, so I mimic his movements. “You’re going to fall in love with this woman and stay in Christmas Key forever.”
“It’s Candy Cane Key,” I reply robotically before realizing what he said and sputtering. “That’s never going to happen!”
Copyright 2023 Elyse Kelly
*****
Author Info:
Hi, I’m Elyse!
I’m just a true southern girl, reading and writing books, asking you to love me! My books are extra steamy, contemporary romances, all with HEAs and no cliffhangers! They’re short, smutty, and tastefully trashy.
If you love over-protective, sexy, alpha book boyfriends who make you swoon and reach for your favorite… bookmark, then you’ve come to the right place.
When I’m not writing books or doing bookish things, I’m probably listening to music, designing smutty stickers, adding to my spectacular band t-shirt collection, or learning how to do something new like arm-knitting because I’m neurodivergent AF! And yes, I really do know how to knit with my arms.
Businesswoman Erianne Mitchell falls hard for entrepreneur Ty Mosby and they quickly get engaged. But their whirlwind romance ends quickly when he gets faulty information that she betrayed him in business. They part ways, leaving both heart-broken, confused, and Erianne secretly pregnant, not to mention blacklisted for every company in town.
Erianne has to start over and she goes to Wyoming to care for her growing child. Even though furious that Ty didn’t believe in her, she can’t help missing the man she loves. She builds a life with her child and by cleaning houses.
By accident, as she’s rushing to the doctor with her baby, she and Ty see each other. He knows she never deceived him, but can ever get Erianne to trust him again?
Ty Mosby was bored out of his mind. He could have been home with his sister, Annie, watching that dragon drama on cable. Even that would be better than this stupid office party with two women drooling over him. One was recently divorced. The other was married. Women!
He turned around and almost fell over Erianne Mitchell. Well, her name was Erianne. Nobody called her that. She was just Erin to Ty and his sister, Annie. He glowered at her.
“It’s not my fault that you’re gorgeous,” she teased. “Mary over there has forgotten her ex-husband in her fever to get you into a dark room. And Henrietta—” she nodded toward a gan- gly woman with wild dark hair who was sighing into her drink as she studied him over it “—hasn’t given her husband a thought all night. Just as well,” she added under her breath, “because he’s running around with the Tarver woman.”
“What are you, the town crier?” he chided.
“It’s a nasty job, but somebody has to do it,” she replied with sparkling gray eyes. She laughed and half turned away, her dark hair in an elegant chignon at the back of her neck. “And there’s
Grace. Didn’t you date her last year?”
“Oh, God,” he groaned.
“There, there, she hasn’t noticed you. She’s too busy trying to get Danny Barnes to notice her. He just inherited his grandfather’s ranch over in Comanche Wells.”
“I’ve had my fill of social climbers,” he muttered. He was giving her the once-over with black eyes. “On the other hand, there’s you.”
“Oh, don’t be absurd, I’m not your type,” she murmured, her mind on something else altogether. It was a lie. She’d loved him forever, but Ty couldn’t see her for dust. And why should he? She was plain compared to the women who chased him. He was absolutely gorgeous. He had jet-black hair and black eyes, and light olive skin that made him look even more gorgeous in that spotless white shirt he was wearing with his dinner jacket and slacks. No wonder women drooled over him. Erin had drooled over him for years and hid it so carefully that not even his sister realized it.
“Why not?” he asked, really curious.
“I don’t run around with men.”
He blinked. “You run around with women?”
“I don’t run around period.”
“You’re what, now, twenty-five? You’d better run around with somebody or you’re going to get left behind.”
“You’re thirty-one and you’re already left behind. Besides, I work for you,” she added. “I don’t get involved with people that I work for.”
“We could make an exception,” he pointed out.
She glared at him. “Tyson Regan Mosby,” she said, exasperated. “If you keep this up, I’m calling Annie.”
“God forbid!” he groaned.
“She loves you. She’ll protect you from predatory females.”
“I’ll give you a great job recommendation if you’ll find my sister a husband,” he coaxed.
“Annie doesn’t want to get married yet,” she said. “Any more than you do. And I don’t need a job recommendation unless you have in mind firing me tonight.”
