Summer Fling: Compass Girls, Book 3 (26 page)

Hope Springs

© 2013 Jayne Rylon & Mari Carr

Compass Girls, Book 2

Hope Compton never considered her parents’ unconventional relationship a dangerous thing. Until, after a few too many drinks in a crowded bar, she admits her desire for a ménage to her college boyfriend—and uninvited guests try to turn her fantasy into a nightmare.

When Wyatt catches some thugs harassing the pretty daughter of his bosses, he doesn’t hesitate to call on his partner Clayton to kick some asses. But then he realizes what a temptation the sweet, sheltered Hope presents. Especially her naughty wish to unleash her inner vixen—with both of them.

Hope has no doubt her playmates want to fulfill her every desire, but something’s holding them back. She has an idea what those
somethings
are. With luck, and a little help from her Compass cousins to hold her fathers off, she’ll find what she needs in the shadows of the past—and convince them she’s found two men of her own who are worthy of her love.

Warning: Compass books bring love in every direction and every season. But not all of life’s moments are filled with joy. Take the good with the bad, and the steamy.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Hope Springs:

“Are you insane?” Wyatt shouted at her before kicking a hay bale.

“He could have hurt you,” Clayton murmured as he approached.

“Boone’s big mouth means you must know what that does to me.” Wy rubbed his chest. “There were a million people in that house who love you and you’d risk yourself like that? For what? I know I’m freaking uncivilized sometimes, like this morning—not my best showing, I admit it—but being so inconsiderate of the pain you could have caused your family…that’s just plain selfish and rude. Stupid.”

When he put it like that, she shifted from foot to foot. “I wasn’t afraid of John. I just wanted him gone. Permanently. And maybe to show him that he couldn’t touch me, not really.”

“But he
could
have.” A vein stood out in Wyatt’s neck, making her worry he’d over exert himself. Relapsing would prolong his recovery and stress him out. None of them needed that. Clay especially, since he had to live with Wy.

“One scream would have rained down enough angry cowboys on him to hold their own rodeo. Sterling knew what was going on and she’s one of the best shots around.” Security at Compass Ranch was guaranteed, in her mind. Nowhere else could have been as safe a haven for her. Unless it was in the arms of two loving ranch hands.

“No kidding, how do you think we realized what you were up to? You’re lucky your father didn’t notice her staring out the window. Hope—” Wyatt’s persistence in his beliefs made her realize civil discussion wasn’t an option. Maybe it never had been. A man like him respected action and bluntness over diplomacy.

Invoking the platinum rule, she prepared to treat him as he preferred.

A sudden fury ignited a conflagration in her like the lightning bolt that had struck the south hay field after last year’s summer-long drought. In this case, the dearth turning her insides to kindling had lasted more than two decades, she supposed. “You know what? Shut the hell up. I’ve had enough of men deciding my future. My dads, my uncles, my ex-boyfriend and now you guys. You can suck it. If you don’t want anything to do with me, you have no right to say how I live my life. A week ago you barely knew my name. Son of a bitch. You were half-dead yesterday and now you’re going to come in here and start brawling to defend my honor or punish me for giving that dirt bag a piece of my mind? I don’t need a lecture from you. Save your energy.”

Wyatt’s grin spread slow and wide. “You cursed. A bunch.”

“Screw you!”

“Hope, you’re wrong about one thing. We’ve known all about you for a while. How could we not?” Clayton’s quiet honesty cut through her rage. “You stand out.”

“You think we didn’t see you prancing around here?” Wyatt scoffed. “We noticed you plenty.”

“Then what the hell were you waiting for? Even after you found out I was curious about trying out your lifestyle, you didn’t make me any offers. Damn it, I practically gave you an engraved invitation and you
declined
.” Allowing him to see her cry was out of the question. “So go home. Rest. Do the smart thing for once in your life.”

Wyatt ignored her rant. He stared at her as if he actually considered what she’d shouted.

