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! Carolina Man

Luke watched Kate Dolan’s butt as she walked past him in her neat navy suit, her sensible heels clacking on the wood deck like gunfire. He’d handle her, too, given a little encouragement.

He shook his head. Obviously, he’d spent too long in Burqa Land. He was not hitting on his dead ex-girlfriend’s lawyer. Even if she did have great legs. And—despite the stick up her butt—a really nice ass. Hard not to notice that.

She hugged her arms across her body, as if the chill had penetrated the blue jacket she wore like body armor. “It’s nice out here.”

He breathed in the smells of salt, sea grass, and pine. Took a pull of his beer, as if he could permanently wash away the dust of Afghanistan. “Yeah.”

She turned to face him, the sun behind her firing her curly coppery hair to gold. “Quiet,” she offered.

“No snipers,” he said.

She looked at him, startled.

Ah, shit. “You didn’t come here to talk about the weather,” he said, covering. “Or the view.”

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He was jet-lagged and exhausted. But at least he was all here. Ten fingers, ten toes. No right to complain. “Fine.”

Her gaze searched his face, uncomfortably perceptive. What color were her eyes? Blue? Green? With the light behind her, it was hard to tell. “Because we can do this another time.”

“You must have thought it was urgent,” he pointed out. “Or you wouldn’t have driven out here.” She took a deep breath that expanded her chest, parting the lapels of her jacket. She wore some kind of lace thing under it, and a thin gold chain that dipped between her breasts and caught the light. Nice. “I had the evening free.”

“Lucky for me,” he drawled.

Under her makeup, she flushed to the roots of her hair like only a true redhead could. Which set off another line of speculation he had no business pursuing.

***

Preorder Carolina Man at Amazon and Barnes&Noble

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Teaser Tuesday! The Comeback of Conn MacNeill

Conn cleared his throat. “You know, there’s no reason this has to be an adversarial relationship. I’m here to do a job, that’s all.”

“I agree. As long as your job doesn’t interfere with mine.”

“You’ll hardly notice I’m here.”

Val's gaze skittered over the height and breadth of him, from his shoulders rising above the narrow padded bench to his feet sticking out from under the table.

When she looked back up at his face, her eyes were bright with amusement. “Now, why do I have difficulty believing that?”

Conn’s blood surged. His jaw tightened. He had a sudden vision of laying her down across the table in front of him like an exotic dish for his delectation. He wanted to free her hair to spill over the edge. He wanted to part her firm, round thighs and push inside her soft, warm body. He wanted to take that pale mouth with its full upper lip and watch those gray eyes darken in passion.

Conn set down the roll slowly. As a plan of action, it had a lot of appeal. As an approach to a woman he barely knew and was hired to analyze and advise, it probably lacked something. Subtlety, maybe. Sense.

His appetite for this woman unnerved him. Maybe this kind of reaction was appropriate for Patrick, blissfully happy with his new wife. It was only to be expected from Sean, whose appreciation for anything female was well-known and often indulged. But Con, the middle brother, the cool, logical one, had always let reason rule his selection of partners.

There was nothing reasonable about this attraction at all.

From The Comeback of Conn MacNeill
Now available on Nook - Kindle - iTunes Kobo

Teaser Tuesday! Carolina Home

“Where have you been?” Tom asked.

The smell of his skin, the scent of his shaving cream, spicy and familiar, enveloped Tess. She pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades.

“Helping Luke make up his bed.”

Tom frowned at his reflection. “You think after ten years in the Marines, the boy can make his own bed?”

She smiled at his grumpy tone. “I don’t mind. It’s nice to have some time with him alone.”

“You work too hard,” Tom said. “He takes advantage of you.”

Tess knew her man. She’d loved him for almost forty years, since he was a cocky Leatherneck on leave in Chicago, sauntering into her family’s restaurant in Little Italy, trying to pick her up before she could write down his order.

“You’re not upset about the bed,” she said.

Tom didn’t answer. He didn’t talk about his feelings. He never had.

She twisted around him, keeping her arms loosely linked around his waist, until they were front to front. “It’ll be all right,” she said softly. “Luke needs us. Taylor needs us. She’s our granddaughter.”

Tom grunted. “What happened to her mother? You get that out of Luke while you were making his bed?”

“Dawn’s lawyer told Luke it was some kind of brain bleed from a congenital condition. No prior symptoms, no warning.” Tess shivered. “It was all very sudden and horrible.”

