Seduced by the Gladiator (33 page)

“Ten thousand dollars says you’ll change your mind.”

Jenny stared up at him. He topped her by at least six inches. Then she glanced down at the numbers scrawled on the check. A wave of openmouthed gasps rounded the room, followed by a single resounding, drawn-out whistle.

“What?” she demanded. Was this a joke?

“Ten thousand dollars says that within five weeks you’ll marry
me
.” Pushing back the brim of his black Stetson, he looked into her eyes with an expression of pure confidence.

“You—you must be out of your mind.”

“I’ve never been more serious.”

“So if I don’t marry you, and I win,” she said, flustered by the way his silver-gray eyes studied her, “I get your ten thousand.”

“Yes.”

“And if you win . . .?”

“I get you.”

Her body lurched with an involuntary start, and she struggled to regain her composure. “What’s your name?”

“Chandler,” he said, never taking his eyes off her. “Nick Chandler.”

“You’re on.”

She accepted his challenge with outward calm, but her stomach twisted into a lasso of knots as Pete laid out the rules.

“The bet ends Saturday, July Thirteenth, at one o’clock in the afternoon. Winner takes home the check. Agreed?”

Jenny hesitated. “Thirteen is an unlucky number.”

“Not for me,” said the man by her side.

Jenny locked eyes with the dark-haired stranger. “Even if you were the most charming man on the face of the earth, there’s no way I’d ever agree to marry anyone in just five weeks.”

“Sometimes,” Chandler said, arching his brow, “five weeks can seem like a lifetime.”

Jenny knew she wouldn’t be able to keep up her bravado much longer. She needed to run away.
Fast.

She turned to leave, but a hand on her shoulder spun her around, and she found herself pressed up against her newly acquired opponent instead.

Her first thought was to reach down and draw out her boot knife, but before she could react, his warm lips brushed across her own.

What perverse, mind-warping insanity led her to think she could stop the bets? Here it was, six years since the last time her name was on the chalkboard, and she hadn’t learned her lesson. She was still humiliating herself in front of everyone in this confounded café!

“My money’s on Chandler.” Old Levi MacGowan’s voice rang out as more gasps and guffaws erupted around them.

Jenny pushed away from the brash newcomer and retaliated with a slap. A hard slap. She caught her breath as the left side of his tanned face turned a glorious dark pink.

Chandler didn’t flinch. The hit must have stung like the spines of a devil’s club plant, yet it didn’t stop him from smiling at her or looking at her with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

With all the courage she could muster, she held her head high and walked out the door.

A
C
HRISTMAS
C
OLLECTION

by Sophie Barnes, Karen Erickson, Rena Gregory, Sandra Jones, and Vivienne Lorret

The holidays are a time for wishes and magic and, of course, for love. Celebrate the season with this delightful collection of Christmas tales by five rising stars of Avon Impulse.

Mistletoe Magic
by Sophie Barnes

What better way for Connor Talbot, Earl of Redfirn, to spend the holidays than convincing Leonora Compton that the only match she needs to make is with him!

His Perfect Gift
by Karen Erickson

The Duke of Ashton has had three years to plan for his perfect Christmas present—the Lady Eleanor Fitzsimmons as his wife. Now, all he has to do is convince the reluctant lady . . .

War of the Magi
by Rena Gregory

Phin Baldwin does not believe in Christmas magic . . . until the clever and beautiful Ginny Overton gets it into her head to show him how wonderful it can be when wishes come true.

Her Christmas Knight
by Sandra Jones

Just returned from the Crusades, marriage is the last thing on Sir Caerwyn’s mind. But will he be able to resist Lady Nia, the thief of his boyhood heart, when she tempts him yet again?

Tempting Mr. Weatherstone
by Vivienne Lorret

Responsible Ethan Weatherstone is determined to save Penelope Rutledge—and her reputation—from her silly scheme, but can he save himself from the temptation of her lips?

