Extreme Bachelor (44 page)

The End

Want more? Look for
Wedding Survivor
(about Eli) and
American Diva
(about
Jack)
. Unfortunately, there is not a
separate book about Cooper at this time. You can write me at
[email protected]
if
you’d like to put in your vote for a book about Cooper.

You may also enjoy a
series I wrote about the
Lear Sisters (
Material Girl, Beauty
Queen
, and
Miss
Fortune
),
about three sisters who each try and find themselves and
their footing when their father delivers some bad news to each of
them.

Last but not least, I have
most recently written the
Cedar Springs
Trilogy (
Summer of Two Wishes, One Season
of Sunshine, and A Light at Winter’s End
),
about the happenings and love
stories in a small town in Texas. These books are currently
available as digital, audio, and paper books wherever books are
sold.

Please enjoy the excerpts from Wedding
Survivor and American Diva that follow:

WEDDING SURVIVOR

MARNIE was fully aware of the bad habit she
had of talking to fill the space around her, especially when she
was nervous. But she really didn’t know how to stop, especially not
when she was this nervous. She was beginning to think that maybe
she’d jumped a little too hastily into what was really a whack
job.

That wasn’t so
far-fetched, seeing as how she’d found out about the job to begin
with by eavesdropping on a hushed conversation at a wedding trade
show. While Marnie was not in the habit of eavesdropping on other
people’s conversations (well . . . unless it was something
really
juicy), she’d
been a little desperate. She needed this job in a bad way—if she
had to live with Mom and Dad another month, she’d hurl herself into
the ocean and let herself be washed out to sea. And besides, a
certified wedding planner without an actual solo wedding under her
belt couldn’t afford to be too choosy.

Oh, who was she kidding?

The very thought of doing
Vincent Vittorio and Olivia Dagwood’s wedding sent chills up her
spine. They were the two biggest stars in the universe and Marnie
couldn’t
wait
to
meet them—she could imagine her and Olivia becoming best friends as
they planned everything, and then, when Marnie had pulled off the
wedding of the century without a hitch, Olivia would hook her up
with some of her A-list stud friends and refer tons of fabulous
clients to her so that Marnie could become
the
wedding planner to the
stars.

Hey, a girl could dream, couldn’t she? And
that dream alone prompted her to put on the red hat and purchase
the fruit, per the bizarre instructions of Thrillseekers
Anonymous.

Then the Lincoln had appeared.

When she’d seen Eli leaning against the
Lincoln in a black Astros hat, with dark glasses resting on a
straight nose, and a sexy shadow of a beard dusting a strong chin
and some killer lips, not to mention the long, lean look of him in
general, Marnie had been pleasantly surprised. Bonus! The job had a
really good-looking guy involved.

Unfortunately, good-looking did not mean
particularly friendly. He reminded her of a cowboy in one of the
old westerns, the strong silent type. A Clint Eastwood with steely
eyes—well, she presumed there were steely eyes behind those
shades.

And what was all that about an audition?

The Lincoln turned, and
Marnie caught a glimpse of towering iron fences through the front
window that could only be surrounding huge monolithic houses, and
she felt a tingle of excitement.
Wedding
planner to the stars
, here she
was!

Actually, telling Clint Eastwood that she’d
wanted to pursue a career in wedding planning was a big fat lie.
When the dot-com she’d been working for went belly up, she’d tried
to get another job in the tech industry, along with everyone else
and all their mothers—it felt like hundreds were competing for the
same few openings.

Weeks went by without a nibble, and her
unemployment status at last led to her greatest humiliation
yet—having to move home with Mom and Dad. But she hadn’t had a
choice—she couldn’t pay her rent and she couldn’t pay her credit
card bills, which were, she was embarrassed to note, pretty damn
high. Honestly, she’d not realized how large she’d been living on
her humongous dot-com salary before the company tanked.

So after about three weeks with Mom and Dad,
when Marnie was contemplating living under a bridge on the Santa
Monica Freeway, she’d seen the ad for the wedding planner
certification class.

Wedding planner.
The term had sort of circled around and tickled
her thoughts for a while. It actually sounded fun. Who didn’t like
a wedding?

So she’d taken the class. At the very least,
it got her out of the house and away from the TV, and Mom and Dad,
and Mom’s book club. And though she’d never really envisioned
herself a wedding planner, once she got into it, she was sucked in
by all the beautiful white dresses and lovely cakes and flowers and
fancy china—not to mention all the fabulous high-heeled shoes.

And she suppressed a shudder of delight just
thinking about the sparkly wedding shoes Olivia Dagwood would wear
on her third walk down the aisle. Or was it her fourth? She’d have
to check E! Online.

The Lincoln turned again, and she had the
sensation they were traveling up and around. Then the car slowed
and made a sharp left. Eli lowered his window. They were at a
security box. He punched in a code, then raised the window as the
driver eased the car forward, through the gate, coasting down a
hill and stopping in a small parking lot.

Eli lowered the back windows; the driver
stopped the Lincoln and got out. “Wait here,” he said to Marnie as
the driver opened his door. “I’ll be back for you in a minute or
two.”

“Where are we?” Marnie asked.

He got out, stuck his head back inside, and
said, with a sexy, lopsided grin, “We’re here,” and shut the
door.

“Thanks for the info, Chuckles,” Marnie
muttered as he walked in front of the Lincoln in a pair of faded
Levi’s— which looked damn good on his butt—and disappeared into
what looked like a garden path or something.