Crossing her arms, she refused to retreat.

“I get wanting to be in control of your destiny. I can respect independence. So is that all you need? To test drive two guys? Doesn’t matter who?” Wyatt peered into her eyes as he put it on the line. “Will screwing us delete this ridiculous idea of the three of us together from your big brain? If you want to have sex, we can handle that. If you want more, it’s impossible. Look at Boone. I won’t do that to another person. And I certainly won’t make you a target for ignorant jerks like the guys at the bar, who’d assume you’d be up for playing with them. Hiding in the shadows isn’t any way to live either. You don’t know what you’re asking for. I didn’t think you were the kind of woman who could separate emotion from sex, but I didn’t think a lot of things about you. I like being wrong sometimes. Maybe this is one of those rare instances.”

Something in her chest fluttered at his adaptability. Could she have judged him wrong too? Was he somewhat more flexible than she’d given him credit for? Steel instead of stone.

If he was bluffing, he was about to be sorry.

“Glad you’re comfortable with screwing up because I think you’re an expert by now.” She loved how she could blurt exactly what she thought without polite phrasing and he could take it. Heck, he seemed to revel in their passionate exchange, which grew more vibrant by the instant.

Arguing with him, debating their future, did something wicked to her.

Hope took a step closer, tilting her head up to maintain eye contact. The intensity of his stare sliced through her, deep into her core.

“You’re pushing him, sweetheart.” Clay’s nostrils flared like one of the horses when it scented a potential mate. “Me along with him.”

Wyatt met her halfway. He caged her between himself and his bunkmate. Their powerful bodies formed canyon walls. She loved being trapped by them. Every instinct she possessed sang with the rightness of it. Surrounded by the two men—their heat and their scent—she feared she might beg them to teach her about all the things she could sense lying barely outside her reach.

“Serves you right.” She pouted just a little.

“Why?” Clay tipped his head. “What’d I do?”

“You’ve been doing the same to me. Teasing me. Putting all these damn ideas in my head. Turning me on with no way to relieve the ache. Don’t leave me like this.” She tossed his words from last night in his face and sealed the deal.

“I won’t. I—I can’t.” Clayton swallowed hard. He looked to Wyatt quickly before he tipped her head up and covered her mouth with his.

Exactly as it had the day before, the connection of their bodies sparked a reaction more potent than the electrostatic attraction that bonded the compatible compounds she’d studied so hard. With Clay, everything was covalent. They agreed on so much. Their personalities had made last night’s companionship easy and light. Wyatt—opposite, and ionic. An explosion of magnetic energy. Or maybe the three of them could fuse into an archetypical bent bond.

Any case provided a similar outcome. A single, perfect connection.

Think there’s nothing spicy beneath her vanilla shell? Brace yourself…

Lip Lock

© 2013 Em Petrova

Country Fever, Book 2

From the moment he spots the blonde bombshell in the small-town Reedy, Wyoming, grocery store, Brant Foxfire can’t help but check her out—all the way to the checkout line.

He always hoped he’d see her again, but never thought it’d be this way—with her young son in his orthodontist chair for a consultation. It’s not the boy’s overbite that captures his attention. It’s the single mom’s mouth. Her luscious lips…and that one charmingly off-kilter tooth.

Hayley Graff knows firsthand that lust doesn’t equal a long-term relationship, but Brant awakens her body’s needs in a way she can’t ignore. She’d love nothing more than to “open wide” for the sexy orthodontist, as long as he never learns the embarrassing truth.

To his delight, Brant discovers that his long-suppressed need to dominate brings out the best in the standoffish vixen. Yet her reluctance to completely let down her guard stands in the way of total bliss…until an accident exposes her deepest vulnerability.

