Read The Bride Wore Red Boots Online
Authors: Lizbeth Selvig
The Bride Wore Red Boots (30 page)
He bent. To the shock of her entire body, he slipped a kiss onto her mouth, and she froze. Wrong. This was very wrong. But the kiss fit as if it had been custom made for her lips. Sparklers zipped to life deep inside her belly, and she closed her eyes when she should have pulled away. Whatever scent or aftershave it was that made him smell like a spicy movie star turned her knees to rubber, and she couldn't stop drinking it in.
As kisses went, it was simple. No tongue, no sound. He opened and closed his mouth so lightly on her bottom lip she should barely have felt the butterfly touch, yet shivers rolled down her neck and across her shoulders like explosions.
This was insane.
She gasped and pulled away, avoiding his eyes. “Cole, no. We can't . . . ”
“I'm sorry,” he said.
“Mia isâ”
“No longer anything except a friend.” He turned her face gently with one finger, so she had to meet his smiling eyes. “But still, I know that was too quick. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Especially if there's anyone elseâI didn't even ask. I honestly just got excited for you.”
Mia was more than his friend. She was and always would be his ex-girlfriend, lover, almost fiancée. No matter how strained her relationship with her sister might be, Harper would never do the stealing thing. The comparison thing.
“There's no one else.”
She stared, dumbstruck at herself. That wasn't what she'd intended to say.
“Well, then. That's good.” He let her go. “And for the record? It was a good kiss.”
It definitely had been that.
“And congratulations on the art showing. I know this is your dream.”
“Uh . . . ” She scrambled to regain her composure. “It is. But don't tell anyone.”
“Why would you keep it a secret?”
“I didn't feel right celebrating it before Dad's funeral. Tomorrow is soon enough.”
“Okay. But then you're shouting it from the rooftop.”
Her composure wouldn't quite cooperate by fully returning, but Cole looked down at their clothing and made a face that at least dispelled her awkwardness.
“We'd better go in. I've pushed the limits of your grandmother's timeline. I was supposed to have you back ten minutes ago. She didn't seem much inclined to be patient.”
“Grandma gets what she wants, that's for sure. But I'm sure it's something simple like what to do with all the flowers. It has to be.”
She looked to him for confirmation, but a surprising shadow of concern crossed his eyes. “I don't know,” he said. “In all honesty I got out of the house to procrastinate, too. I had the weird feeling this meeting might be something we all wish it weren't.”
LIZBETH SELVIG
lives in Minnesota with her best friend (aka her husband) and a gray Arabian gelding named Jedi. After working as a newspaper journalist and magazine editor, and raising an equine veterinarian daughter and a talented musician son, Lizbeth won RWA's prestigious Golden Heart Contest® in 2010 with her contemporary romance,
The Rancher and the Rock Star
, and was a 2014 nominee for RWA's RITA® Award with her second published novel,
Rescued by a Stranger
. In her spare time, she loves to hike, quilt, read, horseback ride, and spend time with her new granddaughter. She also has many four-legged grandchildrenâmore than twentyâincluding a wallaby, two alpacas, a donkey, a pig, a sugar glider, and many dogs, cats, and horses (pics of all appear on her website
www.lizbethselvig.com
). She loves connecting with readersâcontact her any time!
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Seven Brides for Seven Cowboys
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Give in to your Impulses . . .
Continue reading for excerpts from
our newest Avon Impulse books.
Available now wherever e-books are sold.
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A B
RIGHTWATER
N
OVE
L
By Lia Riley
By Tiffany Clare
A
B
ROKE AND
B
EAUTIFUL
N
OVEL
By Tessa Bailey
An Excerpt from
A Brightwater Novel
by Lia Riley
Bad boy wrangler Archer Kane lives fast and loose. Words like
responsibility
and
commitment
send him running in the opposite direction. Until a wild Vegas weekend puts him on a collision course with Eden Bankcroft-Kew, a New York heiress running away from her blackmailing fiancé . . . the morning of her wedding.
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“A
rcher?” Eden stared in the motel bathroom mirror, her reflection a study in horror. “Please tell me this is a practical joke.”
