Authors: Jane Lovering
Slightly Foxed (39 page)
"Don't I get a choice?"
"Well, no." She stood up and smiled. "Because it's my
aunt's house I get first choice, right?"
"Right," I said, "but there are—"
And then I realised, and I smiled too. There were two
doubles, one of which Maria had obviously earmarked for her
own. The other held twin beds. And since I wasn't likely to
share with either Macbeth or Luke, and they wouldn't sleep in
the double, that meant they got the singles. And I got the
double.
"Excellent," I said.
"I put your case in there. Where should we put the dog
basket?"
"Kitchen. She hates being out on her own."
Norma Jean was scrambling up the steep stairs that led off
from the living room, and I followed her. Up here were the
other two rooms: Maria's large, pretty double and the boys'
twin, which already looked crowded and it only held Macbeth.
"Floral duvets, huh?" I said.
"You don't want to swap?"
I shook my head rapidly. "Can you honestly say you think
it's a good idea for me and Luke to share a room?"
He looked me straight in the eye.
"Yes," he said, "and you know it."
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Slightly Foxed
by Jane Lovering
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Slightly Foxed
by Jane Lovering
First impressions can be dead wrong.
Close Quarters
(C) 2008 Denise A. Agnew
Hot Zone Book 4
Neena Williamson is positive the man who just walked into
her favorite cafe is all wrong for the local charity's new hot
male calendar. For starters, he's wearing the most butt-ugly
Hawaiian shirt on the face of the earth. He doesn't fit
anyone's image of a smokin' hardbody, even if her friend
insists he's perfect for Mr. December.
When a gunman robs the cafe, Mr. December proves that
underneath his bad taste in clothes, he knows how to bring it.
Clarksville, Wyoming is the perfect place for Mitch Gilroy to
hide in plain sight. He enjoys his low-key handyman job, and
no one pries into his former life. But in an instant, Mitch is
forced to remember everything he's tried so hard to forget.
Thrown together by sudden violence, Neena and Mitch
quickly discover how tangled their emotions can become. And
the only way to banish the monsters that haunt them is to do
the one thing they fear most. Become vulnerable—to each
other.
Warning: This title contains a hot nekkid calendar boy
shoot, heroic rescues, explicit, multiple orgasmic sex, and
graphic language.
Enjoy the following excerpt for
Close Quarters:
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She undid the first button of her utilitarian, short-sleeved
white blouse. She slipped a hand through her hair. It had
started to slide from the artfully arranged bundle at the back
of her head. She removed the brown clip from her hair and
her wavy strands fell about her shoulders. She felt his stare
and dared look up. Undeniable male appreciation sparked in
those mysterious eyes, smoldering with sexual interest.
Hunger. Shocked, she allowed her mouth to drop open, her
gaze locked with his as an unexpected response tumbled and
built within. She didn't expect him to be interested, number
one. Number two, the tight heat coiling in her stomach, the
way her nipples beaded against her bra...oh, boy. Not what
she expected either. Now was so not the time to get aroused.
Neena hastened to speak, to say anything to block her
unwanted and unexpected response. "And I have to thank
you. You kept that creep from taking me with him."
"You're welcome." He sighed, the sound long and weary. "I
vowed I wouldn't be around this shit anymore and now here it
is."
"What shit?"
He shook his head. "Never mind. It's a long story."
"Come on, you can't leave me hanging."
"Don't worry, I'm not a criminal."
"I know."
"How could you know?"
"I...I just know."
"Humph."
"Do you want me to think you're a criminal?"
"Hell, no. Look, I don't like violence."
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"Who does?"
"Believe me, there are people who eat it like candy."
"You mean like in books and movies?"
"No. That doesn't bother me. It's not real."
Disturbed on a fundamental level, she backed off. Maybe,
for once, her instincts were wrong. Maybe he lied and he did
like violence. And she was caught in here with him.
No. Her instincts had rarely proved her incorrect. After
another long pause assailed them, she said, "If we're going to
stay here forever, I guess we should make conversation."
"About what?"
"Well, first, we don't know each other's names." She held
out her hand. "I'm Neena Williamson."
He clasped her hand in his warm, large grip. His eyes held
genuine curiosity and a probing intensity that stirred
unidentified insecurities inside her. "Pleased to meet you
Neena. I'm Mitch Gilroy."
Mitch. Well, the name certainly fit. Tall. Strong. She hadn't
expected the name or the strength. Even in high heels, her
five-foot-eight didn't top his height—he was easily six- foot-
three. When he'd held her all along his body, she'd felt his
potential, a tensile strength. Another point shifted within as
Neena allowed her mind to open. Whether she wanted to
admit it or now, she found Handyman attractive.
