Once Upon a Highland Autumn (38 page)

“She seemed quite well liked. She had a charming smile and manner. Brat seems like an unfair epithet.”

“Not for Kate, but oh! Perhaps it was Bianca. Your Venus, was she fair or dark?”

 

An Excerpt from

by Codi Gary

When hard-­edged Valerie Willis suddenly finds herself face-­to-­face with former flame Justin Silverton, she knows her tough image won't be enough to protect her heart.

It's been ten years since Justin kissed Val, but he's never moved on. So when a twist of fate brings him the chance to finally win her over during a singles mixer, Justin's all in. Because the bad girl who stole his heart is just too good to let go . . .

 

“S
o, why is your dad making you come down here and participate in a giant singles mixer?” Justin asked, stealing her attention away from the white slip of paper.

“He calls it good press. Guess he figures I need help finding a man,” she said, wishing she hadn't answered him quite so candidly. “I don't, though. Need help, I mean.”

Why are you stammering?
Bending over the counter, she started filling in the blanks, hoping he couldn't see the obvious blush warming her cheeks.

“If it makes you feel any better, I never thought you needed any help in that department,” he said, his voice dropping to a low whisper.

Val could feel the desk clerk's eyes on her and muttered, “Stop it.”

“What? It's a compliment.”

“You're just messing around to get a rise out of me.”

“How is me being honest messing with you?”

“Because . . .” How did she not have a comeback to put him in his place? She always knew what to say. It was one of her strengths, but he had the ability to turn her into a stumbling, stuttering simpleton. “Because I said so.”

His chuckle was a deep rumble, and her insides squeezed in on themselves, making her cross her legs as a tingling started between them. Quickly, she handed the paper back to the desk clerk and turned to face Justin with what she hoped was a cold, hard stare.

“I don't like to be made fun of.”

He seemed genuinely surprised as the desk clerk said, “Alright, Miss Willis, here is your room key and your itinerary bag. I hope you enjoy your stay in True Love and that you have a blast at the festival.”

Val took the bag and key from the woman, resisting the urge to make a face. “Thank you.”

Spinning away from Justin, she walked back out to her truck, only to hear him exit behind her.

“Hey!” His hand circled her arm gently, and he turned her toward him, but on the slick ground, she lost her balance. Falling against him, her face got buried in the puff of his jacket, and she wondered if the fates were trying to pull some weird
Serendipity
crap on her.

She tried to right herself, but he'd wrapped an arm around her waist and was using the other gloved hand to lift her chin, raising her gaze to meet his.

“I wasn't making fun of you. I was being serious. You're a beautiful woman. You just say the word and a dozen guys will line up to have you.”

Whether it was his tone or the expression on his face, she didn't know, but her mouth suddenly seemed too dry. Words failed her, but then, who needed words when a pair of warm lips were suddenly covering hers?

As Justin kissed her, his tongue pushing past her lips, she could only hold on tight while her body turned to molten lava and the blood thundered in her ears.

Impatient honking and a loud voice yelling, “Hey, lovebirds, get a room,” broke through the drumbeat her heart was pounding out, and she whispered, “We shouldn't do this.”

His lips touched hers lightly once more, and he whispered back, “You mean here or—­”

The guy in the truck honked again and Val pulled away. “I mean, I'm not here for . . . for that.”

Justin crossed his arms over his chest. “That's too bad.”

Again a blast of honking ensued, and Val shot the driver a nasty look and a worse gesture before turning away from Justin and reaching for her car door. Looking over her shoulder at him, she couldn't stop herself from asking, “About the guys lined up . . .”

“Yeah?”

“I take it you're one of them?” She already knew the answer, but the small piece of her ego that had been smashed by Cole's designer shoes needed to hear it aloud.

He stepped forward and helped her into the car, grinning. “What do you think?”

She didn't answer before she closed the door and started her truck.

Why did you have to ask him that?

Because she was a glutton for torture and punishment.

 

An Excerpt from

by Laura Simcox

What happens when the president's daughter and her sexy Secret Ser­vice agent find themselves snowbound? A little cabin fever, some serious forbidden attraction, and Various States of Undress . . .

 

A
larm coursed through Jake's blood the second his lips were on hers, but he ignored it. They'd already crossed the line, hadn't they? Hell, they'd probably crossed the line the minute they'd walked into the cabin yesterday, if he was being honest with himself. Not that he wanted to be honest right now. He just wanted more. More softness. More of her lips, which were brushing gently against his—­opening, inviting.

Her fresh scent enveloped him when she wrapped her arms tighter, and he groaned, splaying his fingers across her slender back. This was wrong. No matter how safe it seemed, it would come back to haunt him. He knew that. But as his lips angled across hers and his tongue slid into her sweet mouth, the heat he found inside was intoxicating. He sank into her, returning her kisses, drawing her closer. Getting lost in her arms.

Trailing kisses across her cheeks and down her slender neck, he threaded one hand through her hair and cupped the back of her head as he bent forward, capturing her mouth again.

She let out a soft moan, and her warm hands drifted to the side of his face. She kissed him feverishly, and then her lips broke free and settled in the crook of his jaw. She whispered his name. “Jake. Jake, I want—­”

“Carolina,” he answered in a rush of breath. His eyes closed, and he dragged his hand from her back to caress the side of her breast. Even though she wore a ­couple of layers, he could tell that one of those layers wasn't a bra. His jaw tightened as he imagined her naked breasts. He wanted to taste them—­and he could. Because she would let him.