Tom stroked her back, instinctively giving comfort. “Christ. Was Taylor with her?”

“No, Dawn was at work when it happened. Apparently she was a receptionist at the law office. The lawyer said they got her to the hospital right away, but it was already too late.”

They stood a moment in silence. What if it had been her daughter, her baby, struck down like that in the prime of life? Tess wondered. She couldn’t stand it.

“How’s Luke?” Tom asked.

He had always counted on her to keep up with the details of their children’s lives, to tell him as much—or as little—as he needed to know.

“He doesn’t say.” And in that, Tess thought, their younger son was very like his father. “But you can see he’s affected by her dying like that. He’s not heartbroken, he was over Dawn a long time ago, but he still feels it. And now this business with Taylor . . . It’s just so much for him to deal with right now, in the middle of a deployment. Did you see how thin he is?”

“He’ll be all right as soon as he gets back to his squadron.”

She bit her lip. “It’s still a distraction.”

“Not as much as you think.” He rubbed her neck, his strong hand reaching under her hair. “Men compartmentalize better than women.”

They were still pressed together, front to front.

Tess grinned suddenly, realizing her husband’s focus had shifted. “Is that what you call this? Compartmentalizing?”

His fingers found the knot at the base of her skull. “That’s one word for it.”

She sighed in pleasure, letting her head drop forward as he kneaded the ache away. “I just worry about them, Tom, no matter how old they are. Matt’s not happy, and Meg’s living with that man who’s never going to marry her, and now Luke—”

“You can’t live their lives for them, honey.”

“I’d do a better job,” she mumbled.

His laugh rumbled in his chest. “You did a good job already. It’s their turn now.”

“But I want them to have what we have.”

“I’d be happy if they’d just stop dumping what they have on you.”

She raised her head. “Tom!”

“We’re not getting any younger, Tess. It would be nice to have the house to ourselves before we’re too old to enjoy it.”

“Mm. You, me, and an inn full of guests. Very romantic.” She settled her weight more firmly against him, enjoying the feel of him hot and potent against her stomach.

He patted her butt affectionately. “You don’t want me going soft in my old age, now, do you?”

She laughed at him. “I can feel just how soft you are.”

He smiled down at her, the old gleam in his eyes, the one that still made her breath come faster after all these years. “Why don’t you come to bed and I’ll show you?”

From CAROLINA HOME

Available from Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

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! The Temptation of Sean MacNeill

Rachel pushed open the screen door, blinking against the flood of sunshine that slanted under the eaves of the porch and poured over the driveway. A dark blot formed in the center of the brightness, taking on shape and substance and power. A man’s shape, she identified a moment later, lifting something—a box—from the back of a truck. Sean MacNeill, in a T-shirt with the arms ripped out and a faded baseball cap, moving like Apollo in the heart of fire.

Her knees, her spine and her jaw all sagged. She caught herself reacting to him for a moment purely as woman to man, warmed by the glow of his tall, dark and blatantly sexy good looks. It was totally involuntary. It was... stupid, she reminded herself.

Doug’s death had trapped her in a high-stakes game with uncertain rules and her children’s future on the table. A joker like Sean MacNeill wouldn’t help her odds at all. But, goodness, he was gorgeous to watch.

He saw her. Setting down the box, he straightened, pushing back the brim of his cap with his forearm. His slow smile thumped into her midsection and quivered like an arrow. “Hey, beautiful.”

“Oh, please.” She flapped her hand. “You can call me Rachel.”

“Rachel.” He lingered wickedly over the name, rolling it in his mouth like something delicious. “Well, it suits you. But then, so does ‘beautiful.’”

She was amused. “Me, and everyone else you know?”

He came up to the porch, all long bones and male muscle, and tipped back his head to look at her. Her heart actually fluttered. “How do you figure that?” he asked.

“Well, for a man who must spend his time in the company of a lot of women, ‘beautiful’ is convenient. I mean, it saves you the trouble of remembering who you’re...” Rolling off of, she thought. “With,” she finished.

From The Temptation of Sean MacNeill Available for Nook and Kindle.

Carolina Girl - TWO big giveaways!

I'm doing TWO big giveaways to celebrate the upcoming release of CAROLINA GIRL on Tuesday, June 4!

