Headstrong (40 page)

“Cheers. Did you get me a prezzie?”

She smirked. “Not yet. I wanted to talk to you about that, actually. You’ve earned yourself a break. I think we need to start looking at travel guides. In a few weeks, once everything’s settled here, I’m taking you on a trip. Anywhere you like.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Upstairs, then.”

She punched his arm.

“Honestly, I am exactly where I want be, now that you’re here.”

“Well, get used to me,” Libby said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Colin braced an arm on the bar on either side of her waist, and kissed her forehead. “You’re bloody right about that. I’m burning your passport.” He glanced at the clock. “I have to go start the barbecue. Reece is useless with a steak. You okay down here for now? I’ll send Annie over to help.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll be back down in a couple hours, just in time to help you break in your new karaoke setup.”

“Damn straight. Get those pipes warmed up for me.”

He smiled. “As you wish.”

She brushed her lips against his. “I’ll save you a good one.”

About the Author

Before becoming a writer, Meg worked as a record store bitch, a lousy barista, a decent designer, and an over-enthusiastic penguin handler. She loves writing sexy, character-driven stories about strong-willed men and women who keep each other on their toes…and bring one another to their knees.

Meg now writes full-time and lives north of Boston with her extremely good-natured and permissive husband. When she’s not trapped in her own head, she can usually be found in the kitchen, the coffee shop, or jogging around the nearest duck-filled pond.

Meg welcomes reader feedback. E-mail her at
[email protected]
, follow her on Twitter
@megguire
, or visit her website at
www.megmaguire.com
.

Look for these titles by Meg Maguire

Now Available:

The Reluctant Nude

Trespass

He opened his home. She stole his heart…and his money.

Trespass

© 2011 Meg Maguire

Many would envy veterinarian Russ Gray’s life in rural Montana’s wide-open spaces. Russ calls it lonely. In a country with more cattle than eligible females, he doesn’t envision his seven years as a widower ending anytime soon. Until a mysterious woman lands at his door in the dead of night, riddled with buckshot.

Sarah Novak hates lying to such a kind, handsome man, but if an upstanding citizen like Russ finds out why she’s been three weeks on the run, he’d surely turn her in. Yet she can’t refuse his offer to let her stay until she heals, no questions asked.

From the start they fall into an easy companionship, then teasing flirtation flares into an unexpected intimate connection. But no matter how right it feels in his arms, guilt tugs at Sarah’s heart. Russ doesn’t deserve what she must do next.

When Russ wakes up with an empty bed—and an empty wallet—his first instinct isn’t to call the cops…it’s to catch her and find out why his urge to protect her overshadows all reason. Because he’s had a taste of real passion, and he’s not letting it slip away without a fight.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Trespass:

Sarah rose first and cleared Russ’s yolk-stained plate. He let her do the dishes and start a fresh pot of coffee, turning back to his newspaper while she puttered. She did an overly thorough job of wiping down the counter, watching him through the open space in the wall that separated the kitchen and den. He had a dab of yellow at the corner of his mouth, sleep-mussed hair glowing gold at the edges from the morning sunshine. She glanced at the pocket watch before her on the ledge and the antique medicine bottle beside it, its thick, cloudy glass the same gray-green as Russ’s eyes.

“Tonight,” she began, gaze still locked on the glass.

He looked up, attentive. “Yeah?”

She remembered how he’d felt when he’d slid in behind her on the couch, that comforting, forceful combination of need and demand. She felt prematurely like a cad. “I need to sleep alone tonight.”

His attention shifted to the window and he nodded. “Sure. Of course.”

She set the sponge down and rinsed her hands, drying them on her jeans as she walked over to him. “I don’t mean I don’t want to…you know. Mess around.”

“No?” That look again—adorable, desperate hope.

She shook her head, stepping close enough to put her fingertips to his shoulders. “No, I’d like that, if you would.”

He nodded, setting a hand at her waist. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“But afterward, I just want to be alone, on the couch, so I can catch up on the sleep I’ve been missing. I told you I’m kind of restless.”

“Yeah.”

“Actually,” she added, as though she’d just thought of it. “You don’t have any sleeping pills, do you? Or even like nighttime flu medicine? I know that sounds pathetic—”

“No, it doesn’t. And I think I do. I’ll check this afternoon.”

