Teaser Tuesday! Mad Dog and Annie

Sighing, Anne Barclay nudged her cart along the narrow aisle. A front wheel jammed against the magazine rack, and when she jostled the cart to free it, her purse swung from her shoulder and knocked a candy display off the counter.

“Mo-om!” Mitchell wailed, embarrassed.

“Got it,” a rough male voice said behind her.

She turned, her face already hot. Maddox Palmer stood in line behind her, his hands steadying the box of candy dispensers and his hooded eyes amused.

Her mouth dried. Oh, no, she thought. She didn’t want to recognize the speeding of her heart or the flutter in her stomach. Feelings like that could turn on you. Men could turn on you.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted.

“No problem,” he said.

Mitchell was watching, his green eyes guarded. Growing up with the echoes and bumps-in-the-night that marked his parents’ marriage had made him sensitive to undertones.

She touched his forearm, hiding her own misgivings to reassure him. “My son, Mitchell. Mitchell, this is Mr. Palmer. He... I...” He shot that boy and the department fired him. “We went to school together,” she finished weakly.

Maddox nodded. “Hey.”

“Nice to meet you,” Mitchell mumbled politely.

Ann lifted a plastic gallon of milk onto the moving belt. “What are you doing here?”

Maddox grinned at her, that rare, invitation-to-trouble grin he’d turned on her in seventh grade, and she almost forgot to be afraid. “In the grocery store? Buying groceries.”

She glanced back at his cart. Beer, bread and cigarettes humped together with a roll of paper towels and a carton of orange juice. “You don’t eat much,” she observed.

“I can’t cook much.”

She smiled faintly. “That would explain the cereal and peanut butter.”

“I eat out a lot,” he said defensively.

“I imagine you have to.”

He shrugged. “Don’t you? Working in a restaurant and all.”

Val encouraged Ann to take her meals at Wild Thymes, but she resisted accepting charity. And she couldn’t afford anything else. She shook her head, letting her hair veil her expression. “I don’t work dinners very often. And I like to cook.”

“Yeah? What does she make?” he asked Mitchell.

Put on the spot, Mitchell shuffled. “Well...” R

ob would have snapped at her son to speak up. Maddox just waited, like one of those Catholic priests. Or a cop.

“Tacos,” Mitchell managed to say at last. “She makes good tacos. And spaghetti and hot dogs and stuff like that.”

Cheap meals. A far cry from the beef and three sides Rob had expected on the table every night. She waited for Maddox to make some disparaging comment.

“Sounds good. Maybe I should come to your house for dinner.”

Was he angling for an invitation? Was he—Ann stumbled over the thought—could he be lonely? She had a sudden memory of him at ten, his cool pose a front for his desperate longing to be noticed. She remembered his quick flush of gratification when she’d offered him a stick of gum, and the time he’d beat up Billy Ward for calling her “Chicken Legs.”

She concentrated on unloading her squashables from the cart, aware that the checkout girl had stopped snapping her gum to listen. What was a nice person supposed to do? “Oh, my dinners are nothing fancy. Nothing you would want.”

“Try me,” Maddox said softly.

His eyes met hers, hot and hooded and intense, and her insides constricted like they did when she was afraid, only this time it wasn’t with fear.

* * *

Hope your holidays are full of wonderful reading!

MAD DOG AND ANNIE, now available on Kindle and Nook

Teaser Tuesday! The Passion of Patrick MacNeill

“Kate.”

Her hands stilled on the shoulder strap. She looked out at the moon- and fluorescent-washed parking lot. “What? “

He shifted on the seat beside her, checking to see if Jack still slept, and his knee brushed her thigh. With the engine shut off, the car’s interior was warm and close and very silent.

“I respect that you don’t have room for a grand passion in your life. Neither do I. Thing is,” he continued slowly, “I’m already spending too much time thinking about you. Wanting you. Imagining how it could be between us. Maybe it would be less...distracting for us both if we found out.”

She turned to face him, choosing indignation over the quaking in her stomach. “Are you suggesting we sleep together to get it out of our systems?”

“That’s one way to put it. Neither one of us wants a complicated relationship in our lives.”

With an effort, she kept her voice low, to avoid waking the child in the back. “And am I supposed to be flattered by this limited offer?”

He shook his head, his smile gleaming in the darkness. “Not flattered. Interested, maybe.” She was interested, all right. More tempted and more scared than she’d ever been in her life. She folded her hands tightly together in her lap to disguise their shaking. “I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.”

