Be My Baby (27 page)

What if everything you knew about your past turns out to be…
wrong
?

Summer’s Song

© 2009 Allie Boniface

Ten years after leaving home, the last thing Summer Thompson expects is to inherit her estranged father’s half-renovated mansion. And the last thing she wants is to face the memories of the night her brother died—sketchy as they may be. Now a San Francisco museum curator, she plans to stay east just long enough to settle the estate and get rid of the house. Until she finds it occupied by a hunky handyman who’s strangely reluctant to talk about his past.

Damian Knight has something to hide: his mother and sister from a brutal stalker. They’ve found a measure of peace and carefully guarded safety in Pine Point. Yet when the lonely, haunted Summer steals his heart, he finds himself opening up to her in ways he should never risk. Especially to a woman who’s planning to return to the west coast—after selling their refuge out from under them.

Summer’s mounting flashbacks leave her confused—and more determined than ever to find out the truth behind her brother’s death. But in a small town full of powerful secrets, confronting the past could cost her the man she loves…and even her life.

Warning: This title contains a hunky hero who can do anything with his hands, a heroine desperate to discover the truth, tons of summer heat, and a small town with so much charm you’ll want to move there.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Summer’s Song:

Summer sat on the top step and stared up into the sky. Damian had disappeared inside, but she didn’t really mind. She needed a few minutes to collect herself and calm her racing pulse. She could still smell his cologne in the air beside her and feel the warmth of his body only inches away. If he hadn’t gotten up, she would have peeled off her clothes just to feel his skin on hers.

She inhaled, taking in a good long breath of clear Pine Point air. This she would miss. The air and the view of the stars at night. A San Francisco skyline could never take the place of bright white dots skating to eternity in the black above you. She raised one finger and moved it through the growing darkness, tracing the constellations she knew so well. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she peered again toward the street. Nothing but faint streetlights winked back.

The front door opened and closed. “You’re quiet.”

“Just thinking about how good this place looks,” she lied. “About how much you and Mac have done this summer.”

“Well, we had some help. But my mom says the same thing. She’s even talking about buying a place of her own and redoing it.” He paused and then sat beside her. “She loves coming over here.”

“She’s terrific. She has so many ideas for the house. We were talking about the bedrooms upstairs, and the library…” She didn’t speak for a few seconds. “It’s meant a lot to me, to spend time with your mother and Dinah. To feel…” She paused again. “…like I belong here.”

“They both think you’re great.”

Summer reached over and laid a hand on his arm. “And you,” she added. “I like spending time with you.” She left her hand there for a moment, and he laid his own on top of it, gently, as if with too much pressure he might burst the bubble they hovered inside.

He swallowed. “What about Gabe?”

“What about him?”

“You get things sorted out?”

She nodded, not really sure how to answer. “I think so.”

“I hope so.” He laced his fingers through hers and didn’t speak again.

“Think you’ll ever build your own place?” Summer asked after a few moments of silence. “You’re good at it.”

He smiled. “I don’t think I’ll build from scratch. I’d like to restore one, maybe. Do something like this.” He flushed. Even in the half-light Summer could see it, a darkening of the cheeks, a shine in the center of his eyes. “Well, not exactly like this. Something on a smaller scale.”

“I know what you mean.”

Summer thought she heard something scuttling in the shadows behind her—a mouse? a squirrel looking for a spot to bed down?—and she turned to look over her shoulder. A bulky outline in the darkness startled her. It looked almost like a person, and she jumped.

“Is that—is that a guitar?”

He followed her gaze. “Oh, yeah. I was playing a little for Dinah, earlier.”

“I didn’t know you were the musical type.” It seemed like a silly thing to say—after all, what did she know about him? A few puzzle pieces, a story here and there, not enough to put together the whole, complex person Damian Knight seemed to be. “Would you play something for me?” She didn’t know where the request came from and was surprised when it left her lips.

“Sure.” He moved past her, and the warmth from his sleeve touched her bare arm. She shivered in the hot night air.

Damian took the instrument from its case and cradled it in careful arms. Tuning, tweaking, he strummed a few chords and began to play “Yesterday” by the Beatles. At first it was only instrumental melody, the strings of the guitar humming the poignant song. But after a minute he began to sing along. His voice was husky but certain, caressing the words as if he’d sung them a hundred times.