Warning: Contains teeth-grinding desire between a spank-me-please blonde bombshell and a closet Dom who knows how to straighten her out. You may never look at an orthodontist’s chair the same way again.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Lip Lock:

Whir-thump-thump. Whir-thump-thump.
Dr. Brant Foxfire tilted the shopping cart off its back wheels and let it slam into the floor.

A woman who was scowling at the small-town grocer’s cereal selection looked up at the sound.

“Sorry,” he said as he pushed by her. “Noisy wheels.”

“Oh, these carts are so old.” Her face wreathed in the false smiles he saw too damn often from women. As the only orthodontist in Reedy, Wyoming, he got plenty of female attention when mothers paraded their crooked-toothed kids into his office. And the women at the coffee shop or diner he frequented all made it a point to display their charms. More often than not he got eyefuls of flesh he had no desire to see.

While this attention flattered him, he wasn’t in the business of chasing skirts like some of the local cowboys. Long ago, he’d sworn to keep out of the beds of Reedy residents. It was too easy to ignite rumors, which for a professional man could be the equivalent of career assassination.

Whir-thump-thump.

Goddamn cart. Couldn’t he just have a peaceful trip to the store for coffee and a frozen tray of lasagna without that whirring noise? He heard enough of it in the office from all the gadgets used to suction and clean patients’ teeth. While he loved his job, he didn’t get away from it often enough. Fifty-hour workweeks and no distractions at home…

He jerked as a woman passed the end of the aisle, carrying a plastic shopping basket over her arm.

Brant’s chest constricted a little at the sight of her long blonde braid straggling over one shoulder, the soft end kissing the curve of her full breast. Who was she? In a small town like this, he knew just about everyone, from the older citizens who frequented the coffee shop just down the street from his office to every member of the police force. And who could forget all the women he knew but didn’t want to know better?

But this woman was mid-height with all the curves and secretive allure of Marilyn Monroe. Fuck yeah, he would have remembered seeing her.

The lady perusing the cereal was staring at him, and she had that look. The one that said she was hungry for some man-prey.

Shit.

“Excuse me.” He quickly wheeled his
whir-thumping
cart past her. She grinned and struck a pose with a box of granola like a model in an ad.

In the main aisle leading to the two cash registers in Brenniman’s store, Brant spotted her again. His Marilyn. She wore a white, curve-skimming summer dress that clung to her hips when she walked. For a moment, he stared at her round ass, battling an arousal he hadn’t felt in far too long.

He might be a bachelor by choice, but he was far from dead. And this woman could raise a man from his grave.

Or from another dark pit? Brant pushed back this thought with a low grunt. He wasn’t going to think about tying this woman up or laying the flat of his hand against that lush ass of hers. It wasn’t normal, and he wasn’t sinking into that quicksand again.

The cart wheel locked up completely, and he gave it a swift kick. Then, scooping his food items out of the basket, he abandoned the cart altogether. Glancing up, he caught a glimpse of Marilyn taking her place in the checkout line. She was wedged between a mother with three kids in the back of a cartful of diapers and Franklin Worthy, an eccentric cowboy painter. And he could tell by the way Franklin looked at Marilyn that Brant wasn’t the only one to find her inspirational.

“Hello, Franklin.” Brant crowded into line.

Franklin’s head was tipped down, his gaze obviously clinging to Marilyn’s shapely calves. Possessiveness flared inside Brant. Would Marilyn catch Franklin staring and let the playboy engage her in conversation? Lots of women fell for Franklin. With his long hair, French cigarettes and perfectly paint-splattered clothes, he ensnared women like cowboys roped cattle.

But not her.
She’s off-limits.

For a long minute, Brant stared down at Marilyn’s bare toes peeking from her leather sandals. Christ, the woman was wearing silver toe rings. Lurid images of pulling those off with his teeth slithered through his head. He also envisioned different silver ornaments—shackles for her wrists and ankles.

No. He would not—could not—entertain those ideas. He’d left all that behind years ago when he’d lost his last girlfriend over his need to control in the bedroom.