Less Than a Gentleman (32 page)

“T
he name is Adams,” she said. “Gwendolyn Adams.”

He scowled. “Miss Adams, I should like to know whether you are trying to convince me to marry you or to kill myself.”

“I merely wished to point out how pointless it is, in the circumstances, to quibble about our respective character flaws,” she said. “And I wished to be honest with you.”

A wicked part of her did not wish to be honest. She realized he was worried about his male urges clouding his judgment. The wicked part of her was not simply hoping the urges would win; it was also tempting her to encourage them with the feminine tactics other girls employed.

But that was not fair.

They had turned into the narrow drive leading to the stables. Though the rain beat harder now, Gwendolyn was aware mainly of the beating of her own heart.

She did not want to go away defeated, yet she did not want to win by unfair means.

She supposed the display of her limbs—however much her immodest mode of riding had been dictated by the need for haste and the unavailability of a sidesaddle—constituted unfair means.

Consequently, as they rode into the stable yard, she headed for the mounting block.

But Rawnsley was off his horse before she reached it, and at the gelding’s side in almost the same moment.

In the next, he was reaching up and grasping her waist.

His hands were warm, his grasp firm and sure. She could feel the warmth spreading outward, suffusing her body, while she watched the muscles of his arms bunch under the wet, clinging shirtsleeves.

He lifted her up as easily as if she’d been a fairy sprite. Though she wasn’t in the least anxious that he’d drop her, she grasped his powerful shoulders. It was reflex. Instinctive.

He brought her down slowly, and he did not let go even after her feet touched the ground.

He looked down at her, and his intent yellow gaze trapped her own, making her heart pound harder yet.

“The time will come when I will have no power over you,” he said, his low tones making her nerve ends tingle. “When my mind crumbles, little witch, I shall be at your mercy. Believe me, I’ve considered that. I’ve asked myself what you will do with me then, what will become of me.”

At that moment, one troubling question was answered.

He was aware of the danger he was in. His fears were the same as those she felt for him. His reason was still in working order.

But he continued before she could reassure him.

“I can guess what will happen, but it doesn’t seem to matter, because I’m the man I always was. A death sentence has changed nothing.” His hands tightened on her waist. “You should have left me in the mire,” he told her, his eyes burning into her. “It was not pleasant—yet Providence does not grant all its creatures a pretty and painless demise. And I’m ready enough for mine. But you came and fished me out, and now . . .”

He let go abruptly and stepped back. “It’s too late.”

He was in no state to listen to the reassurances, Gwendolyn saw. If he was angry with himself and didn’t trust that self, he was not likely to trust anything she said. He would believe she was humoring him, as though he were a child.

And so she gave a brisk, businesslike nod. “That sounds like a yes to me,” she said. “Against your better judgment, evidently, but a yes all the same.”

“Yes, drat you—drat the lot of you—I’ll do it,” he growled.

“I am glad to hear it,” she said.

“Glad, indeed. You’re desperate for your hospital, and I’m the answer to your maidenly prayers.” He turned away. “I’m desperate, too, it seems. After a year’s celibacy, I should probably agree to marry your
grandmother
, Devil confound me.”

He strode down the pathway to the house.

An Excerpt from

by Gwen Jones

TV reporter Julie Knott has been dumped two weeks before the wedding. But when she follows a story to the backwoods of New Jersey, she finds a new marriage proposal, one born of logic. Can they keep their relationship simple, or will love come crashing in?

Andy Devine Seeks a Wife

Landed, Financially Secure 40-YR-Old Male

Seeks Healthy, Athletic Female

For Marriage and Family.

Must Submit to Full Disclosure and

Be Willing to Work Hard.

Generous Monetary Compensation

If Terms of Contract Are Not Met.

Interviews Will Be Held at the Iron Bog Firehouse,

Main Street, Iron Bog,

Friday, 27 August, 1:00–4:00 PM.

Please Bring ID.

“Y
ou,” Andy Devine said. “I want you for my wife.”