The lovely ladies of Book Binge are giving away a copy of Meg and Sam's story. Contest Ends: 6/4/13 (release day!) @11:59pm. US Only. Enter by leaving a comment at Book Binge, here.

And at Plot Monkeys, fabulous Carly Phillips is sponsoring a big beach giveaway - beach book, beach towel, and beach tumbler!

Leave a comment at the Plot Monkeys blog here. Winner announced Sunday.

Good luck! Happy summer and happy reading!

"I’m here if you need anything," Sam said.

Meg narrowed those shining blue eyes. “Like what?”

He shrugged. “An ear. A shoulder.”

“Thanks, but . . .”

“A full-body naked rubdown.”

That choked a laugh from her. He watched, satisfied, as some of the tension drained from her shoulders. “I can do without the extraneous body parts, thanks.”

“Anytime,” he said sincerely. “You let me know if you change your mind.”

And tried not to imagine her tight, compact body, round and responsive under his hands. Under him.

“In your dreams, Slick.”

Probably. Tonight, for sure.

He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow?” She looked wary, like he was coming over to make good on that full-body naked massage.

“To work on the ramp.”

“Oh. Yes. Good idea.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “I’d take that as a compliment if you didn’t sound so surprised.”

“I meant it as one.” An actual smile this time. “I appreciate you doing this for Mom.”

“Not just for your mother.”

“And Matt.”

Matt was his best, his oldest friend. Sam shook his head. “Not only for Matt.”

She pressed her full lips together. “You’re not doing it for me.”

He didn’t answer right away. He owed the Fletchers, Tom and Tess, more than he could say. Their home had been his refuge throughout high school, an escape from his stepmother’s moods and his old man’s tirades. Tom had taught Sam to change the oil in his first car. Tess had taken him in and treated him as one of her own, equally quick with a cookie or a scold. He would have done a damn sight more for either of them than build a ramp.

But his feelings for Meg were mixed in there, too, a potent brew of attraction and regret.

He smiled at her with intent.

“Oh, no,” she said. “You don’t even know me anymore. There’s nothing between us but one lousy hookup and some memories.”

He took his hands out of his pockets. Nothing between them? “Let’s see,” he suggested and made his move.

Carolina Girl, coming June 4 from Berkley Sensation
         

Teaser Tuesday! Carolina Girl

“Want to come?”

Meg’s heart gave an extra thud. She met Sam’s gaze as his question hung on the air, heavy with expectation. She wanted to say yes, she realized, dismayed. Yes, to the building supplies. Yes, to going with him. Yes, to pretty much anything he proposed that would get her out of this kitchen and away from the career coach’s stupid questions.

So take a break. You need a little fun.

No. The sooner she finished the assignment, the sooner she could begin the real work of finding a job. She wasn’t abandoning her schedule to go joyriding around the island with the Boy Who Had Everything.

She dug in her heels, resisting the tug of temptation. “I’m not scavenging materials off a construction site. I’m perfectly capable of buying what we need.”

“Think of it as close proximity sourcing. This isn’t about money, Meggie. It’s about time and energy. A trip to the mainland and back would cost me a couple of hours and half a tank of gas. This is quicker. Get in, get out. No problem.”

Okay, she could accept his reasoning. To a point. Time is money, Derek was fond of saying. In their relationship, household chores and errands were calculated and divided as neatly as the monthly utilities. So many minutes to unload the dishwasher or carry the trash to the garbage chute, so many hours to pay the bills or wait for the super or pick up the dry cleaning . . .

Sam wasn’t anything like Derek. Maybe, in this one instance, that was a good thing. “At least let me reimburse you for the cost of the materials.”

“Nope.”

She was forced to be blunt. “Look, I don’t want to owe you any favors.”

“Consider it payback.”

“For what?” The instant the words escaped her mouth, she wished she could snatch them back. What did she want him to say? For being drunk? For taking everything you offered? For not calling you the next day or for weeks afterward? They were too old for any of that to matter now.

And if he apologized again, after all these years, she would hit him.

Carolina Girl, coming June 4 from Berkley Sensation
         

Teaser Tusday! The Reforming of Matthew Dunn

It seems only right in honor of the 2013 Romance Writers of America Golden Heart and RITA announcements (yay! congratulations, guys!) to post an excerpt from my 1998 Golden Heart winner. Enjoy!