Mitch wiped his forearm over his forehead. "It's hot in
here."
She wanted to unfasten one more button, but thought the
better of it. "That's for certain."
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"Since we're stuck here, tell me this...what brings you to
the coffee shop?"
"Stress. I work in the mayor's office. I'm his executive
assistant. Since he's up for reelection soon, things have
gotten a little...hairy."
He nodded, his gaze assessing once more. "I can
understand why. He's not too popular these days."
She couldn't say too much, though part of her wanted to
express, with perfect vehemence, how much she disliked the
mayor. "I'm looking for a lower stress job."
"Good idea." He lowered his legs and sprawled them in
perfect male abandon. "Most people worry too much."
"Including you?"
He grunted. "Me? Never."
"Never?" She was incredulous. "Everyone has worries. It's
un-American not to worry."
He shrugged. "With the exception of tonight, I've had low
stress for almost two years."
"And before that you had a lot of stress?"
"Yep. More than a lifetime worth."
"You live out in Slanta Forest. That's a beautiful and
tranquil place. I wouldn't mind living there. It's so lush and
the high altitude is fresh. I really like it."
"Yeah, how did you know I live there?" Suspicion laced his
voice, and when she took a chance and looked into his eyes,
she saw it there as well.
"I've lived in Clarksville almost ten years. I hear things.
Don't worry. I'm not some sort of mad stalker."
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One of his brows quirked. "Uh-huh. So you didn't know my
name, but you knew where I lived?"
She shifted on the hard floor, none too comfortable
physically or mentally. "My friend Kat who was sitting with me
in the booth told me. She's in real estate."
He leaned his head back against the wall again, and a
strand of almost black hair fell over his forehead. "What else
did she tell you about me?"
"What makes you think she told me anything else?"
His gaze hardened, all sign of the temperate side lost. He
looked unrelenting. A granite stonework determined to learn
answers. "Why were you talking about me in the first place?"
She swallowed hard, an odd embarrassment making her
hesitate. "Because she said you might make a good model for
the charity calendar I'm doing."
Incredulity marched over his face. "What?"
"You know...I mentioned that I'd walked up to Jacob and
introduced myself and told him about the charity calendar and
asked if he'd like to be in it."
"I remember."
The lie rushed out so fast Neena didn't have time to
formulate a background for her fib. "I told Kat you wouldn't
be interested."
He smirked, then big amusement curved his lips and made
him something she hadn't expected yet again...devilishly
handsome. His eyes sparked with humor, his nose was a
patrician haughtiness, his mouth carved to perfection. Yet his
jaw, cut raw and tough, shattered any ideas that he might
qualify as a pretty boy.
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"What makes you think I wouldn't be interested?"
From the twinkle in his eyes, Neena couldn't tell if Mitch
was teasing her.
She glanced at his supremely baggy shirt and his pants
and fumbled for a reasonable answer. "Well...the men we pick
have to have a certain look."
He slowly rose to his feet and stared down at her. "Pretty
boys?"
"Most women are attracted to the tough, rugged types on
these calendars. You know, cops, firefighters, construction
workers—"
"Soldiers?"
"Sometimes."
"I do construction when it suits me."
She stayed silent, not sure what to say next.
"You're the be-all-and-end-all of the project and say who
qualifies?" he asked.
"Yes. I'm amazed at how much time it's taking to set it
up."
He crossed his arms. He had nice forearms, lightly dusted
with dark hair. Very nice forearms. "You're the photographer,
too?"
"No. We have a photographer lined up, though. I'm just
the chairperson for the charity and said I'd volunteer to find
the men. I locate guys who have good form."
"What if you pick someone who hasn't got good form?"
She crossed her arms, mimicking him in stance
deliberately. It seemed right and defensible. "I'm a woman. I
know a good-looking man when I see one."
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"Women's tastes don't vary?"
"Of course." Exasperation colored her voice. "But...God, I
can't believe we're even talking about this at a time like this."
"What should we be talking about? World peace?"
She wrinkled her nose. "Now you're being sarcastic."
"Yeah. I am."
The challenge in his voice stimulated her in a way she
didn't wish to acknowledge. She'd rarely liked sparing with a
man verbally, but Mitch made her want to wrestle him to be
right. A weird excitement danced in her belly, vibrating
outward until she couldn't tell if it was leftover fear from the
robbery or if this man somehow created this feeling within
her.
Ludicrous.
For a moment her imagination went wacky, and she
visualized rolling over and over with him on a plush bed with
lots of pillows. Naked. Heat rose inside her at the silly
thought.
As if.
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