As that statement traveled the neuron pathway to the part of my brain that would absorb, interpret, and decide how to answer, I couldn’t help but think of all the bizarre things I’ve seen. A dog on a high wire balancing an egg on his nose, a three-legged goose, a woman who ate nails, a man surgically altered to look like Chewbacca, a woman living in a refrigerator, an old man who hoisted a truck when it rolled atop his grandson’s leg, a couple whose house had two rooms filled to the ceiling with pennies. I’ve seen heroism and lunacy, oddity and insanity, but up until that moment, none of it had made my jaw drop. Because up until then, none of it had involved me.

So
“What?”
was all I managed to reply.

To which he reiterated, “I want
you
for my wife.”

I smiled, clearing my throat. He had to be playing with me. “I’m flattered, Mr. Devine, truly I am, but what’s your real answer?”

He leaned in, his proximity sending numbing signals to my brain. “The same.”

I laughed. “You’re joking.”

“When I’m joking,” he said, moving even closer, “you’ll know it.”

Denny lowered his camera. “Excuse me,” he said to Andy Devine, “but are you for real?”

“Pardon?” he answered, unblinking.

“Okay, never mind,” Denny said, realigning the camera. “Go on.”

I slapped my hand over the lens. “Shut that thing off. Are you insane?”

Denny lowered it. “I ought to be asking you the same thing. It’s the best offer you’ve had in years.”

I scowled at him, returning to the subject at hand. “Mr. Devine—a word.” Then I promptly crossed to the other side of the room. When I turned, Denny had sunk into a folding chair and my would-be suitor was standing before me.

“Yes?” he said, calmly attentive.

A part of me was so flabbergasted I hardly knew where to begin, but I retained enough professionalism to override anything. “I’m a TV reporter, Mr. Devine, not a candidate for your fiancée. I’m here to cover a story, not to become one. So as tempting as your offer may be, I have to decline.”

He lifted a brow. “Why, Ms. Knott, are you patronizing me?”

That threw me. “What? No!”

“Because I detect a hint of condescension.”

“Then you’re imagining things.” My hands were sweating. I swiped them on my skirt. “I’m just stating a fact.”

His gaze dipped seductively. “So you don’t think I’m worth considering.”

“Mr. Devine, don’t take—” Suddenly I was struck by the line of his jaw, so angular and forthright that I swear he could be a judge or a juror or anyone who’s supposed to be capable of impartiality, and yet . . . there was something about it, in his emerging beard and how it sloped toward his mouth, that was so indefinably sexy it knocked all sense out of me. I was fighting a losing battle, and I knew it.

I cleared my throat and began again. “Look, I don’t want you to take this personally, but—”

“I won’t,” he said. “In fact, I’ve gone out of my way to make sure personalities have nothing to do with it. I need a wife to help run the farm and have our children. And if she does, she’ll share equally in all the rewards and benefits. All I ask is that she’s healthy, able to have children, and willing to work hard. You, Ms. Knott . . .”—he looked me over—“. . . appear to meet all the criteria.”

The man was astounding. “But you know nothing about me!”

“What do I need to know beyond what I can see?”

“How about what’s inside me, what my interests are, if I’m honest, how I take my coffee—Christ!” I stabbed my fingers into my hair, a comb tumbling out. “Why, if I even
like
you, for Pete’s sake!”

He plucked the comb from the floor. “Do you like me, Ms. Knott?” he said with the barest of smiles, the bit of tortoiseshell plastic pinched between his fingers.

I snatched it from him, shoving it into my hair. “That’s not the issue and it never was.”

He leaned in. “My point exactly.”

An Excerpt from

A
V
ALENT
INE
V
ALLEY
N
OVELLA

by Emma Cane

It’s the wedding all of Valentine Valley has been waiting for, and once again the town works its magic in this brand-new novella by Emma Cane.

Heather Armstrong is looking forward to a weekend away at her best friend Emily’s wedding, but when she learns that her previous one-night stand is Emily’s brother, the weekend takes an unexpected turn.

H
eather Armstrong gasped as the plane dropped down between the Colorado mountains, which were painted myriad shades of green below the tree line, barren and brown at the top, awaiting the next winter’s snow. The ground seemed to rush up, and only when they touched down at the small Aspen airport did she let her exhilaration at her first mountain landing subside back into wedding excitement. She was about to be a bridesmaid in the June wedding of an old friend, Emily Murphy.