Matt turned the pickup onto the rundown street he was forced to call home for the next three months. A half-starved cat ran for the bushes alongside an empty house. An old man, well wrapped against the chill, sat motionless on his porch. Three boys hung on the corner, watching with hostile eyes as the Chevy passed.

Matt found himself scanning the lot across from his place for a boyish figure with red hair. She wasn’t there. Pulling into the drive, he told himself he was glad. He didn’t need the hassles. He didn’t want the woman, any woman, even one with sunlight in her hair and the earth’s warmth in her smile and the devil’s own determination. And then he caught his eyes in the rearview mirror taking one last, quick check across the street, and his mouth quirked up.

Liar.

Movement pulled his attention to the front of his house. His cop’s instincts went on alert. Someone crouched on the other side of the concrete steps, half hidden by a screen of bare- branched bushes. Vandal or robber? Matt’s lips compressed. He wasn’t wearing his shoulder holster. His gun was in the house under lock and key.

Stiffly, he got out of the car, never taking his eyes from the kneeling intruder. His boots crunched on the graveled drive. For all his size, he knew how to move quietly, but it was better if his unknown visitor heard him coming. He didn’t want to startle the guy into firing.

The jean-clad rump wiggled. Matt stepped away from the vehicle, arms loose, hands ready, and slammed the car door.

A dark head wearing an Atlanta Braves cap popped into view above the steps.

“Damn,” said Richie Johnson. “You trying to give me a heart attack?”

Matt felt his tension ease even as he tamped down his irritation. “What are you doing here?”

The kid waved a muddy trowel. “Planting.”

“Planting what?”

“Flowers, man.” His tone was defensive.

Matt grinned. So, real men didn’t plant flowers. He approached the porch. Soiled clumps of squiggly roots dotted the ground. A line of holes edged the bush in front of the boy. Tan sticks stuck up like grave markers from mounds by the house.

“I don’t want flowers.”

Richie shrugged. “Don’t tell me. Tell her.”

Matt didn’t have to ask who her was. “Where is she?”

“Back of her house. She keeps digging stuff up and bringing it over for me to put in,” he confided, faintly aggrieved.

Matt glanced across the street. Sure enough, here came Tinkerbell, slim arms corded with the weight of the pots she carried, small breasts outlined by her earth first T-shirt. He noticed her nipples. In spite of the sun, the air was chilly. She ought to have on a jacket.

Squashing his involuntary pleasure at the sight of her, he rested his weight on his whole left leg, hooked his thumbs in his back pockets, and waited for her explanation.

THE REFORMING OF MATTHEW DUNN

Now available for Nook and Kindle

Teaser Tuesday!

THE COMEBACK OF CONN MACNEILL

MacNeill stayed out of her way. To reward him, she selected the two largest cinnamon buns and dropped them on a plate.

“Anything else?” She smiled at him.

Conn’s sexual response was instant and unwelcome. Holy saints. Val Cutler stood before him in jeans and a soiled cook’s apron, and he reacted as if she were naked. Above the line of the bib, he could make out the name of her restaurant, stenciled over her breast. She was flushed and messy, her braided hair springing loose around her face, a faint sheen of sweat above that full upper lip.

He wanted her mouth.

Dammit, the woman wasn’t even his type. He preferred them sleek and smooth and elegant. And right now, he’d prefer no distractions at all. He needed Edward Cutler’s recommendation more than he wanted his daughter.

“Something to drink?” he suggested levelly.

“Iced tea?”

His mother Bridget sometimes drank tea, Irish Breakfast steeped strong enough to stain the cup. The MacNeill men all drank coffee. The one time Conn had tried the Southern brew—at a rest stop outside Petersburg, where he’d been forced to pour more oil into his thirsty car—it had coated his teeth like flavored corn syrup.

“The sweet stuff?” he asked cautiously.

“No. I use a herbal blend. Raspberry, mostly.”

Worse and worse.

“Fine. I’ll give it a shot.”

She busied herself with a glass and ice. “Here you go. Thirty-five gallons brewed fresh every morning.”

He could see the marks of her warm fingers against the cold, cloudy glass. To test himself, to test her, he deliberately brushed her hand as he took it from her. Her fingers were slim and wet.

She gave him a freezing look. Conn grinned at his own conceit. Apparently his libido was safe with her, after all.

The Comeback of Conn MacNeill, available for Kindle and Nook!

Teaser Tuesday!