Summer leaned against the railing and watched him. The strong, thick fingers that usually wound themselves around a hammer now danced across the strings. The forehead that frowned all day in concentration smoothed. Damian sang, and when the song was over he played “Take It Easy” by the Eagles and sang again.

After the final chord he stopped. The music echoed across the grass, to the hills and back, and Summer let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

“You’re good.” No one had ever sung to her before. Nerves along her spine stretched and splintered. Her heart, over-full with the night and the music and the man beside her, began a jig.

Damian cleared his throat. “I’m not that good.”

“Are you kidding? You’re amazing. Do you ever write anything of your own?”

He turned toward her. The movement pressed his thigh against hers, and she thought for a minute he might kiss her. His gaze moved to her mouth and then to the place where the white skin of her breast met the vee of her sundress.

“Yes,” Damian said, his breath warm on her cheek. “Sometimes I write my own songs.”

He repositioned the instrument, curved his fingers into place and began to play. The melody was simple, a sweet tune that rose and fell without lyrics. It reminded Summer of a butterfly in the morning or dawn above the ocean. The notes dropped honey-like into an endless pool of longing. In the middle, it changed, became low and sensual with guttural chords that hovered and hung in the air. Damian’s shoulders hunched, and his arms tightened with intensity as he played on. A pause, and then the first melody returned, sweeter than the start, if that was possible. The sun coming out after a brilliant summer storm. A baby waking with a smile to a brand new day. It faded, grew, then faded again to nothing. With the final chord, the notes vanished into the night.

“God, that was…” Summer couldn’t find the words. “…beautiful,” she finished, but it wasn’t enough to describe the passion or the complexity of the song.

He smiled. “Thanks.”

“Does it have a title?”

He looked toward her and paused, opened his mouth and closed it again. “Summer’s Song.”

Damian set down the guitar and moved toward her, and this time Summer saw the kiss coming. She felt it, knew it and wanted it with every part of her. He brushed his lips against hers, reached up with one hand to cup her cheek, and the step fell away beneath her. Sweet lightness flooded her stomach, her chest, her mouth. He pulled away, whispered her name, pressed his cheek to her temple and let her feel the pulse that raced there.

“Summer.” The name sighed out of him, and he kissed her again.

Her fingers reached for him, felt the smooth, strong muscles of his chest and drew him close. Kisses moved along her cheek, her chin, down to her collarbone, until she moaned with a pleasure she couldn’t remember ever feeling before. One hand stroked the curve of her breast, and she shivered. Burying her fingers in his hair, she pulled Damian to her. Lips parted and tongues searched, until she could hardly tell where she ended and he began.

The days flipped backwards. She had come here wanting nothing, expecting nothing. Yet something—everything—had changed. First the house. Then dark memories. Then days of light and laughter, of Dinah and Hannah, of Rachael and Cat, strung together like stones on a string. Summer had never believed she might call Pine Point home again. Yet here she sat, wanting Damian Knight’s touch, his kiss, his songs, more than she remembered wanting anything in her life. Maybe coming home didn’t mean going backwards, after all. Maybe it meant growing up, making new discoveries, learning to forgive the past and finding that the future held myriad possibilities.

Her heart swelled as she took Damian by the hand and led him inside.

Rebel meets by-the-book businessman. Love doesn’t stand a ghost of a chance.

The Ghost Exterminator: A Love Story

© 2009 Vivi Andrews

A
Karmic Consultants
Story

Jo Banks has been seeing ghosts since she was six, so normal was never really an option. Embracing the weird and shunning normalcy makes her the top Ghost Exterminator in her region. Then she meets Wyatt Haines, the uptight, materialistic and irritatingly sexy owner of a successful resort chain.

Wyatt’s new Victorian inn is extremely haunted and the Commando Barbie Ghost Exterminator is just the girl for the job. Except Wyatt doesn’t believe in ghosts, or Jo, or anything outside the norm. He’ll have to start believing fast, though, because Jo’s extermination goes awry and accidentally throws two prankster ghosts into Wyatt’s body to haunt him.

