Gone Country (56 page)

Rielle shook her head. “They’d never forgive us if they didn’t get to be part of the wedding. Heck, they’ll plan the whole damn thing, most likely.”

He kissed her. “I don’t care what kind of wedding we have, just as long as our daughters aren’t part of the honeymoon planning.”

“Really? So the tycoon won’t mind if it’s an old-fashioned country wedding—held in the barn, with hay bales for pews, followed by a hoe-down?”

“Nope. I’ll even wear a bolo tie, a Stetson, Wranglers and shitkickers if you want.”

She laughed. “I like you a little country, but that sexy citified vibe does it for me in a bad way, so I definitely want you in a black tuxedo.”

“Done.” Gavin kissed her again. “Let’s go back to the honeymoon. I want to take you someplace exotic. For at least two weeks.”

“I assume you’ll insist on paying for it entirely?”

He growled, “That is not even up for discussion. And trust me, it’s going to be spectacular. I won’t spare any expense when it comes to you.”

“Speaking of…” Rielle poked him in the chest. “You’d better not buy me some big tacky diamond.”

“Tacky? Never. I have great taste. Big? Absolutely. I’m thinking it’ll be at least seven carats.”

A pause.

“That’s a whole lot of carrots,” they said in unison, and laughed in unison.

“We’re such punny dorks.”

“Yep.” Gavin pulled her into his arms and rested his forehead to hers. “I love everything about you, Ree. You know that, right?”

“Yes, I do. I love everything about you too.”

Grinning, Gavin plucked her up and swung her in a circle until she shrieked at him to let her down. He whispered, “Never,” and carried her home.

About the Author

To learn more about Lorelei James, read her Author Notes on this and other titles, and see a McKay family tree, please visit
www.loreleijames.com
. Send an email to
[email protected]
or join her Yahoo! group to join in the fun with other readers as well as Lorelei:

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Look for these titles by Lorelei James

Now Available:

Rough Riders

Long Hard Ride

Rode Hard, Put Up Wet

Cowgirl Up and Ride

Tied Up, Tied Down

Rough, Raw, and Ready

Branded As Trouble

Shoulda Been A Cowboy

All Jacked Up

Raising Kane

Slow Ride

Cowgirls Don’t Cry

Chasin’ Eight

Cowboy Casanova

Kissin’ Tell

Gone Country

Wild West Boys

Mistress Christmas

Miss Firecracker

Anthologies

Wild Ride: Strong, Silent Type

Three’s Company: Wicked Garden

Beginnings: Babe in the Woods

Running With the Devil

Dirty Deeds

Coming Soon:

Redneck Romeo

She’s got the rhythm, but he’s got all the right moves.

Ballroom Blitz

© 2012 Lorelei James

A
Two to Tango
Story

After years on the road, rock drummer Jon White Feather is home from tour to reassess his music career. When his shy niece begs him to take a ballroom dancing class, Jon agrees, aware he’s not Fred Astaire material. Still, it stings when his sexy-hot instructor—who makes his heart do the cha-cha—deals his ego a low blow: he has no rhythm.

Maggie Buchanan is doing everything to make ends meet since her IT career fizzled, including teaching couples dancing at the community center. She’s prepared for anything—except her immediate attraction to the bad boy rocker who doesn’t know his right foot from his left.

As Jon sets out to prove he can rock his body—and hers—their sexual chemistry burns a path across the dance floor, straight to the bedroom. And Maggie wasn’t expecting a man with limited dance skills would know exactly how to sweep her off her feet.

Warning: Sweet and hot…this couple knows how to bump and grind.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Ballroom Blitz:

But the second night was more of the same torture. Jon was hapless and Raven tried not to act annoyed or mortified about the extra attention they received from the instructors because of his screw ups.

However, Jon certainly didn’t mind having Maggie’s soft curves pressed against him as she walked him through the dance steps. The woman was an enigma; confidently giving instructions to the entire class and yet blushing so prettily when they were pressed body to body. He was actually sorry when class ended.

After the rest of the students took off, Jon noticed Raven wasn’t racing out the door, but in deep conversation with Seth. He wandered over to where Maggie sat on the bench, changing shoes.

“So it is true,” he said, sitting sideways on the bleachers beside her.

Maggie glanced up. “What is true?”

“There is such a thing as putting on your dancing shoes.”
Lame, Jon.

“Different types of dancing shoes for different dances. Probably like you use different drums for different parts of a song?”

“You’d be correct.” He angled forward. “So while I’ve got you alone…give it to me straight. Am I failing class?”

The corners of her lips curled into a smile even as she remained focused on buckling her shoe. “This isn’t a pass-fail situation. I’m giving you an A for extra effort.” Maggie’s eyes met his briefly before her attention drifted to his arms. Her gaze started at his wrist and moved up to his bicep. “I’ll admit I’ve been admiring your cool tattoos during class.”

“Do you have any tats?”