Meg stole a glance at Sam’s profile as they left the bobbing lights of the waterfront behind. He looked good in moonlight, strong cheekbones, straight nose, sculpted lips, chiseled chin. And then there were those not-quite- dimples, the promise of humor, the flashes of empathy. Any woman could be forgiven for losing her head a little over Sam.

It wasn’t just his good looks and his money and his charm. Okay, those things didn’t hurt. But the real appeal was his willingness to put himself out, the way he’d driven to the airport to pick her up or built that ramp for her mother, without looking for payback, without figuring the angles or calculating the cost. She liked that about him. She liked him a lot.

He had always been a friend of Matt’s, a friend of the family. There was no reason after all these years that Meg couldn’t count him as her friend, too. Her good, close friend.

But nothing more.

The clouds against the blue velvet sky were the colors of an oyster shell, purple, gray, and milky white. The last time she had been alone in the dark with Sam, he’d kissed her senseless. If he tried anything this time, she was ready. She would just say no.

But despite his words in the restaurant, he was being a perfect gentleman.

She shivered a little from the breeze and disappointment.

He slanted a look at her. “Cold?”

She wasn’t stupid. She recognized a line when she heard one. “Is this where you offer to put your arm around me to keep me warm?”

“No.” He slid out of his jacket. “This is where I give you my jacket to keep you warm.” He put it around her shoulders, smiling down at her, making her feel safe and warm and cared for. His jacket smelled like him, masculine with a hint of expensive soap. “Then I put my arm around you,” he said, suiting the action to the words.

Meg smothered a laugh. “Where did you learn this move, high school?”

He grinned back, not smug, just...Sam. “Why not stick with what works?”

from Carolina Girl, coming June 2013

Teaser Tuesday!

Wow, the Labor Day weekend went fast!

Here's a little something to sweeten the start of the work week.

* * *

"How long have you been renting from my mother?” Rachel asked as soon as they were out of earshot of the kitchen.

“Not long,” Sean said easily.

She jingled her keys, hurrying to keep pace with his long stride. “I t’s going to be awkward, negotiating two cars in the driveway.”

“I can live with it.”

“And there’s the problem of space. Bedrooms...”

“Hey, I’m willing to share.”

She dipped her head, letting her hair swing forward to hide her smile. “Very generous of you,” she said dryly. “But it may be...” She swallowed. Go on. Say it. “Maybe now that we’re here, it just won’t work out.”

He stopped, giving her a long, slow once-over from surprisingly shrewd brown eyes. “Maybe. You might want to take that up with your mom. She doesn’t like living alone.”

“She won’t be alone. She has her grandchildren now. She has me.”

“Like I said, you should take that up with her.” Plucking the keys from her hand, he opened the rental truck’s door. His gentlemanly gesture confused her. Put her at a disadvantage. But short of wrestling for the keys, there was nothing she could do.

He handed them back. “Look, I’m not getting in the middle of some family thing. I’ve got family enough of my own. As far as I’m concerned, your mom is just a nice lady with an empty garage.”

“And a cozy house.”

That long-boned, laid-back body tensed. “The garage isn’t livable yet. I only agreed to stay in the house because your mother said it made her feel safe. But I’m not dogging for anybody to feed me or mother me or keep track of my comings and goings, and I’m sure not looking for hassles.” He took a quick, annoyed breath. “Clear?”

“Yes,” said Rachel, a bit breathless herself at his unexpected vehemence. Could she believe him? “Thank you, that’s very clear.”

“Good.” He waited until she climbed up into the cab and then closed the driver’s side door. “You two talk it over. I’m taking delivery on a new table saw, and I’d kind of like to know where to put it.” His wicked grin glimmered. “Don’t go jumping in with suggestions, now, beautiful.”

Her laugh sputtered, surprising them both. His smile broadened. Softened. Got personal.

“That’s right,” he said, though what he was agreeing to or approving of Rachel couldn’t have said.

Ambling forward a few steps, he stooped to grasp the steel T-handle of the garage door. Rachel watched the muscles flex beneath his shirt, and then the old door screeched and lifted, revealing his truck. His bright, new, shiny truck. Red, with Massachusetts plates and a bumper sticker that read, Women Love Me, Fish Fear Me.

She shot him a look, trying not to smile.

He grinned. “A present from my sister-in-law. She has a weird sense of humor.”

The words popped out before she could censor them. “She must, if your brother’s anything like you.”

He laughed. “Nah. My brothers are both respectable now.”