“Kate.” His deep voice was gentle. “I don’t want to hurt you. I like you. But you need to know up front how things are with me. I may want you until my teeth ache with it, but Jack is the center of my life right now. If that’s not enough for you, if I misunderstood you, just tell me no.”

Her nails dug into the backs of her hands. Kate had long ago accepted that she wasn’t the kind of woman men wanted to marry. Wade, brutally breaking their understanding, had gone so far as to suggest she wasn’t the kind of woman men wanted, period. But Patrick wanted her. And maybe she owed it to herself, just once, to experience a man like Patrick MacNeill.

From THE PASSION OF PATRICK MACNEILL, now on Kindle and Nook

Teaser Tuesday! Mad Dog and Annie

Snatching a couple of dirty glasses, she got busy, got moving, got her mind off Rob’s latest threats and Mitchell’s outgrown sneakers and the things she did and should have done with Maddox Palmer back in high school.

No regrets, she reminded herself. Figure out what has to be done now, and do it. After nine years of having the spunk and the tar whaled out of her, initiative still came hard. But she was learning, she thought with satisfaction. In the past year, she’d had to learn.

The cheery little bell over the door summoned her back to the hostess station. She grabbed a menu and a smile to welcome the new customer and then stopped dead and let both of them slide.

It was him. Maddox Palmer, in the flesh. In jeans, she corrected herself, and a tan T-shirt that almost matched the color of his skin. She squeezed the menu tighter. This time the Cutler grapevine was right. He was handsomer than ever.

He had to be over thirty now, big and broad and somehow harder. Solid. His face had a lot more lines. Well, he was three years older than her, though only two years ahead in school. He’d been kept back in first grade, she remembered, the year his mama died. He had thick brown hair that his new short cut couldn’t tame and hooded eyes that still saw right through her, and a juvenile-delinquent slouch that made him look tough and ready to react to whatever punch life threw at him. He dangled a cigarette between two fingers of his right hand, and he still had that not-a-dimple in his chin that tempted every good girl to press a finger to it.

Ann damned the way her heart speeded up just at the sight of him. She’d given up Big, Bad and Dangerous to Know almost a year ago.

He smiled crookedly. “Hey, Annie.”

Like they were just passing in the hall in high school. Like he’d never shared gum or secrets with her on the school bus or filched cookies from her mother’s kitchen or stood up for her on the playground.

Like he’d never grappled with her in the back seat of his father’s unmarked police car and then walked right past her locker the next day.

Well, he could take his “hey” and...and... Her racing brain stumbled. Nice Southern girls simply did not think that way. Take his hay and stack it, she amended silently.

Teaser Tuesday!

"What do you want, Dixie?" Conn asked.

Opening her eyes, Val looked at him, relaxed and confident, as if all he had to do was stretch back on the picnic blanket and smile that slow, collected smile and women would crawl all over themselves to get to him.

She sighed. Probably most women would.

“I want my independence. I want my restaurant to succeed. And even if I’m not the status symbol they want me to be, I’m trying very hard to reconcile with my parents right now.” She shook her head, making her earrings jangle. “Though it’s tough building a mature relationship with a man who calls you ‘punkin.’”

“I can imagine,” Conn said dryly.

His blue eyes were bright with humor and dark with understanding. She felt his regard deep in her midsection, sweet as raspberry trifle and comforting as bread. A woman could learn to depend on the sustenance of that warm regard. Briefly, Val hungered for...what? His support? Approval? Love?

No.

“What I don’t need,” she continued, “is a...a boyfriend looking over my shoulder and telling me what to do.”

“Or a lover?”

His deep, rough voice plucked at her nerves, making her insides quiver. “I tried that. I’m not some little innocent, you know. It didn’t work. It wouldn’t work.”

“Why not?”

“Expectations. You let somebody into your bed, and all of a sudden he wants the keys to your apartment and a chance to run your life.”

“Your life? Or your business?”

“Either one.” Bravely, she met his eyes. “I won’t give up control, MacNeill.”

His thumb rubbed his jaw. “You know, it’s possible you’re letting your prejudices blind you to a good thing. You’re stuck with me, anyway. Why not use me? I’ve got expertise and I’ve got experience. Hell, I can get you references if you want.”

Her cheeks scorched. “Are we still talking about the restaurant here?”

He went very still. His stillness was an active quality, as unmistakable and expressive as another man’s shout. And then his slow grin sizzled clear down to her toes. “I was. But feel free to take advantage of any services you want. I won’t be in town forever.”

From The Comeback of Conn MacNeill

Now available for Nook and Kindle

Teaser Tuesday!