Desire crashed through him, rushing straight down, making him swell in an instant. He opened his eyes and looked into hers, which were half-­lidded with lust. Her head was still pillowed in his palm.

“Touch me,” she said. “Please.”

Instinctively, he shook his head. “I can't.”

“You can.” She settled her fingers over his, pushing them around her breast.

“I can,” he admitted. He stared at her open mouth, aching to take it again. “But I won't.”

She blinked. “We've already crossed the line, you know.”

“Not completely.” He let out a slow breath, lifted her back into a kneeling position, and let his hands slide away from her body.

“Far enough.”

It was nowhere near far enough, but Jake couldn't think about that right now. Clearing his throat, he stood up and offered her a hand. She stared at it, not moving.

“Carolina . . .”

“Why can't we just enjoy each other?” She tilted her chin and stared up at him.

He shoved his hand into his pocket and turned away to walk into the kitchen. Once he was behind a counter, he adjusted the front of his jeans and reached for the coffeepot. Annoyance began to seep in, killing his lust. Good. He needed the distraction of being irritated, because she knew the answer to her own question. He shouldn't have to spell it out.

“Why, Jake?”

He poured himself a mug and took a sip, buying time. Part of his job description was to reason with his protectees, but usually that meant explaining why, for security reasons, certain entrances, exits, and safety measures had to be used. It didn't mean reasoning with a daughter of the President of the United States . . . who wanted to sleep with him. Especially since he'd just given her every indication that he wanted the same thing.

“Your life depends on it, that's why.”

 

An Excerpt from

by Sabrina Darby

In all of Sussex—­scratch that—­in all of England, there is no prettier Kate than Kate Mansfield, and Peter Colburn, heir to the Duke of Orland, has known that since the age of 15. But since she comes with a temper and a haughtiness to match, he's hidden his regard behind ruthless teasing. When his brother tries to enlist him in a campaign to help his friend marry Kate's younger sister, Bianca, he agrees, finally having the very excuse he needs to approach Kate not as a combatant, but as a lover.

 

1810

K
ate ran through the thicket, gasping, her face hot with suppressed tears. The governess would chide her for the stains and small abrasions to her dress once she returned to the house. But those admonitions were nothing compared to her mother's continued disdain.

The scent of moist earth and the sound of rushing water meant that she was close, that soon she could let go. Finally, she broke through the cluster of trees and bushes and made it to the water's edge, where she dropped down to her knees, clutched at clumps of grass with her fists, threw her head back, and wailed.

“Ahem.”

Kate clamped her mouth shut and looked toward the familiar voice, embarrassment flushing her body. How humiliating.

The Earl of Bonhill sat under a tree, a book open on his lap, his trousers rolled up and his legs dangling into the stream that, a mile off, fed into the river, and that farther upstream offered her father a perfect spot for angling. The same stream that marked the boundary between the Colburns' ducal seat and the Mansfields' more modest estate. Here, however, titles hardly mattered. What did matter was that Peter had gotten there first and taken the best spot. And was now witnessing Kate in tears.

She hadn't even known he was back from Harrow.

She scrambled to her feet, glaring at him, as anger was the only possible refuge from humiliation, and headed back to the thicket.

“You don't have to run,” he said, the crunch of his footsteps on the fallen leaves growing louder as he came nearer. “I'll go.”

For some reason that made her more upset, and she stopped, whirling around to face him. He was 16, she knew. Four years her elder.

“It doesn't matter if you do. It's already ruined.” She wouldn't be able to indulge in tears the same way anymore.

“Then maybe I can help.”

“How?”

He shrugged. “Why don't you tell me why you're crying?”

“I'm not crying.”

“Not anymore.”

“I'm—­” She shut her mouth. It wasn't worth arguing. After all, she
had
been crying.

“That's right. The fearsome Kate Mansfield makes other ­people cry, but she'd never be caught with such lowering emotions herself.”

He was mocking her. Or needling her. Or  . . .

“Just because you're an earl doesn't mean you get to be cruel.”

“Someone didn't do what you want? Didn't let you have your way?”

Frustration welled up inside her. Why was he saying such things? Of course, it was just what everyone else echoed. Everyone but her mother.

“You don't know anything about me,” she said hotly, tears once again burning her eyelids.

“Then why don't you tell me?”

And for some reason she did.

About her mother, who hated her, who said she was ugly because she was so dark, who criticized everything Kate ever did, while little Bianca could do no wrong. About how no one ever paid her attention unless she did something terrible.

“So you do it on purpose, then. All the fits and tantrums we hear about—­you do that for attention.”

She flushed with mortification for the hundredth time that hour. She'd never thought about her reputation in the community. At twelve, her world barely existed beyond Hopford Manor. And then there was this suggestion he was making, and she wasn't certain if it was a good thing or bad. But she knew one thing, she didn't
need
attention, and his intimating that she craved it made her seem terribly weak.

“As if I'd care what anyone thinks. Especially you. Look at you. A spotted maypole!”

He flushed, which made those
spots
redden even more. There weren't all that many, but anyone would be conscious of having such flawed skin. Kate's was not. Not that one would know from the many admonishments her mother imparted about good care for one's complexion.

“You're a spoiled child, Kate Mansfield,” he pronounced, picking up his book from the ground. “Maybe someday you'll grow out of it.”

She watched him leave in angry frustration, hands curled into fists. It didn't matter that he was an earl and heir to a duchy, or that previously she had thought him nice and handsome and had even imagined growing up, falling in love with him, and becoming a duchess. From now on she'd stay as far away from him as possible.