He climbed into his candy-apple-red truck. Rachel concentrated on negotiating her rental vehicle backward along the gravel, as cautious and awkward as a pregnant woman on roller skates. She felt the soft bump as her rear tire ran on grass and then the firm, flat road.

Sean MacNeill gunned his motor. His galvanized, oversize toolbox gleamed as he reversed toward her at twice her speed and cut smoothly onto the road.

Rachel sighed. She had too much at stake here to risk an attraction to some twenty-something carpenter in tight jeans and a kick-ass truck.

Whatever his motives, Sean MacNeill was a complication she didn’t need and a distraction she couldn’t afford.

Whatever her mother said, he would have to go.

From THE TEMPTATION OF SEAN MACNEILL

Now available on Kindle

and Nook

Teaser Tuesday!

“What do you think you’re doing?” Allison hissed.

Matt glanced back down at her, his lids heavy. A corner of his mouth kicked up in a smile. “Kissing you. I’ve wanted to since you got here.”

Another dark thrill chased through her. “Your whole family is downstairs."

“Well, that’s why I waited,” Matt said reasonably.

She bit back a smile. “What will they think? Your mother. Josh.”

“My mother will think we’re involved. Which is why you came, remember? And Josh already knows.”

It was hard to remember anything with her blood still pumping, her head still spinning from his kiss. She pressed her lips together. She could still taste him on her mouth. “If you invited me to save my reputation, you’d better get downstairs.”

“I didn’t . . .” Matt stopped.

Her heart drummed in her chest. She held her breath in anticipation. “You didn’t . . . what?”

“Nothing.” He smiled again crookedly. He glanced down at his wet shirt front and then at the bed. “Need help changing?”

From CAROLINA HOME

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"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

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from The Comeback of Conn MacNeill

Conn leaned forward out of the deep leather chair. “Look, Miss Cutler... I’ve got a Harvard degree and ten years’ experience. I advise small businesses, I put together plans for them, I help them secure funding and ensure they’re on solid-enough financial footing to succeed. If you’ve got a cash flow problem, odds are I can help you.”

He honestly thought she might be...not grateful, exactly, but...impressed. But the restaurant owner was made of stronger stuff than Conn had given her credit for.

“How nice,” she murmured. “Do you wash dishes, too?”

“Only if you need me to,” he replied.

Startled, she looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time since they’d sat down. Slowly, those clear gray depths warmed and filled with amusement. Her pale pink mouth curved in a wry smile. Conn’s breath rushed to his throat and lodged there.

Edward Cutler drummed his fingers on his desk. “My other offer still stands, punkin.”

The girl didn’t blink at the repeated use of the demeaning pet name. Maybe she was used to it. It set Conn’s teeth on edge.

She stood, surprisingly dignified in her flirty skirt and clunky heels. Conn did the same, keeping his hands quiet at his sides, although the tension in the room had him balancing on the balls of his feet like a boxer.

Val Cutler tugged thoughtfully on one of her long silver earrings. “So, my real choice is between the devil I do know, or the qualified devil I don’t, is that it?”

“Unless there’s a door number three nobody’s told me about,” Conn agreed, straight-faced.

Edward stiffened.

His daughter laughed, and the sound loosed something warm in the center of Conn’s chest.

“We open for lunch at eleven,” she told him. “Why don’t you stop by around ten tomorrow and I’ll give you the tour?”

“Ten o’clock,” Conn confirmed.

“You call your mother,” Edward said. “She’s waiting to hear from you.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Conn watched her exit with small, firm steps, her short skirt riding those curvy hips and flirting with the tops of her thighs. She looked even better in the Lady of the Lake getup than she had in jeans.

He was out of his head to even notice such a thing. His interest in her was business, he reminded himself. Strictly business.

In the back of his mind, he could hear his brothers laughing.

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“Your father thinks I’m a good catch,” Allison said.

A slight flush stained Matt’s cheekbones. “You heard that?”

“I’m a teacher. I hear everything.”

Hooked, Tom Fletcher had said. The prospect left her oddly breathless.

Of course, their parents’ generation thought that way. Allison wasn’t trolling for some trophy husband to stuff and mount over her fireplace.

“My mother always claimed to have selective hearing,” Matt said. “That way she could pretend not to hear Luke and me when we bitched about doing chores.”

“Your mother is a wise woman.”