“We're in the middle of Nevada, sweetheart. There's no Madison Avenue swank in these parts.” Archer didn't bother to keep amusement from his answering yell through the closed door. “The gas station only sold a few things. Trust me, those clothes were the best of the bunch.”
After he got out of the shower, a very long shower which afforded her far too much time for contemplating him in a cloud of thick steam, running a bar of soap over cut v-lines, he announced that he would find her something suitable to wear. She couldn't cross state lines wearing nothing but his old t-shirt, and while the wedding dress worked in a pinch, it was still damp. Besides, her stomach lurched at the idea of sliding back into satin and lace.
She'd never be able to don a wedding dress and not think of the Reggie debacle. She couldn't even entirely blame him, her subconscious had been sending out warning flares for months. She'd once been considered a smart woman, graduated from NYU with a 4.0 in Art History. So how could she have been so dumb?
Truth be told, it wasn't even due to her mother's dying wish that led her to accepting him, although that certainly bore some influence. No, it was the idea of being alone. The notion didn't feel liberating or “I am woman, hear me roar.” More terrified house mouse squeaking alone in a dark cellar.
She clenched her jaw, shooing away the mouse. What was the big deal with being alone? She might wish for more friends, or a love affair, but she'd also never minded her own company. This unexpected turn of events was an opportunity, a time for self-growth, getting to know herself, and figuring out exactly what she wanted. Yes, she'd get empowered all right, roar so loud those California mountains would tremble.
Right after they finished laughing at this outfit.
Seriously, did Archer have to select pink terrycloth booty shorts that spelled
Q
&
T
in rhinestones, one on each butt cheek? And the low-cut top scooped so even her small rack sported serious cleavage.
Get Lucky
emblazoned across the chest, the tank top was an XS so the letters stretched to the point of embarrassment. If she raised her hands over her head, her belly button winked out.
As soon as she arrived in Brightwater, she'd invest in proper clothes and send for her belongings back home. Until then . . . time to face the music. She stepped from the bathroom, chewing the corner of her lip. Archer didn't burst into snickers. All he did was stare. His playful gaze vanished, replaced by a startling intensity.
“Well, go on then. Get it over with and make fun of me.” She gathered her hair into a messy bun, securing it with a hair elastic from her wrist she found in her purse.
“Laughing's not the first thing that jumps to mind, sweetheart.”
Her stomach sank. “Horror then?”
“Stop.” He rubbed the back of his neck, that wicked sensual mouth curving into a bold smile. “You're hot as hell.”
Reggie had never remarked on her appearance. She sucked in a ragged breath at the memory of his text.
Bored me to fucking tears.
“Hey, Freckles,” he said softly. “You okay?”
She snapped back, unsure what her face revealed. “Tiny shorts and boob shirts do it for you?” She fought for an airy tone, waving her hand over the hot pink “QT” abomination and praying he wouldn't notice her tremble.
He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Short shorts do it for all warm-blooded men.”
“I'll keep that in mind,” she said, thumbing her ear. He probably wasn't checking
her
out, just her as the closest female specimen in the immediate vicinity.
He wiggled out of his tan Carhart jacket and held it out. “You'll want this. Temperatures are going to top out in the mid-forties today. I've stuck a wool blanket in the passenger seat and will keep the heat cranking.”
Strange. He might be a natural flirt, but for all his easy confidence, there was an uncertainty in how he regarded her. A hesitation that on anyone else could be described as vulnerability, the type of look that caused her to volunteer at no-kill rescue shelters and cry during cheesy life insurance commercials. A guy like this, what did he know about insecurity or self-doubt? But that expression went straight to her heart. “Archer . . . ”
He startled at the sound of his real name, instead of the Cowboy moniker she'd used the last twenty-four hours.
His jacket slipped, baring her shoulders as she reached to take one of his big hands in hers. “Thank you.” Impulsively, she rose on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, but he jerked with surprise and she grazed the appealing no-man's land between his dimple and lips.