He made a face. “I don’t have enough people as it is. Other San Antonio businesses keep luring our best people away. Even the ones I fire.” He didn’t like firing people, but he sometimes had to. Even though his company was headquartered in San Antonio, people from Jacobsville worked for it. Mosby Construction Company had grown under Ty’s management. He’d taken a little construction company owned by his father and built it into a major contender. He had a degree in architecture. He loved to build things.
He had inherited wealth, he and Annie, and he didn’t really need to work. But he loved his job. And San Antonio was the best place for his company headquarters, although he and Annie still lived in Jacobsville. Ty and Annie were direct descendants of the town’s founder, Big John Jacobs, who’d talked his father-in-law into putting a a railroad through Jacobsville and built it into a cattle shipping center in south Texas back in the nineteenth century.
“Well, isn’t that just like you,” she said, exasperated. “I brought you a brand new human resources manager just last week!”
“He drinks vodka,” he said irritably. “I don’t trust men who drink vodka.”
“How do you know what he drinks?” she asked.
“I asked him.”
“Oh.”
“What are you looking for?” he probed.
“Clarence.”
“Excuse me?”
“Clarence Hodges,” she muttered, peering over a nearby woman’s shoulder. “He’s like my personal devil. I can’t turn around at a party without running into him.”
He didn’t like that, but he hid it. “What does he want?”
She looked up at him with raised eyebrows. “He wants me!”
“Why?”
She really rolled her eyes. “Annie needs to get you a book or something about human relationships.”
He grinned. “I think I can figure those out without self-help diagrams.”
“Can you, now?” she murmured absently, still looking for Clarence.
He’d known her for years. She was as familiar to him as her best friend, his only sibling, Annie. She’d spent weekends with them all through high school and through community college, where Erin got an associate’s degree in business education. She was great at cost estimates, which was her position in the company. She had a brilliant mind for math. She could do most anything on a computer, even rework spreadsheet programs that he used in his construction company. She was his right arm at work, perfectly capable of standing in for him at meetings because she knew the business inside out. Of course, why wouldn’t she, when she’d worked there part-time through high school and full-time during and after college. He trusted her. Well, on a professional basis. He wasn’t keen on thinking about anything more personal. Erin was standoffish. Once, just once, he’d teased her about going dancing with him and she’d mumbled something noncommital and shot out of the room.
He’d never admit it, of course, but it had bruised his ego. Erin wasn’t beautiful. She had pleasant features. Nice mouth, pretty complexion, gorgeous figure, sparkling eyes. But she dressed like an old woman most of the time, and she never seemed to date anyone. He’d wondered why. He’d even asked Annie, but all he got was a blank look and a smile.
He studied Erin while she looked around for the man she dreaded seeing. It wasn’t so much how she looked that made her attractive, he decided finally; it was her personality. She was warm and friendly to most people, outrageously funny around friends, and she loved animals. That last thing was important to him, because he bred and trained purebred German shepherds.
His dogs were like part of the family. They lived inside with him and Annie in their huge inherited mansion in Jacobsville, Texas. The puppies, when he bred them, had their own room and a caretaker who watched over them and kept their living quarters spic and span and odorless. He rarely had more than one litter a year and by a different female each year, from an outside stud male. No interbreeding at all, because it invited birth defects. He loved the pups when they came and had to be persuaded to give them up for adoption. Even so, he actually ran background checks on potential adopters, right down to requiring photographs of their yards and the pup’s living quarters. He was protective.
A recent adopter had taken a leather strap to his puppy when it made a mess on the carpet, and a neighbor had seen and heard what was going on. She’d promptly phoned Annie, who told Ty. He’d gone to the owner’s house that very day, accompanied by police chief Cash Grier and the local vet, Dr. Bentley Rydel, along with a search warrant that would give them access to the dog in question.
To say that the man was shocked was an understatement. He hemmed and hawed and tried to weasel them out of looking at the dog. Cash Grier glared at him. That was all it took.
Most everybody was scared of the town’s police chief, who was nice enough at public gatherings, but hell on lawbreakers of any kind. Cash loved animals as much as the vet and Ty.
The owner was forced to give them access to the puppy, which had been locked in a closet with bloody marks on its back.