“She likes you. She doesn’t give her family recipes to just anybody.”

Allison’s heart gave a happy little hop. “Too bad I get my cooking skills from my mother.”

“It’s not that hard.”

She tilted her head. “You cook?”

He smiled his lazy smile. “I learned to, for Josh. I can manage more than peanut butter sandwiches and scrambled eggs, anyway.”

There was no one in Allison’s life to cook for. To care for. But she didn’t have to be defined by her family. Isn’t that what she’d come to Dare Island to prove?

“I guess if I can read, I can follow a recipe. I’m up for trying new things.”

“Good.” He stopped under the blooming crepe myrtle. Took her by the shoulders and drew her in. “Try this.”

He kissed her.

She was prepared for the familiar rush of blood, the blast of heat. But his mouth was warm and soft on hers, testing, tasting, tempting her with little bites. Not a demand this time. A question. Her body loosened, moistened, as his tongue coaxed hers to play. She sucked in her breath and kissed him back, yes, answering with her body and her mouth, yes, promising him everything she had, yes, please, yes. His arms tightened. She felt him, the hard, lovely planes and angles of him hard against her breast, belly, thighs. Matt.

“Matt . . .” She opened her eyes to a pink haze of crepe myrtle and lust, a sweet, melting ache inside her. “Where are we going with this?”

“I don’t know.” He kissed the corner of her lips. “Does it matter?”

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Cupping her face with his free hand, he laid his mouth on hers.

His lips were warm, firm, parted. Like his touch, his kiss teased and tempted, a promise of heat, a whisper of excitement along her nerves, surging in her blood. Without thinking—Don’t think—she opened her mouth, inviting him in.

He deepened the kiss immediately, nudging inside her, licking inside her while his hand tightened on the back of her neck. Heat flared, blanketing her brain. She fisted her hand to pull him closer, wanting more. More heat, more contact, more tongue. He gave it to her, swamping her with sensations, the softness of his shirt, the roughness of his stubble, the taste and textures of his mouth.

His hand stroked from jaw to shoulder, brushing the outside curve of her breast, sliding from hip to thigh, rousing and soothing at the same time. Her skin tingled in the wake of his touch. She made a sound in her throat and strained forward, her knee bumping the gearshift.

“Let’s take this inside,” he said against her mouth. Another kiss, deep and drugging. “I want to come inside with you. Let me come.”

Oh, yes. Inside me. Come.

Oh, no.

Allison broke the kiss, banging her head on the back of the seat.

“Easy.” He gathered her closer, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin of her neck.

His eyes were dark and dilated, his lips wet and close. She almost lunged for them again. No, no, no.

“I don’t do this,” she said. Not anymore.

His body tensed. Stilled. “Okay.”

“I can’t do this.” She struggled to remember the reasons why. “Your son is in my class.”

The inside of the cab was sweltering. Her breathing rasped in the quiet.

Matt eased back, his gaze on her face. “My son doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

From CAROLINA HOME.

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Talking with her mother didn’t usually drive Allison to drink. But she reasoned a single glass of wine would settle her nerves and bolster her courage. Setting down her empty glass, she tugged open the door.

Matt Fletcher stood on her front porch in a black T-shirt and jeans, thumbs hooked into his front pockets, a hint of a smile on his lips, totally at ease. Without even trying, he made every gym-toned banker and golf-playing engineer her parents had ever pushed at her seem overdressed, insecure, and uninteresting. He was so entirely male, so completely comfortable in his own skin. Her insides danced with a mix of lust, rebellion, and Chardonnay.

“You look pretty.” His gaze brushed her bare shoulders before settling firmly, warmly, on her face. The tiny hairs on her upper arms tingled in awareness. “Might want to bring a sweater, though.”

Allison flushed with heat and wine. She’d spent twenty minutes digging in her closet for an outfit that didn’t make her feel like Laura Ingalls Wilder, finally unearthing a halter top from spring break five years ago and a pair of skinny jeans. She had good arms. And decent legs. But despite what Gail had said about Matt’s reputation, he was obviously in no hurry to talk her out of her clothes. Maybe she should suggest that he keep her warm? But she needed more daring for that.

Or another glass of wine.

Wordlessly, she fetched a cardigan from her bedroom.

“Thank you for going out with me,” she said when they got to the truck.

“My pleasure.” He shifted gears with one hand, steering with the other. He had great hands, she noticed. Working hands, tanned and strong, with a thin line of white scar across his knuckles. “Thank you for saying yes.”