Marnie sighed, looked down at her hat, her
melon, and the straw bag full of giant oranges, then leaned her
head back, closed her eyes, and mentally reviewed her best selling
points.

Purchase your copy
of
Wedding Survivor
now

AMERICAN DIVA

She smiled, yanked it out of his reach,
scrolled to ‘shuffle’ and selected that as she dislodged herself
from the chaise. She put out her hand to Jack. “Come on, stranger.
Dance with me.”

His gaze traveled her body—she could almost
feel it leave a mark—and he finally hoisted himself from the chaise
. . . all six foot three, maybe four inches of him . . . and took
her hand. When Audrey tried to lead him to the beach, he pulled
back, forcing her to look at him. “I’ll take it from here,” he
said, and put his hand out, palm up, for the iPod.

Audrey deposited the iPod in his hand. He
untangled the earbuds and winked at her as he stuffed one bud into
her ear, the other into his. He hit the play button, tucked the
iPod in the pocket of his shorts, and slipped his hand around
Audrey’s bare back.

Oh hell that was nice. His hand was big and
warm on her back, and the other, closed tightly around her hand,
felt like a soft baseball mitt. She felt small and breakable in his
arms, but strangely safe. It was odd, she thought, how perceptions
cropped up like lilies after a rain. Perhaps it was nothing more
than the fact that she felt completely mellow—the heavy and warm
moist air, the salty scent in the air . . . was there a sexier
setting or a more perfect end to a harrowing weekend?

Audrey closed her eyes as Michael Bublé sang
“You Don’t Know Me” in her ear, and she leaned into Jack so that
her lips were only a moment from his shoulder. He moved smooth and
slow, turning her around in a tight little circle, the sand cool
and wet beneath her feet.

As they turned lazily on that beach, he
brought her hand that he held into his shoulder, tucking it in
beneath his chin as he pulled her closer to his body, holding her
tighter.

Audrey did not open her eyes, just allowed
herself to submerge in the sensations of his body surrounding hers,
the heat of his skin over hers. But when his hand began to move on
the bare skin of her back, up her spine, to the base of her neck,
she began to feel something entirely different. Heat spread through
her, spreading through each arm and leg, spreading through each
finger and toe, spreading out to the sand around them.

He touched the hair at her temple and pushed
it back; she turned her face into the crook of his neck. When he
dropped her hand and cupped her chin, lifting her face, Audrey
opened her eyes, saw clear blue eyes lined with dark lashes
glimmering in the moonlight as Sting took over and sang “Fields of
Gold.” Jack’s lips, wet and shining, gave her a shudder of desire.
She slid her hand up his shoulder, to his neck. Somewhere, a vague
thought in the back of her head told her to stop, to go back to her
lodging, but she just lifted her face so that her lips were only a
breath from his. She was aware of his body, long and hard against
her. She could feel his powerful thighs, could imagine his hips
moving rhythmically, his body moving in and out of her.

They had stopped moving; they were barely
swaying. Jack was gazing into her eyes, his gone dark with desire.
His hand pressed against the small of her back; the fingers of his
other hand splayed across her cheek and her jaw, holding her there
as he lowered his head to kiss her.

She sighed with pleasure into his mouth as
his lips touched hers. His hand skimmed her cheek and neck as he
dipped his tongue into her mouth. It was a tentative kiss, soft and
tender, but startled Audrey’s entire body into a vicious sort of
longing.

She moaned deep in her throat, and his hands
were suddenly cupping her face, his kiss gone from tentative to
ravenous. He nipped at her lips and tongue, swirled his tongue in
her mouth. A damp heat began to build between Audrey’s legs. His
kiss knocked her back, sent her tumbling with an astonishing desire
to feel him hard inside her. The strength of her desire matched
his, pressed against her belly and in the way he held her.

He released one hand from her face, caressed
her body, his hand sliding down the curve of her hip and up again,
to the side of her breast. He took her breast in his hand,
squeezing it, feeling it, and Audrey could feel it swell in his
palm. Her imagination was running wild now, and she pressed against
his hard cock, moving suggestively.

But then the song changed, and Audrey’s own
voice was penetrating her consciousness.

He had her on his
iPod
. It was “Frantic,” the title song
from her new album, the single just released. He’d lied—he knew
very well who she was, and with an instinctive, protective gasp—she
really couldn’t trust
anyone
—Audrey rocked backward, away
from his mouth and his hand.

She looked up, into Jack’s eyes, and saw the
hunger shimmering in them. She felt that hunger just as palpably,
but took another step backward, stumbling a little when the iPod
earbud yanked free of her ear, and then another step—until she was
out of his reach. “I thought you’d never heard of me.”

Jack sighed. “I lied.”

“Why?”

“Good question,” he said, running a hand
through his hair. “I don’t really know, to tell you the truth.”

“You don’t know?” she repeated angrily. “I
thought I was safe with you.”

That seemed to surprise him. “You are safe
with me. I would never do anything you didn’t want—”

“I don’t want this!” she snapped, and
started walking almost blindly as a rush of shame and indignation
and desire filled her.

“Audrey,
wait—
hey
! Let me
drive you back.”

“No thanks!” she shouted.
Her mind swam with confusion; her body
still
pulsed from his touch. She’d
made a terrible mistake, a stupid, horrible mistake

Purchase your copy
of
American Diva
now