Ty had slugged the man before his companions could react. He picked the pup up, gently, and after Cash took photos to document the abuse, walked out the door with Bently Rydel, to end up at his office where the poor little morsel was treated and sent home after an antibiotic shot and stitches. Cash had promptly arrested the owner. The pup’s owner went on trial, was convicted and sentenced to jail. Nobody in Jacobsville liked a dog beater. The jury had only deliberated for ten minutes, despite the harried public defender’s best efforts. All the District Attorney, Blake Kemp, had to do was put up a poster-sized photo of the abused puppy for the jury and the audience to see. It had drawn gasps and the pup’s owner had looked around at glares that felt like burns on his skin.
“What’s the matter with you?” Erin asked, glancing at his taut face.
“Puppy beaters,” he muttered.
Her expression softened. “The man got what he deserved. How is Beauregard, by the way?” she added.
He smiled. “He still whimpers in his sleep. I keep him with me at night. Rhodes isn’t enthusiastic about it, but I think he senses that the puppy needs to be spoiled for a few weeks.
Actually,” he added on a chuckle, “it’s Rhodes’s bed that they sleep in, curled up together. For an old dog, Rhodes is amazingly sweet.”
“You’ve had him a long time,” she remarked.
He nodded. “Thirteen years. I worry about him. Big dogs don’t have the life span that smaller ones do.”
“Rhodes is practically immortal,” she replied with a smile. “He’s pampered.”
“I guess so. Dad gave him to me as a Christmas present the year I graduated high school.”
“I remember your parents. They were so sweet,” she added. “Your mother and mine were best friends.”
“Hell of a shame, what happened,” he said stiffly.
She nodded. “It’s a rare thing, to have a tour bus go off the road and crash down a ravine. But those mountain roads in South America can be treacherous. Your parents were so much in love,” she added quietly. “It’s hard to imagine one going on without the other.”
“That’s what Annie and I thought,” he replied. “But it’s damned tough, losing them both at once.”
“I remember. At least you were both grown at the time,” she added softly.
He drew in a breath. “Didn’t help much,” he muttered.
“For what it’s worth, I know how it is. It was hard for Dad and me to go on, after we lost Mom.”
“Your mother had a hard life,” he said.
She sighed. “Yes. Dad’s hard to live with. He’s not mean or anything, he just makes stupid decisions and runs his mouth when he shouldn’t. Jack Dempsey won’t even speak to him.”
“That must hurt. They’re best friends.”
“They were,” she said sadly. “Dad was repeating some gossip that he’d heard about Jack’s wife running around on him. It got exaggerated, by Dad,” she muttered, “and Jack’s wife divorced him. It wasn’t even true. My father has a gift for saying things without thinking first.”
“A lot of people are like that.”
She grimaced. “I wish they’d had more kids than just me,” she confessed, looking up at him. “It would be easier to manage Dad if I had brothers and sisters to share the misery.”
He chuckled. “You do pretty good.”
She shrugged. “I could do better. I’d have to take away his phone though.”
His eyebrows arched.
“This guy called dad and said he could save ten dollars a month if he switched our long distance to their company. Dad said great, let’s do it. So I tried to phone one of our colleagues at home in Dallas last weekend and got told that we didn’t have long distance anymore. It was a scam. Dad had no idea what he’d done. I tried not to yell,” she added on a laugh. “Honestly, he’s like a little kid sometimes. Ten dollars a month.” She shook her head.
“My mother was like that,” he reminded her. “She got a call telling her the sheriff was coming over to arrest her for a bill she hadn’t paid. The man asked for pre-paid gift cards to save her from jail. She was halfway out the door on her way to town when I stopped her to ask what was wrong. Sadly for him, the scammer was still on her phone talking her through the process.”
She grinned. “I’ll bet his ears are still burning, wherever he is.”
“I imagine so. I was really mad.”
“Do you still have that jar your mother made for you? The one you had to put money in for every bad word you used?”
He laughed. “Yes. It doesn’t get fed, but I’ve still got it.” His eyes were sad with the memory. “She wanted to be a missionary, but Dad came along. She’d lived on a budget for so long that she almost ran away when she saw how much he was worth.” That was true. Her father had inherited a lot of money from his late mother, but he squandered it all on get rich quick schemes. He was still doing that, albeit on a very small shoestring. Erin wore herself out trying to save him from himself.
“A unique woman,” Ty continued. “She really didn’t care about money at all.” He studied her quietly. “Sort of like you.”
