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
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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!