This was meant to be a polite gesture, an acknowledgment he'd been a nice guy, stepped up and helped herâa strangerâout when she'd barreled in and given him no choice.
He smelled good. Too good. Felt good too. She should moveânowâbut his free hand, the one she wasn't clutching, skimmed her lower back. Was this a kiss?
No.
Well . . . almost.
Never had an actual kiss sent goose bumps prickling down her spine even as her stomach heated, the cold and hot reaction as confused as her thoughts. Imagine what the real thing would do.
An Excerpt from
by Tiffany Clare
From the moment Amelia Grant accepted the position of secretary to Nicholas Riley, London's most notorious businessman, she knew her life would be changed forever. For Nick didn't want just her secretarial skills . . . he wanted her complete surrender. And she was more than willing to give it to him, spending night after night in delicious sin. As the devastatingly insatiable Nick teaches her the ways of forbidden desire, Amelia begins to dream of a future together . . .
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hy hadn't she just stayed in bed? Instead, she'd set herself on an unknown path. One without Nick. Why? She hated this feeling that was ripping her apart from the inside out. It hurt so much and so deeply that the wounds couldn't be healed.
Biting her bottom lip on a half-escaped sob, she violently wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. Nick caught her as she fumbled with the lock on the study door, spinning her around and wrapping his arms tightly around her, crushing her against his solid body.
She wanted to break down. To just let the tears overtake her. But she held strong.
“I have already told you I can't let you go. Stay, Amelia.” His voice was so calm, just above a whisper. “Please, I couldn't bear it if you left me. I can't let you leave. I won't.”
Hearing him beg tugged at her heart painfully. Amelia's fists clenched where they were trapped between their bodies. There was only one thing she could do.
She pushed him away, hating that she was seconds away from breaking down. Hating that she knew that she had to hold it together when every second in his arms chipped away at her control.
“You are breaking my will every day. Making me lose myself in you. Don't ask this of me. Please. Nick. Let me go.”
If she stayed, they would only end up back where they were. And she needed more than his physical comfort. He held her tighter against his chest, crushing her between him and the door like he would
never
let her go.
“I told you I couldn't let you go. Don't try to leave. I warned you that you were mine the night I took your virginity.”
Tilting her head back, she stared at him, eyes awash with tears she was helpless to stop from flowing over her cheeks. “Why are you doing this to me?”
The gray of his eyes were stormy, as though waiting to unleash a fury she'd never seen the likes of. “Because I can't let you go. Because I love you.”
His tone brooked no argument, so she said nothing to contradict him, just stared at him for another moment before pushing at his immovable body again. Nick's hand gently cradled her throat, his thumb forcing her head to lean against the door.
“I've already told you that I wouldn't let you walk away. You belong to me.”
Her lips parted on a half exasperated groan at his declaration of ownership over her.
“How could I belong to you when you close yourself off to me? I will not be controlled by you, no matter what I feelâ”
Before she could get out the rest of her sentence, Nick's mouth took hers in an all-consuming kiss, his tongue robbing her of breath as it pushed past the barrier of her lips and tangled with her tongue in wordless need.
Hunger rose in her, whether it was for physical desire or a need to draw as much of him into her as possible was hard to say. And she hated herself a little for not pushing him away again and again until she won this argument. Not now that she had a small piece of him all to herself. Even if it wouldn't be enough in the end.
Without a doubt in her mind, she'd never crave anything as badly as she craved Nick: his essence, his strength,
him
.
Her hands fisted around his shirtsleeves, holding him close. She didn't want to let go . . . of him or the moment.
His touch was like a branding iron as he tugged the hemline of her dress from her shoulders, pulling down the front of the dress. The pull rent the delicate satin material, leaving one breast on display for Nick to fondle. His hand squeezed her, the tips of his short nails digging into her flesh.
Their mouths didn't part once, almost as if Nick wanted to distract her from her original purpose. Keep her thinking of their kiss. The way their tongues slid knowingly against the other. The way he tasted like coffee and danger. Forbidden. Like the apple from the tree he was a temptation she could not refuse.
His distraction was working.
And his hands were everywhere.