An Excerpt from

A
L
OST
L
ORDS OF
P
EMBROOK
N
OVELLA

by Lorraine Heath

Lady Meredith Hargreaves and Alistair Wakefield, the Marquess of Chetwyn, thought they missed their shot at happiness together. But as Christmas approaches, Chetwyn is determined to lure Lady Meredith back into his arms. From
New York Times
bestselling author Lorraine Heath comes a tale of Christmas miracles . . . and second chances.

S
he studied him for half a moment before it dawned on her. “You purposely stole his dance.”

“I did. I saw all the gentlemen circling you earlier, so I knew your dance card was filled. And if it wasn’t filled, I rather doubted that you would take pleasure in scribbling my name—”

“I do not scribble.”

He grinned. Why did he have to have such an infectious smile that begged her to join him?

“I’m sure you don’t. Forgive me, Meredith, but I wanted a moment with you, and I didn’t think you would be likely to meet me in a garden. Not after our last meeting among the roses.”

When he had informed her that he would be asking Lady Anne to marry him. “I thought you should know,” he’d said quietly, as though Meredith cared, as though he knew she’d pinned her hopes on him. When those hopes had come unpinned among the roses, her heart had very nearly shattered. Thank goodness, she was made of stern stuff. She’d taken a good deal of satisfaction in the fact that her voice had not trembled when she’d replied, “I wish you the very best.” Then she had strolled away with such aplomb that she had considered going onto the stage. What a scandal becoming an actress would cause, and the one thing her father could not abide was scandal.

Yet Chetwyn had found himself in the midst of one that still had the ladies wagging their tongues. Lord Tristan was seen as a heroic romantic for claiming his love on the day she was to marry another, and Chetwyn was viewed as that unfortunate Lord Chetwyn. She decided she could be gracious. “I’m sorry that things did not go as you’d planned for yourself and Lady Anne.”

“I’m not sorry at all. I’m happy for her. Do you love him?” he asked, taking her aback with his abrupt question. They were supposed to be talking about him, not her. If he hadn’t been holding her so firmly, she thought she might have flown out of his arms.

“You say that, my lord, as though there is but one
him
in my life when there are several. My father, my brothers—there are five of them, you know—my uncles, cousins—”

“Litton,” he cut in, obviously not at all enchanted by her little game.

“It seems a rather pointless question. I favor Viscount Litton immensely. I’d not be marrying him otherwise.”

She could not mistake the look of satisfaction that settled into his deep brown eyes, as though she’d revealed something extraordinary. “Favoring is not love.”

“I’ll not discuss my heart with you.”
Not when you once came so close to holding it, and then set it aside with so little care.

“I don’t know that you’ll be happy with him.”

She straightened her shoulders, angled her chin. “You’re being quite presumptuous.”

“You require a man of passion, one who can set your heart to hammering. Is he capable of either of those things?” His eyes darkened, simmered, captured hers with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. Her mouth went dry.

Ignoring his question, she released an awkward-sounding laugh. “You think
you
are?”

“I know I am. Within your gloves, your palms are growing damp.”

Blast it! That was where all the moisture in her mouth had gone. How did he know?

“Your breaths are becoming shorter. Your cheeks are flushed.” He lowered his gaze, and her nipples tightened. Whatever was the matter with her? Then he lifted his eyes back to hers. “Correction. All your skin is flushed.”

“Because I’m dancing. It’s warm in here.”

“It’s the dead of winter. Most women are wearing shawls.”

“Only the wallflowers.”

“And you would never be a wallflower. You are the most exciting woman here. Meet me later. Somewhere private so that we may talk.”

“And what do you call this current movement of the tongue? Singing?”

“It’s too public. We need something more intimate.”

An image flashed of him kissing her. She had often wondered at his flavor, but she would not fall for him again, she would not. “For God’s sake, I am betrothed.”

“As I’m well aware.” She saw a flicker of sadness and regret cross his features. “You should know, Merry, that I am here only because of you.”