Worries swirled around in her head and she fumbled for a way to get the information she most needed from him. “Cool, thanks. I didn’t know if you only had animal sleeping pills lying around…”

Russ laughed. “I’m sure I can find you something a bit gentler than what I’d use on a horse.”

What about a dog?
She dropped the baiting for the time being, too close to sounding suspicious. “Anyway. You know when you want to sleep but it’s just not happening?” She thrust her lip out in a frustrated pout.

“I thought that’s what whiskey was invented for.”

She smiled and ran her fingers through his messy hair, down his stubbly cheek. “Anyhow, thanks. But for now, chores. Then dinner, then who knows.” She grazed a conspiring hand over his neck. “But after that I’m catching up on my beauty sleep.”

Russ looked as if he was resisting the urge to turn that comment into a corny flirtation. Instead he stood and put his hand in her hair the way he seemed to love doing, leaned in and kissed her. Mouth closed, eyes closed, warm lips holding in a faint noise, a grunt or sigh.

He let her go and she stared at his chin, a little drunk from him. She reached up to wipe the yolk from beside his smiling lips.

“Okay. Put me to work.”

An hour later Sarah could confirm that shampooing a horse was indeed very much like washing a car, right down to the hose she was using to rinse the suds from Mitch. She craned her neck, looking to where Russ was standing in the pen, fussing over Lizzie’s gums. He’d ditched his sweater as the sun had risen, and he looked good in his dusty jeans, those strong, tanned arms, shoulder blades flexing under his T-shirt. That hat like a cliché, so endearing.

She chewed her lip, only fretting for a moment about whether or not to be evil to him. She let the hose trigger go, pumped it a couple times.

“Russ?”

He turned. “Yeah?”

“Hose is acting weird.”

His eyebrows rose. He gave Lizzie a pat then left her be, walking over. “What’s it doing?”

“It’s just kind of—” She squeezed the handle, soaked Russ from head to toe and sent his hat flying off behind him. When she finally released it, he blinked at her, hair dripping, shirt plastered to his chest, the front side of his jeans dark and drenched.

“Seriously?” he asked.

She bit her lip. “Yeah.”

Russ smiled, a deadly Jack Nicholson sort of smile, eyes narrowing. He took a step closer. “Seriously?”

She nodded.

“How fast can you run?” he asked.

“Real fast.”

“You better hope so.”

He took another step, and she tossed the hose aside, bolting past him into the pen and ducking between the wooden fence rails. She felt him grab her sneaker for a second, heard his feet hit the ground behind as she took off into the yard. He caught her easily after only a few seconds’ sprint into the tall grass. She yelped as he hooked her around the waist and brought them both crashing to the ground, Russ taking the bulk of the impact. Rolling her onto her back, he pressed his dripping front against her and made her feel six years old, made all the horrors from the past few weeks dissolve until the entire world consisted of just their two bodies, this patch of earth under this exact sky. She began to laugh, convulsive, cathartic sobbing laughs as Russ flipped her over on top of him. She kissed him, square on the mouth with her eyes open, and decided he was the handsomest man she’d ever seen or touched or tasted.

He made the kisses deeper, dirty hands in her formerly clean hair. She locked her thighs around his hips, wanting to stay right here for a month, so filled with good feelings there was no room left for bad ones. She felt Russ grow hard and contemplated a near-literal roll in the hay, then decided the risk of ticks and every other thing lurking in the grass was a mood killer.

She let the kissing linger for another minute then freed her mouth. “You feel like a shower?”

“I feel like you just gave me one back in the paddock.”

“Do you feel like a proper one, with soap and hot water and naked strangers corrupting your cramped little ancient bathtub?”

He smiled, expression shifting in a way she adored. “Yeah, I could go for that.”

She got to her feet and let Russ take her dirty hand in his for the short walk back to the pen. He let Mitch out into the main yard and put away a few things and led them inside. They ditched their shoes at the door and headed for the bathroom.

Russ got the shower running and they watched one another undress. She loved his body…unlike any man’s body she’d been intimate with before. Not skinny, not bulky, strong and muscular but not from the gym. Just exactly what a man ought to look like, she decided. Russ had sexy shoulders, triceps so defined she wanted to bite them. He also had the very start of what would be an inevitable middle-aged belly, a charming flaw flying in the face of his otherwise
too
perfect working man’s body.

