Jennifer Seasons - Throwing Heat

Mark toed off his shoes as he yanked his sweater over his head and tossed it on the floor. He began working the button of his fly and strode after her. He was a little unsteady on his feet, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to catch her. When he entered his room he found her by the bed. She’d turned on the bedside lamp, and the light illuminated every gorgeous inch of her curvaceous body.

He started toward her, but she shook her head. “I want you to sit on the bed.”

Mark walked to her anyway and gave her a deep, hungry kiss before he sat on the edge of the bed. He wondered what she had in store for him and felt his gut tighten in anticipation. “Are you going to put on a show for me?” God, that’d be so hot if she did.

All she said was “Mmm hmm,” and turned her back to him. Mark let his eyes wander over her body and decided her tight round ass in denim was just about the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

When his gaze rose back up he found her smiling over her shoulder at him. “Are you ready for the ride of your life, cowboy?”

Hell yes he was. “Bring it, baby. Show me what you’ve got.”

Her smile grew sultry with unspoken promise as she reached for the hem of her T-shirt. She pulled it up leisurely while she kept eye contact with him. All he could hear was the soft sound of fabric rustling, but it fueled him—this seductively slow striptease she was giving him.

He wanted to see her. “Turn around.”

As she turned she continued to pull it up until she was facing him with the yellow cotton dangling loosely from her fingertips. A black, lacy bra barely covered the most voluptuous, gorgeous pair of breasts he’d ever laid eyes on. He couldn’t stop staring.

“Do you like what you see?”

Good God, yes. The woman was a goddess. He nodded, a little harder than he meant because he almost fell forward. He started to tell her how sexy she was when suddenly a full-blown wave of dizziness hit him and he shook his head to clear it. What the hell?

“Is everything all right, Mark?”

The room started spinning and he tried to stand, but couldn’t. It felt like the world had been tipped sideways and his body was sliding onto the floor. He tried to stand again, but fell backward onto the bed instead. He stared up at her as he tried to right himself and couldn’t.

Fonda stood there like a siren, dark hair tousled around her head, breasts barely contained—guilt plastered across her stunning face.

Before he fell unconscious on the bed, he knew. Knew it with gut certainty. He tried to tell her, but his mouth wouldn’t move. Son of a bitch.

Fonda Peters had drugged him.

Single mother Sonny Miller has spent years avoiding love. So when hotshot ballplayer JP Trudeau swaggers into her carefully constructed life, even as every fiber of her being tells her to keep running the bases! Sonny may be hell-bent on keeping JP at arm’s length, but this rookie has a plan. To get the girl, he must step up to the plate and convince her to take another chance on love . . . before this game gets rained out.

JP REACHED OUT an arm to snag her, but she slipped just out of reach—for the moment. Did she really think she could get away from him?

There was a reason he played shortstop in the Major Leagues. He was damn fast. And now that he’d decided to make Sonny his woman she was about to find out just how quick he could be. All night he’d tossed and turned for her, his curiosity rampant. When he’d finally rolled out of bed, he’d had one clear goal: to see Sonny. Nothing else had existed outside that.

Her leaving her cell phone at the restaurant last night had been the perfect excuse. All he’d had to do was an Internet search for her business to get her address. And now here he was, unexpectedly very up close and personal with her. So close he could smell the scent of her shampoo, and it was doing funny things to him. Things like making him want to bury his nose in her hair and inhale.

No way was he going to miss this golden opportunity.

With a devil’s grin, he moved and had her back against the aging barn wall before she’d finished gasping. “Look me in the eyes right now and tell me I don’t affect you, that you’re not interested.” He traced a lazy path down the side of her neck with his fingertips and felt her shiver. “Because I don’t believe that line for an instant, sunshine.”

Close enough to feel the heat she was throwing from her deliciously curved body, JP laughed softly when she tried to sidestep and squeeze free. Her shyness was so damn cute. He raised an arm and blocked her in, his palm flush against the rough, splintering wood. Leaning in close, he grinned when she blushed and her gaze flickered to his lips. Her mouth opened on a soft rush of breath and for a suspended moment something sparked and held between them.

But then Sonny shook back her rose-gold curls and tipped her chin with defiance. “Believe what you want, JP. I don’t have to prove anything to you.” Her denim-blue eyes flashed with emotion. “This might come as a surprise, but I’m not interested in playing with a celebrity like you. I have a business to run and a son to raise. I don’t need the headache.”

There was an underlying nervousness to her tone that didn’t quite jive with the tough-as-nails attitude she was trying to project. Either she was scared or he affected her more than she wanted to admit. She didn’t look scared.

JP dropped his gaze to her mouth, wanting to kiss those juicy lips bad, and felt her body brush against his. He could feel her pulse, fast and frantic, under his fingertips.

It made his pulse kick up a notch in anticipation. “There’s a surefire way to end this little disagreement right now, because I say you’re lying. I say you are interested in a celebrity like me.” He cupped her chin with his hand and watched her thick lashes flutter as she broke eye contact. But she didn’t pull away. “In fact, I say you’re interested in me.”

JP knew he had her.

Her voice came soft and a little shaky. “How do I prove I’m not?” The way she was staring at his mouth contradicted her words. So did the way her body was leaning into him.

Lowering his head until he was a whisper away, he issued the challenge. “Kiss me.”

JENNIFER SEASONS is a Colorado transplant. She lives with her husband and four children along the Front Range, where she enjoys breathtaking views of the mighty Rocky Mountains every day. A dog and two cats keep them company. When she’s not writing, she loves spending time with her family outdoors, exploring her beautiful adopted home state.

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Playing the Field

Stealing Home

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THE GOVERNESS CLUB: CLAIRE

By Ellie Macdonald

ASHES, ASHES, THEY ALL FALL DEAD

By Lena Diaz

THE GOVERNESS CLUB: BONNIE

By Ellie Macdonald

Claire Bannister just wants to be a good teacher so that she and the other ladies of the Governess Club can make enough money to leave their jobs and start their own school in the country. But when the new sinfully handsome and utterly distracting tutor arrives, Claire finds herself caught up in a whirlwind romance that could change the course of her future.

What would a “London gent” want with her, Claire wondered as she quickened her pace. The only man she knew in the capital was Mr. Baxter, her late father’s solicitor. Why would he come all the way here instead of corresponding through a letter as usual? Unless it was something more urgent than could be committed to paper. Perhaps it had something to do with Ridgestone—

At that thought, Claire lifted her skirts and raced to the parlor. Five years had passed since her father’s death, since she’d had to leave her childhood home, but she had not given up her goal to one day return to Ridgestone.

The formal gardens of Aldgate Hall vanished, replaced by the memory of her own garden; the terrace doors no longer opened to the ballroom, but to a small, intimate library; the bright corridor darkened to a comforting glow; Claire could even smell her old home as she rushed to the door of the housekeeper’s parlor. Pausing briefly to catch her breath and smooth her hair, she knocked and pushed the door open, head held high, barely able to contain her excitement.

Cup and saucer met with a loud rattle as a young man hurried to his feet. Mrs. Morrison’s disapproving frown could not stop several large drops of tea from contaminating her white linen, nor could Mr. Fosters’s harrumph. Claire’s heart sank as she took in the man’s youth, disheveled hair, and rumpled clothes; he was decidedly not Mr. Baxter. Perhaps a new associate? Her heart picked up slightly at that thought.