She sighed. “I like being able to buy food and gas and pay bills. That’s what money’s good for. There are lots of things it won’t buy.”
He nodded.
“Besides that, I work for this terrific manager who gives me raises,” she added with twinkling gray eyes.
“I don’t have to think too hard to do that,” he said. “I know how hard you work.”
“I’m just grateful to have a job. The economy is pretty bad right now.”
“It is,” he agreed. “Even this company has to be careful. You’re working on that bid now, the one we hope will get us the job just outside San Antonio in Bexar County; a whole retirement complex. It’s worth millions.”
“You’ll get it,” she said with supreme confidence. “You really do know how to undercut the other bidders. And I know how to price out almost everything,” she said, not bragging, just making a statement. She was a good cost estimator.
“We can undercut most of the major bidders,” he corrected. “But I’ve heard that one of them is Jason Whitehall. He and his son Josh have one of the best construction companies around south Texas.”
“His son’s a dish,” she mused.
“And how would you know?” he asked.
“I ran into him at that conference you sent me to, in Dallas, month before last. He looks just like his dad. All three of them were there, Jason and Amanda and Josh.” She sighed. “They’re just beginning to get over losing Jason’s mother, Marguerite. She was a lovely lady. So kind.”
“You know a lot about them,” he said.
“Well, one of our clients was trying to retool his public image and Amanda still owns that PR firm, so she was there getting information from him. She’s very nice. We keep in touch on Facebook.”
“Don’t keep in touch too closely,” he cautioned with snapping black eyes. “They’re competitors.”
“As if I’d ever sell you out,” she said, exasperated, as she stared up at him. “Get real! Annie would have me for breakfast, smothered in jelly!”
He relaxed. “Okay. Just testing the waters.”
She ground her teeth together. “Oh, no.”
He followed her irritated glance and saw a short, rotund man with thinning hair and a big smile headed toward them.
“I told you so,” she moaned. “I’ll go hide in the rest room… Ty!”
His arm was around her waist and he smiled down at her shocked expression. “Don’t give the game away. Smile.”
She did, trying hard to disguise the sudden acceleration of her heartbeat as she felt the strength and heat of his powerful body, smelled the spicy, clean scent of him. She’d danced with him at parties, rarely, and it had been just as problematic, to keep her headlong feelings for him from showing.
He felt a shiver go through her and his brows drew together just for an instant. Surely she wasn’t afraid of him?
Then he felt her heart race where her small, firm breasts were pressed close against him, and odd feelings stirred. Her breath was coming too fast. She was trying to disguise it, but he knew more about women than he ever let on in public.
She stiffened and started to pull back, but his arm tightened.
“What are you afraid of?” he asked in a slow, deep tone.
“Noth…nothing,” she faltered.
“Lies,” he mused. “Here.” He handed her his drink. “Liquid courage. Take a sip and we’ll ward off your would-be suitor.”
She took the glass, sniffed it, and made a face. “It’s whiskey. I hate whiskey!”
“Take a sip. It works better than it smells. Trust me.”
She took a deep breath, held it, and forced about a teaspoon of the vile-smelling liquid into her mouth. She choked it down, catching her breath.
“You could fuel trucks with this,” she muttered as she handed it back.
“This is the very finest aged Scotch whiskey,” he defended. “And now I’ll know not to share my most precious substance with those same people you don’t cast pearls before!”
She glared at him. “I am not a swine!”
“No, you aren’t,” he agreed. He cocked his head and his black eyes twinkled. “But I’ll bet you taste almost as good as a barbequed one,” he added in a slow, soft tone as his eyes fell to her pretty, soft mouth.
She actually gasped and her heart ran wild.
“My, my, is that the whiskey or me?” he asked, his eyes dropping to the fluttering of her heart, very visible under the thin bodice of her pale blue cocktail dress.
“Don’t you stare at me like that,” she said indignantly.
“Like what?” he asked, amused.
“Oh, hi, Erin,” Clarence Hodges said as he joined them. He looked crestfallen when he noticed Ty’s arm around her. “I was hoping you might like to talk to me about having your company do a remodeling job on my new house…?”
She forced a smile. “I’m truly sorry, Clarence, but that isn’t the sort of project we do,” she said in a gentle but professional tone. “We do big projects. Shopping centers. Apartments. Housing complexes. That sort of thing.”