Every time he falls asleep, the mischievous ghosts take over, turning his perfectly ordered life into chaos. His waking hours are no less chaotic, with his thoughts possessed by Jo’s quirky appeal and Playmate physique.

Unfortunately, Jo’s ghost-exing mojo is on the fritz just when she needs it the most to unhaunt Wyatt and figure out why his inn is swarming with ghosts. Preferably before his spirit is permanently separated from his mouth-watering body.

And before her heart is permanently attached to the most sexy, frustrating, normal man she’s ever met.

Warning: This book contains prankster ghosts, PG bondage, and a not-so-PG trip to the mile-high club.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Ghost Exterminator: A Love Story:

“Is it really so awful being a ghost host? I’ve always kind of wondered what it would feel like to have someone else inside me.”

She hadn’t meant it to sound dirty. Really she hadn’t. She didn’t even realize her words could have a wicked interpretation until his eyes lit darkly, the blue as hot as the flame from an acetylene torch.
Oh, baby. Come to mama.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said hurriedly.

He laughed, a low, husky rasp of sound. “Didn’t you?”

That laugh was going to be her downfall. She couldn’t be interested in him. She just couldn’t! He thought she was nuts, for crying out loud. But when he wasn’t glowering down on her like a disappointed deity of propriety, he could actually be remarkably charming. And there was no point in denying the physical attraction between them. The man was gorgeous, no two ways about that, and her hormones had been singing the
Hallelujah
chorus since the moment she set eyes on him. As far as Jo was concerned, that was all the more reason to stay away from him.

Unfortunately, there was only so far she could go within the confines of her tiny office and she was stuck with him until she could foist him off on another ghost exterminator whose mojo wasn’t on the fritz.

Dammit. Her mojo couldn’t be gone. It just couldn’t.

Jo began to pace—one step forward, one step back—as much as she could in her miniscule office.

“Jo? You okay?”

“I don’t know what went wrong,” she said, fighting down hysteria again. “My mojo has never failed me before. It’s who I
am
—” Her voice broke on the last word and she shook her head sharply. She was
not
going to cry in front of awful, judgmental, occasionally charming Wyatt Haines.

“Jo, hey, come on…” He stood, reaching out a hand to her.

She didn’t know what he had intended. Maybe to pat her on the back or give her arm a comforting squeeze. But when Wyatt stood, he caught her turning in mid-pace. They both stumbled, tangled against one another. He tried to steady her and one hand brushed against the Girls as the other wrapped around her waist.

Jo looked up into his eyes, startled by his sudden proximity, seduced by the feel of him pressed hard against her.

Then, before rational thought could take control, he was kissing her.

His mouth landed heavily on hers, a full-frontal assault of the lips. The flare of chemistry was sudden, unexpected, and so freaking perfect her brain was instantly wiped of conscious thought.

Her mojo might be going horribly wrong, but
this
felt right.

He teased and coaxed and Jo was with him every step of the way, throwing herself into the kiss for everything she was worth.

He stumbled under the force of her enthusiasm, his feet tangled with hers, and they tumbled down onto the chair. Jo’s legs fell to either side of his. He yanked her forward by her belt loops until she was seated, straddling his thighs with nothing but air between them. And not much of that.

Jo wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he palmed the back of her skull, angling her head for better access as his tongue drove to take possession of her mouth. He untangled his fingers from her belt loops and brushed up under the edge of her shirt with his thumb, just the most fleeting of touches across the bare skin of her abdomen. Then his hands were sliding against her jeans again, moving around to cup her ass, two fingers of each hand sliding into the tight back pockets of her jeans to hold her still when every hormone in her body was screaming for her to squirm against him, wriggle closer to his heat.

“You can admit you want it,” he said against her throat. “Everything doesn’t have to be a war. Jo Banks against the world.”

God, why is he
talking
? Didn’t he know there are better uses for his mouth?
Jo speared her fingers through his hair. He kept it ruthlessly short, completely restrained, but it felt as wild and thick against her fingers as an animal pelt. She gripped his head in both hands and yanked his face back to within a breath of hers. “I like you so much better when you aren’t speaking,” she growled against his mouth, her lips teasing his with every word.

He kissed her again, each drugging pull of his mouth dragging her further away from reality.