His voice roughened. “You should go to bed.”

Her head moved slowly against the cushions, back and forth. No. “I’m too excited to sleep.”

He was perilously close to too excited himself. Damn, but she was pretty. Under her turquoise tank top, her breasts rose and fell. Her lashes fanned against her cheeks. The necessity of keeping their voices down and the lights low wrapped them in intimacy.

If she didn’t hustle back into her own bedroom where she belonged, he was going to sink down on that soft couch and dive into her like a swimmer into water. Conn rocked on his heels, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Right now, he was trying real hard to remember he had scruples about things like that. He wasn’t proud of the idea that he would take advantage of his role as Val’s protector to jump her bones.

To shock himself back to sanity, to scare her back to her room, he said deliberately, “I could help you to sleep.”

She chuckled. “You can cut the Big Bad Wolf routine, MacNeill. It won’t work.”

He was irritated. Curious. “Why not?”

“Because you’re being nice tonight,” she explained, still without opening her eyes. “I don’t buy it.”

Nice. Shit.

He tried to remember the last time a woman had accused him of being nice. Nothing came to mind. Patrick was decent. Sean was charming. Conn had been called smooth and, occasionally, generous. Never nice.

“Well, that puts me in my place,” he said acerbically.

She chuckled again, almost asleep. Her hair streamed over the overstuffed pillows and rolled arm of the couch. She was spread out like a banquet for his starved senses. He wanted to thread his fingers through that heavy fall of hair, to nuzzle the hollow just below her ear, to glut himself on the scent and the taste and the texture of her.

She sighed, and his breathing jammed, doing funny things to the rhythm of his heart.

If he had half the brains his brothers credited him with, he’d get the hell out of Dodge.

Instead, he eased down beside her, stretching one arm along the back of the couch. The soft cushions gave beneath him. She shifted as the springs adjusted to their relative weights. Her head rolled against his shoulder. She kept it there.

Hunger leaped inside him.

She rubbed her cheek against his shirt. “This is nice.”

Conn groaned silently. That word again. He ordered his libido back into its cage and slammed the door shut. And it was...well, not satisfying, precisely, but pleasant, he discovered, to sit in the half light with Val’s head resting on his shoulder and her hair tickling his jaw.

Even...nice.

From THE COMEBACK OF CONN MACNEILL, now on Nook and Kindle

Teaser Tuesday!

Kate’s spine straightened another degree. Maybe she was no man’s dream date, but as a surgeon she’d learned to value herself and her time. She hadn’t endured the slights and rigors of her male-dominated surgical training to let one cocky pilot dictate to her now. She marched down the hall, banged through the glass and steel doors—and stopped short.

For an instant, she was convinced she was seeing double. The waiting room appeared full of MacNeills. Patrick paced, fists jammed in his pockets, his wide shoulders and contained intensity dwarfing his surroundings. She felt her heart trip into double time at the sight of him.

But nothing could dwarf the man beside him.

Taller and younger than Patrick, his companion had the same dark hair, longer and curlier, and the same male assurance. He wore a gold hoop in his ear, like a pirate, and exuded cheerful good nature and unabashed sex. There were at least three nurses craning for a look at him, and one patient’s mother was openly fanning herself.

Three months ago, such blatant good looks would have frozen Kate into a cold and inarticulate block of insecurity. She discovered now that after knowing Patrick, his brother didn’t alarm her at all. No more than she would be afraid of a wolfhound after petting a wolf.

She tapped her pen on her clipboard. “So. Which Mr. MacNeill can’t wait to see me?”

Three dark heads turned. The shortest one dashed forward.

“Dr. Kate!”

A corner of her heart melted at the boy’s exuberant greeting. “Hey, Jack-o. Are you sick?”

“Nope.”

“Pining for you,” the younger man offered.

Kate smiled down at the boy’s bright face. “I find that difficult to believe.”

“Okay,” the pirate said agreeably. “Maybe Patrick’s the one pining.”

The listening nurses goggled. Kate felt her cheeks flame. With gossip breeding in the hospital like bacteria in a wound, she’d always resolved to keep her personal life private. Not that it had been much of an issue. Until recently, she hadn’t had a personal life.

She swallowed. She still didn’t have a personal life. Patrick might want to go to bed with her, but they hadn’t even been on a date.

“Sean,” Patrick said warningly.

“So it’s me. I need a doctor. Take my pulse.” He snatched her hand, enclosing the pen with it, and laid it on his muscled chest, just above his heart. “What do you think, Doc?”

Kate lifted her chin, refusing to be flustered. “You feel normal to me.”