As she waited for a call from Emily, she wandered the airport. It bustled with people dressed casually for the outdoors, many carrying cases for fishing equipment, a pastime this valley was known for in the summer. She’d always preferred being a people watcher, observing from the background rather than commanding attention herself. It was one of the reasons she’d never enjoyed being in charge of a restaurant’s kitchen and had opened her own catering business. But now her people watching skills made her halt in her tracks as she caught a glimpse of a familiar figure.

A man wearing a cowboy hat slouched in a chair near the main doors, as if he, too, was waiting for someone. His head was bent over a book, and she couldn’t quite see his face. A feeling of unease shivered up her spine and made her so wary that she backed up to where she was partially hidden around a corner. Peeking out again, she studied his pale blond hair beneath the hat, the checked Western shirt that snugly outlined his broad chest, the long legs encased in faded jeans above worn cowboy boots.

The bang of dropped luggage drew his attention, and he looked up. Heather recognized him instantly, and with a gasp, she retreated behind the safety of the wall. His name was Chris, and that was all she’d known when they’d been snowbound together in the Denver airport seven months before. Late-night drinks at the bar and mutual attraction—make that lust—shared with Chris had turned her into a person she’d never been, a daring flirt who’d ended up in bed with a cowboy. They’d spent two wild days together, exploring and laughing and connecting on an intimate level that had surprised her with its depth, considering they’d been strangers and all. Though she’d left him her number, assuming they’d see each other again, he’d never called. She’d felt like an idiot, a slut, and whatever other bad names she’d called herself over the following months. Gradually she’d accepted the “adventure” as a risk she’d obviously wanted to take, and had learned from. She wasn’t cut out for one-night stands. She felt too much, expected too much. A man pursuing such a brief affair wanted only that and nothing else.

Today had been the first day airports hadn’t made her think about him, she thought bitterly. Tough luck for her.

To find some peace, she’d chalked the experience up to a valuable lesson. Other women had done stupid things in college, but not her. She’d been too focused on her business degree, and then culinary school, the future her goal. She was little lured by frat parties and wild drinking. She’d had a boyfriend or two, of course, serious engineering and business students, and that same pattern had continued throughout her twenties. Never time for an intense relationship—until Andrew four years before. She’d thought everything so perfect, so wonderful, and hadn’t even seen that he was pulling away from her, that their sex life was full of desperation more than real passion. Everything on the surface had been too good to be true. The breakup with him was probably what had launched her recklessness that snowy night in Denver.

But Chris’s face had haunted her a long time, lean and sculpted, his blue eyes almost startling in their intensity. She hadn’t been with another man since him, had been ready to change her life, find a new place to start over, to forget her past and find more peaceful surroundings.

A
BDSM
E
ROTICA
A
NTHOLOGY

by Sara Fawkes, Cathryn Fox, and Lauren Hawkeye

W
ELCOME T
O
F
ETISH
W
EEK

Unleash your kinky side with three tales of BDSM romance in an exclusive Mediterranean sex resort from three hot erotica writers, including
New York Times
bestseller Sara Fawkes.

Take Me
by Sara Fawkes

The minute sexy hotel manager Alexander Stavros spots shy, sweet Kate Swansea at the Mancusi resort, he can tell she’s begging for release. This Dom is the perfect man to help her . . . if she’s willing to let go of her inhibitions and enjoy the ride.

Teach Me
by Cathryn Fox

There’s nothing Luca Mancusi loves more than lingerie. So much so, he’s made it his business. Fashion design intern Josie Pelletier is supposed to be negotiating a deal with him, but as talks heat up, he can’t wait to teach her the ways of business . . . and BDSM.

Tame Me
by Lauren Hawkeye

CEO Marco Kennedy can’t help being drawn to Ariel Monroe. When he follows the pop star abroad to the Mancusi resort, she agrees to a deal: He’ll win her as a sub through pleasure . . . or he’ll disappear from her life. Ariel’s game . . . just as long as she doesn’t lose her heart too.

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