“Your flirtation is no longer welcome, Chetwyn. I shall be no man’s second choice.”

“You were always my first.” His eyes held sincerity and something else that fairly took her breath away. An intense longing. Dear God. Even Litton didn’t look at her like that. Chetwyn’s revelation delighted, angered, and hurt at the same time.

She released a bitter laugh. “Well, you had a frightfully funny way of showing it, didn’t you?” She stepped away. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve become quite parched.”

Before he could offer to fetch her a flute of champagne, she was walking away. His words were designed to soften her, but she wouldn’t allow them to breach the wall she’d erected against him. She was betrothed now. Nothing he said would change that.

For Chetwyn, it was too late. Her course was set. She wished that thought didn’t fill her with sorrow.

An Excerpt from

by Carla Swafford

The erotic Circle series comes to an exhilarating conclusion as agents Rex and Abby are forced to play the part of a married couple in order to bring down an arms dealer. But as passions rise and an old flame sparks, they quickly find out how tough it is to forget the past . . . and deny temptation.

AN AVON RED NOVEL

“R
ex.”

“Hmm.” His warm breath tickled the top of her head. He shifted, and his hands slid over her breasts.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. He groaned and squeezed the mounds. Her nipples tightened against his palms.

“I understand this is just us playing a part and getting some mutual pleasure out of it,” she said as she struggled to keep her mind on what she wanted to say.

He stopped. “Playing a part, huh?” The small thrust to her back warned that he cared little for her remark. One broad hand dipped into her bra and cupped a bare breast. “And getting
some
pleasure?”

He lifted her breasts into the cold air. Before she complained of the chill, he rubbed his palms across the beaded tips. Heat infused her whole body.

“Jack might come back any minute.” She closed her eyes.

“Did you do this with Jack each time you two went on assignment together?”

“No. The missions were more the straightforward type, no pretending to be husband and wife.” Her eyes opened as her temper flared, but that didn’t stop her body from responding to the way he pinched and pulled at the hard nubs.

“No mutual pleasure?” He tossed her words back at her.

“Jack and I don’t feel that way for each other.” She hoped he understood it was the truth, especially when he found out their mistake.

“You know, I’m fucking tired of hearing his name on your lips.”

He tightened his hold on her breasts, squeezing to the edge of pain, as he kissed her neck, the warmth of his breath behind her ear.

“Hey, careful.” She pulled on his wrists. He eased up slightly. His teeth nipped at her lobe, and she caught her breath when he jabbed several times with his hard cock against the small of her back.

“You want it.”

He was right. She wanted him between her legs and pumping, but she had a little pride left. Was he doing this only to prove that he could have her anytime and anyplace?

“Rex. Stop. Please.” Even to her ears, the words were weak.

“You love it. Look me in the eyes and tell me that you want me to stop. Even though I feel your body molding to mine while you say ‘stop.’ ” It was true. She couldn’t stop her body from rubbing against his, her fingers reaching back, digging into his buttocks.

He released her breasts and turned her, pushing her shoulders against the wall, next to a pair of sliding glass doors. She refused to look him in the face, afraid that he would see her need. Then he’d know how much control he had over her. He only had to tell her to strip and she would.

“That’s what I thought.” His smugness was hard to fight. His voice, his touch, and even the heat from his body proved he was right. Another pump against her stomach reinforced how hard and big his cock had grown.

She craved him so badly. Weak. She was weak when it came to Rex.

No! She refused to be used. She wanted him but not yet. Not like he wanted her at the moment. He thought she loved Jack. How wrong could he be? She’d never wanted Jack. It had always been Rex, and she would never let him use her.

“Let me go, you son of a bitch.” She hissed each word beneath her breath.

“You’re beautiful when you’re mad.”

C
OPYRIGHT

Excerpt from
My Wicked Gladiators
copyright © 2012 by Lauren Hawkeye.