Russ shed his shorts, his sudden and complete nakedness pulling her out of her spacey admiration and into darker, curious realms. She undid her bra and let him step forward and push her panties down, his erection brushing her navel. She was about ready to trade a kidney for a box of condoms.

Strong hands took hold of her jaw, and she melted into him, into his forceful mouth and eager body, into the moans humming in his throat, begging to be unleashed. She slid her hand between them and stroked his soft chest hair, squeezed the hard swells of his shoulders. For a few greedy seconds, she explored his back and that textbook-perfect ass, then he pulled away, grinning. Sliding the shower curtain open, he gestured for her to get inside.

It wasn’t the ideal tub for a tryst—narrow and rounded—but with Russ here she couldn’t imagine a better place to be. He climbed in after her, dragging the clear curtain around them and angling the showerhead at her back.

“Jesus.” His gaze slid up and down her front. “You’re gorgeous.”

She bit her tongue, tempted to contradict him. Tempted to say she’d prefer to weigh ten pounds more and be filling her modest B-cups again, lose the ribs, lose the holes in her side and the bruises that peppered her like finger-paint smudges. Instead she let him ogle, let him feast on whatever he saw and whatever made his green eyes narrow the way they did now.

She reached around the curtain for the shampoo bottle on the windowsill, snapping it open and getting her hands full of lather. Russ leaned in and let her wash his hair before he returned the favor, his fingers dawdling well after the suds had disappeared down the drain. They passed the soap back and forth and explored one another’s bodies. Their curious, slippery hands lingered here and there, eyes darting as though they’d invented all this nonsense and couldn’t quite comprehend their own genius.

He’s the one who taught her to ride. Now all he wants is to ride her.

Rocky Mountain Heat

© 2011 Vivian Arend

Six Pack Ranch, Book 1

Blake Coleman is old enough to know that acting on impulse causes nothing but a heap of trouble. But when trouble’s a western-hat-wearing blonde with slim legs that go on forever, what’s a man to do? Wanting the sweet girl next door is just wrong. The responsible thing to do is keep his hands off.

Jaxi has other plans for Blake’s hands, and his heart. She may have once considered him a big brother, but that was a long time ago. She’s all grown up now and ready to convince him that she’s perfect for him. Except he can’t seem to see past the big “don’t touch” sign that’s apparently still hanging around her neck.

When Jaxi ends up living right under Blake's nose, the undeniable heat between them slides off simmer and leaps up to barn-burning levels. However, a few of the younger six-pack Colemans have decided Jaxi’s brand of trouble is worth risking a few busted bones.

That is, if Blake’s finally ready to let go the reins and fight for what he wants…

Warning: Sexy cowboys seducing and being seduced in trucks, pool halls and barns. Droolworthy country charm, a little double-teaming, a few secrets and a whole lot of brothers to look forward to. Anyone wanna go for a ride?

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Rocky Mountain Heat:

Blake dragged a breath of air into his lungs in an attempt to cool his burning body. This wasn’t right. She was a guest in their home, and yet here he was, acting like a hound dog. He should be ashamed of himself.

He grabbed his travel kit from under the bed and marched down the hall toward the large shower room in the annex. He, Matt and Daniel had promised to use the larger bathroom and let Jaxi have the privacy of the other for herself.

The sound of running water met his ears and Blake stepped into the dimly lit room, wondering why his brothers had turned on only half the lights. Splashing noises echoed. Leaving his kit on the sink counter, he rounded the corner to the showers.

And froze.

The three showerheads in the open room were separated by nothing but space. Steam filtered the dim lighting into a moonshine glow.

All he saw was wet, naked skin. Jaxi’s skin. Every inch of her bare to his gaze as water poured from the middle shower, streaming in waves over her body. She faced away from him, head thrown back as she shifted to allow the water to slip over her face and down her chest. Blake, his body hot and needy, watched in a daze as the shampoo rinsed from her hair and undulated down her back, tiny bubbles racing over the curve of her waist. His gaze followed the bubbles along the gentle swell of her hips and the full curves of her ass. Her skin was pale pink from the heat of the water, faint tan lines showing on her thighs and arms.