“Not just a little hot? “ His dark eyes were wicked, inviting her to share his joke.

“No. Sorry.”

“You don’t think maybe I need some bed rest?”

“You don’t let go of her hand,” Patrick growled, “and you won’t be getting up for a week.”

from THE PASSION OF PATRICK MACNEILL

Free E-book!

I’m so excited about the upcoming release of Carolina Home, the first in my new Dare Island series!

The wonderful JoAnn Ross calls Carolina Home “a deeply moving story of family, love, and second chances...prose as lush and warm as a coastal summer.” Publishers Weekly says, “This first in a proposed trilogy introduces readers to the Fletcher clan, whose warmth and devotion feel genuine, and the palpable heat from Matt and Allison ensures a sizzling good time. Kantra’s storybuilding is excellent.”

Woo hoo! CAROLINA HOME goes on sale July 3. But if you preorder the book now - by JUNE 5th - I will send you a free, full length e-book, THE COMEBACK OF CONN MACNEILL, as a reader appreciation gift.

Conn MacNeill has a lot of the things that make Carolina Home special: a small town, North Carolina setting; that “home and hearth” feel; and a hero to die for. The story, about a free-spirited Southern beauty who clashes with her father's financial hired gun over the running of her restaurant, was nominated for Romance Writers of America’s RITA award.

So, how do you get them both?

1. BUY Carolina Home on-line now (by June 5th) from any of these vendors

Amazon

Barnes&Noble

IndieBound

2. FORWARD your email order/receipt (for your security, you can delete your billing address before forwarding the order) to freebook@virginiakantra.com

3. SPECIFY if you would like to receive your free e-book as a mobi (Kindle) or e-pub (Nook, Sony, etc.) file.

Already ordered CAROLINA HOME? Thank you! You can still receive the reader appreciation gift. Just follow steps 2 & 3 above.

Don’t have an e-reader? Not a problem. Download free reading apps for Kindle or Nook and read The Comeback of Conn MacNeill on your PC, Mac, smartphone, or tablet! (Once you’ve downloaded your free e-book to your computer, it should automatically appear in your e-reader device library.)

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy Carolina Home AND your free copy of The Comeback of Conn MacNeill!

Virginia

(Please feel free to post, tweet, and tell your friends about this offer. Remember, the deadline for this special “reader appreciation” gift is June 5th.)

Teaser Tuesday!

Con MacNeill rubbed sweat from his chest. This Carolina town was too damn hot for a Boston boy.

He leaned against the wall of the First Baptist Church, seeking shade and the cool prickle of brick against his back. Main Street, North Carolina, was not his scene at all. But with Lynn’s wedding scheduled for three weeks from today, even Boston had begun to feel uncomfortably warm. Too many parties. Too many phone calls from mock or mutual friends eager to pry or express sympathy. He was better out of it. All of it. The offer from Edward Cutler couldn’t have come at a better time.

Nothing like a new challenge to get a man over being fired.

Con crossed his arms against his chest, shutting down the flare of frustration. Define the problem, he reminded himself. That was the way he operated. Solve the problem.

He surveyed the street, spanned by a banner that proclaimed the town of Cutler’s Seventh Annual Super Summer Sidewalk Sale. From the church parking lot to the county courthouse steps, racks of out-of-season clothes competed with bins of plastic trinkets. Halfway down the block, Arlene’s Country Cafe supplied coffee and doughnuts to passing patrons, while the rival establishment on the opposite corner handed out clear plastic cups of...Lord knew what.

Con narrowed his eyes at the freshly painted green-and-white sign over the door: Wild Thymes. Cute. Very cute. As he watched, a vendor leaned forward from beneath the cool canvas awning to offer an elderly customer a plastic fork and a smile.

Sunlight dropped across her face. Her tawny hair blazed, stirred by a hot breeze. For that one moment, sun and wind combined to create a vision of light and movement that burned like summer sparkling on lake waters. For that one moment, the woman leaning across the plank counter was Woman, divine and incarnate. Wild yearning uncurled in Con’s Celtic heart. Awe breathed through his Catholic soul. She was Eve before the Fall. She was Niamh of the Golden Hair, legendary love of Oisin. She was the Lady on the White Horse in his mother’s stories.

Desire hit him, hard and low. And striking harder, unrecognized and unwelcome, possibility assailed him like the sea.

Then the breeze dropped. The woman turned her head to talk to someone over her shoulder. Green shade drabbed the golden hair and dimmed the radiant face, leaving only a waitress, chatting up a customer.