“It’s a big house,” he persisted.
“Erin’s right, we don’t do small projects,” Ty told him, and the irritation he was feeling was visible in the tautness of his unsmiling face. “Even if we did, we’re already overbooked. Sorry,” he added. But he didn’t look sorry. He looked oddly threatening.
Clarence swallowed. Hard. His face flushed. “I see. Well…” He smiled hopefully at Erin. “Maybe you might like to come over and have coffee with me one morning?”
Ty’s chin lifted. His black eyes narrowed. He glared at the smaller man.
Erin just smiled.
“Oh, there’s Billy Olstead,” he said, looking past Erin’s shoulder. “I need to talk to him about my mother’s new car. I’ll see you later,” he added to Erin and smiled again, nervously, as he made a beeline toward the newcomer.
“Thanks,” Erin said with a heavy release of breath. “He’s not a bad man, but he can be annoying.”
“Annie says he’s started calling you two or three times a week.”
“He does,” she agreed sadly. “I can’t make him understand that I just don’t feel that way about him. I’ve never done a single thing that he could construe as encouraging.”
“It wouldn’t help,” he replied. “Men like that don’t take hints. They think they’re irresistible and it only needs persistence to wear you down.”
“He’d need more persistence than he’s got,” she said flatly.
He pursed his lips. “You could go out with me.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
He shrugged. “You could go out with me. Jacobsville is small. It would get all around town in no time that we were dating. Clarence would hear it from everybody.” He chuckled. “Even Clarence wouldn’t be able to convince himself that he’d be any competition for me.”
“Well, yes, but…”
“But, what?” he asked quietly, and he looked down into her eyes until she flushed. Her heart was trying to get out of her chest now.
She couldn’t even find words. It was like having every dream of her life come true unexpectedly, and all at once. She was breathless, giddy. But it was insane to even think of doing it, of going out with him. The gossip would be terrible. It wouldn’t matter that the company where they worked was in San Antonio; too many employees lived in Jacobsville, where Ty and Erin lived. It would be all over town in no time. When he didn’t go out with her a second time, it would be even worse. People would start wondering what was wrong with her.
“I don’t think,” she began.
“Good. Don’t. Thinking is responsible for most of the misery on the planet. We can go dancing. There’s a Latin club up in San Antonio.”
He knew she could do Latin dances. He’d taught her how, for a high school date. How many years ago that seemed now!
“Well…”
Amazing. She was reluctant. He’d never had any woman try to refuse a date with him. It was intriguing, especially considering how fast her heart was going right now. She was attracted to him. Was it new? Or had she always been attracted, but kept it hidden? He wanted to find out.
“Live dangerously. A little gossip never hurt anybody,” he teased.
It did, but he wouldn’t know, not with his spotless reputation. Well, hers was spotless, too. So spotless that she didn’t want to risk staining it, however lightly.
“People will talk. A lot.”
He just smiled. “Your friends won’t care. What your enemies think won’t matter.”
“Yes, but I hate gossip.”
He cocked his head and smiled at her with those black eyes making sensual promises. “There’s a sushi place just down the block from the Latin club,” he said. “They have ebi.”
Ebi was her favorite sushi dish. It was so expensive that she couldn’t work it into her budget. Her father did contribute a little to the family kitty, but never enough. They lived frugally because he was a spendthrift. Ty didn’t know and it would kill her pride to confess it.
She loved sushi, especially ebi. She couldn’t afford it.
“You’re weakening. Think about it. Chilled shrimp with rice. Wasabe and soy sauce and pickled ginger to go on it…”
“Stop! You’re torturing me!”
He chuckled. “I love it, too. Come on. Say yes.”
She drew in a long breath. “Okay,” she blurted out, against her own best interests.
He grinned. “Okay.”
When she got home that night, she could have kicked herself for agreeing.
Her father was watching television. A movie on DVD. They couldn’t afford cable or satellite. The only reason she had a high-end cell phone was that the company provided it for her, along with a company car. These would have been luxuries, even on her good salary.
“I’m home,” she said.
“Hi.” He grinned at her while the commercial was on. “Had fun?”
“It was a business party,” she reminded him.