“I asked you.”

He glanced over in surprise.

“Tonight,” she explained as he backed smoothly out of the driveway. “You asked me for tomorrow. I asked you tonight.”

“Yeah, you did.” Another sideways glance. “Why did you?”

To spite my mother didn’t seem like a tactful reply. Or even a very good reason.

She cleared her throat. “My mother called. I told her I had a date to get off the phone.”

A corner of his mouth kicked up. “And you don’t like to lie to your mother.”

“Yes. No.” Allison took a deep breath to still her jittery stomach. If she wanted honesty from Matt, she owed him honesty in return. This wasn’t about her mother. Allison was a grown-up, old enough to make up her own mind about what she wanted, what she needed.

And woman enough to change it.

“I wanted to go out. With you,” she said, so there could be no doubt. “I’d like to get to know you better.”

The echo of her previous words charged the air of the cabin. I don’t jump into bed with someone I don’t know. She wiped damp palms on the thighs of her jeans. Did he remember?

“Most women from off island don’t care about getting to know me. They’re just looking for a good time.”

“Which you no doubt provide.” She meant to sound teasing, not wistful.

He slanted a smile at her. “I can.”

The two words thumped softly in the pit of her stomach. The buzz was back, collecting on her skin like static before a storm. She had asked Matt out as a gesture of independence, a show of control over her life, her destiny. But she didn’t feel in control of herself or the situation.

He sounded so sure of himself. Of her.

But then, she thought crossly, she was practically throwing herself at him. He had every right to sound confident.

“So is this how you entertain your dates? By bringing them . . .” She leaned forward to peer out the windshield at empty road and shadowed, silent dunes. “Where are we, anyway?”

“I told you I’d show you my island. This is it.”

Gnarled live oaks on one side; an uneven line of erosion fence on the other; marsh grass and sea oats everywhere.

“There’s nothing here.”

His teeth showed in a smile. “Give it a chance.”

Their headlights jumped across the road. He turned left toward a gap in the line of pickets. She felt a bump as the pavement ended and their tires dropped onto sand. Shells crunched. The engine rumbled. She gripped the door handle as the truck lurched, aware of leaving something behind, of venturing off the road she knew into the unknown. And then the dunes fell away and the beach opened below, stretching away into the dusk on either side, gray sand and silver sea under a twilight sky.

Allison drew her breath in wonder.

Matt circled the truck to face the dunes, parking perpendicular to the water. He cut the engine. Silence rushed in, cool and laced with the scent of the sea.

Allison craned her neck to look out the windows. “Wow. Just . . . Wow.”

“Yeah.”

The horizon ran with paint box colors, purple, red, and gold. Low breakers rolled toward shore, dissolving in a flurry of foam against the flat sand.

Matt came around to help her from the truck. “Easy.” He steadied her as her heels sank into sand.

“I’m okay.” She was not drunk. “I wasn’t expecting a walk on the beach.”

“We’re not going far.”

She glanced down the shoreline at the glowing line of lights over the water. “Is that the pier?”

“Yep.”

“What is it, like a mile?” She could walk a mile if she took off her shoes.

“We’re not walking. We’re parking.” He went to the back of the truck.

The soft sea breeze was clearing her head. “I didn’t know you could park on the beach at night,” she said conversationally.

“Now, yeah. Not during the season.”

“Because of tourists?”

He grinned and lowered the tailgate. “Because of turtles. Sea turtles lay their clutches in May. They hatch at night, follow the moon’s reflection to the sea. Headlights confuse them. And they can get trapped in tire tracks. But this time of year, it’s not a problem.”

He grabbed a quilt from the back and spread it over the truck bed. “Up you go.”

He boosted her onto the tailgate, his hands hard and strong. She caught her breath as he swung up beside her, the truck bouncing beneath his weight. His thigh brushed hers, his body warm and close. He stretched an arm behind her, making her heart beat faster.

Making his move, she thought.

He dragged a cooler forward from the back and began to unload it. A picnic.

Her lips curved as he laid out grapes and cheese and wrapped sandwiches. She found the simple spread more appealing than her mother’s themed and catered menus, more romantic than an overpriced meal in some fancy restaurant.

Matt lifted a bottle of wine from the cooler.

And far more seductive.

from CAROLINA HOME, on sale July 3

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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