“Easy enough to have fun and do business. Speaking of business, I saw this commercial on TV about how to invest in the stock market by doing day-trading…”
“No.”
“Now, Erin…”
“No,” she repeated. “We’re still paying off that course you took learning how to sell real estate,” she added pointedly.
He grimaced. “I didn’t know I was a bad salesman until I tried it.”
“Well, trying things is what got us into this financial mess, Dad,” she said, sitting down across from him. “I’m making a good salary. If we live on a budget, we can make it, just. But there’s no extra money. None at all. I can’t work two jobs.”
He studied her with the face of a child. “But it’s only two hundred dollars, this course, I mean.”
“I don’t have two hundred dollars. Not even in savings. That went to the online gambling website you found,” she added, trying not to sound as accusing as she felt.
He grimaced. “I guess I’m not as good a gambler as I thought, either. But, listen, this course,” he began again.
“I can get an apartment of my own and move out,” she said flatly.
He gasped. “Erin, no!”
“I can’t live with the way you spend money, Dad. Either you stop trying to spend it on things we don’t need, or I’m bailing out.” She felt a hundred years old. “I can’t keep bailing you out. We already owe more than I make in a year. I’m just one person.”
“I do help out,” he said stiffly.
“You do odd jobs and you spend what you make as soon as you get it,” she replied.
He flushed. He couldn’t deny that.
“I’ll try to restrain myself. I will.” He smiled. “But the man said that this course is foolproof.”
She ground her teeth together as she got up. “I’m going to bed.”
“If you’d just listen,” he said sadly.
She turned. “I’ve listened since Mom died,” she said. “And every single thing you’ve spent money on has cost us money without returning any. I’m so tired of debt, can’t you understand that? I’m being crushed by the weight of it, worried to death about it, and you just can’t seem to see what it’s doing to me.”
He blinked. He shifted uneasily in his chair. “I’ll do better next time. You’ll see.”
“Next time it had better be your own money that you’re betting,” she replied and toughened her stance. “Or I’m moving out.”
“You’re being unreasonable, Erin,” he retorted. “You don’t love me.”
“I do love you. And you’re the one being unreasonable. Good night.”
She went into her bedroom and closed the door, sick at heart. It was like trying to explain to a child. Her father had always lived in the clouds, but her mother had been able to manage him with supreme ease. Erin couldn’t.
“I’ll spend the rest of my life paying off his bills and then I’ll die,” she thought miserably. “I’ll never get away.”
Which was the one reason she could never let Ty Mosby see how she felt about him. Everybody knew her father kept them poor, but not how catastrophically. Ty would never be sure of her. Was she dating him because she cared for him or because he could pay off their debts.
It was an unrealistic thought, but she was almost panicked at the thought of dating Ty. She’d have to find some way to back out of it, a way that wouldn’t hurt his pride. All her life, her father had been a stone around her neck. Since her mother’s death, it had been much worse.
It would have helped if she had someone to talk to about it, but her only real friend was Annie, and she’d never be able to tell Annie the truth. It would just get back to Ty. Her pride wouldn’t take that.
She wanted that date with all her heart. It was just too risky. She was crazy about him. It might show. There were so many reasons that she didn’t dare let him see what she felt. Her father was the biggest one.
But there was another. Ty wasn’t a marrying man. He kept his liaisons very private, but he’d had relationships in the past. In a small town like this, they wouldn’t be able to hide one.
Erin had a spotless reputation. She wasn’t having it damaged to keep steady company with a man who only wanted one thing from a woman, and it wasn’t love.
So, better not to complicate her life any more than it was already complicated. Which left the problem of her father to solve, if it could be solved. She would never be free of him and his get-rich schemes that never paid off. She’d be in debt until she died.
She put on her gown and crawled gratefully under the covers. She’d think about it tomorrow, she told herself. Tonight, she was going to savor her memory of Ty’s arm around her, his deep voice sensuous as he teased her about going on a date.
It could never happen. But dreaming about it hurt nobody. Especially not Erin.
The prolific author of more than one hundred books, Diana Palmer got her start as a newspaper reporter. A New York Times bestselling author and voted one of the top ten romance writers in America, she has a gift for telling the most sensual tales with charm and humor. Diana lives with her family in Cornelia, Georgia.
Romantic Reads and Such 