“No. Never had much chance to see artwork designs up close to see what my options are.”

He held his arms out. “Go ahead and take a closer look if you want. See if there’s anything you like.”
Feel free to touch as much as you want.

Her eyes clearly broadcast
I want
, even if her alluring mouth stayed closed.

The first tentative touch on his forearm was potent as an electric charge. He held himself still, willing that charge not to travel straight to his dick.

Her cheeks were flushed. Her blue eyes bright. Tendrils of reddish-blond hair had escaped from her tight bun, tempting Jon to loosen it completely and crush the soft stands in his hands. Or smooth the strands back into place just to touch that creamy-looking skin. Maggie unsettled him. She was wholesome looking and a little shy—not his usual type. So his immediate attraction to her was baffling. Not unwelcome, just confusing. Question was, did she feel the same pull?

Yes, if he went by the way her hand trembled when she touched him.

When her soft fingertip drifted over the crease of his arm, he bit back a growl. Oblivious to his response, she continued the northerly progression, one hand clamped around his wrist, the other hand driving him out of his mind with a mix of innocent curiosity and overt sensuality.

“Are these marks tribal symbols?” she asked, continually caressing the same section of black swirls and scrolls.

“I told a buddy of mine who’s an artist I wanted markings with a tribal feel, but more artistic. So they don’t mean anything specific.”

“So it’s wearable art that’s unique to you.” Her thumb swept across the stylized barbed wire motif on his bicep. “Even if the design was used on another person it wouldn’t look the same. Your skin coloring gives it a different dimension. As does your musculature.” She ran a fingernail on the underside of his arm. “Your biceps and triceps are amazing.”

“I can’t take credit for that.”

“I’m pretty sure you weren’t born with all these muscles.” Maggie looked at him, as if startled by what she’d said.

When she attempted to remove her hand, Jon placed his palm over hers. “Thank you. Most of the time I get grief for the tats. I’m happy to hear a beautiful woman appreciates them.”

“I do.” She wet her lips and her gaze dropped to his mouth.

Sweet Jesus. She was killing him. Everything about her embodied soft and sweet—her hands, her mouth, her eyes, her tender touch. Which ironically enough, made him hard as a fucking drumstick.

“Maggie?” Seth called out.

They both jerked back.

“Yes, Seth?” she said a little breathlessly.

“Can you show Raven a couple of steps?”

Maggie said, “Sure,” and stood. She faced him. “Truly magnificent, Jon.”

“Glad you like them.”

“I wasn’t talking about the tattoos.” Then she spun, leaving him staring after her.

Whoa. That comment had dripped with sexual sizzle.

Hmm. Maybe Maggie Buchanan wasn’t as soft and sweet as he first believed.

To win her heart, he’ll have to touch off her internal combustion.

Overdrive

© 2012 Chloe Cole

Even after ten long years, Frankie Sepkaski’s success as the best vintage car mechanic around still hasn’t overcome her teenage rep as a promiscuous troublemaker. No matter how tempting the prospect, the last thing Mac Galbraith needs is for her to take him out for a spin. Especially since his family thinks he should be looking for a prospective wife among the local socialites, not slumming with a grease monkey.

Mac likes vintage rides, but buying a new one every month just to have an excuse to see his ridiculously sexy mechanic in her overalls? That’s pathetic. When she finally says yes to his date offer, he’s not fooled. It’s only because she has every intention of using him to indulge her fantasies—then walking away. But Mac knows something else: underneath her bad-girl persona is a woman worth her weight in lug nuts.

It might take a crowbar to get her to admit she has feelings for him, but he plans to put the pedal to the metal to convince her to keep him around for more than just a test drive.

Warning: Sweaty, down-and-dirty sex between a mechanic and her best client. Read at your own risk. Dangerous curves lie ahead, and these roads are slippery when wet.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Overdrive:

The line went quiet again, save for their echoing breaths. She should probably hang up.

“I don’t want to hang up yet,” Mac said, the reluctant honesty in his tone encouraging her to be honest in return.

“Me either.”

“What do you want, Frankie?”

What did she want?

She shoved aside all the doubts and self-recriminations and spoke the truth. “To listen to you talk. Your voice is so…”

“So…?” he urged.

Her heart pounded, and she closed her eyes. “Sexy. Your voice is so goddamn sexy.”

“I’m glad that you think so. And what would you like me to talk about?”

She squirmed, a familiar pressure spreading low in her belly. How to answer that loaded question? Mac had offered her the chance to explore a world she’d denied herself for so long. If she was going to do it, she was going to do it right.

“The things we’re going to do tomorrow, maybe,” she whispered.

His breath came out in a hiss. “That’s up to you, babe. I’m at your disposal. Whatever you want, however you want it.”

His answer both excited and frustrated her. She’d been hoping he’d—

“But I can tell you what I’d like us to do,” he said softly. “What I’ve imagined doing a thousand times. Would you like that?”

“Yes.” She gripped the phone tighter and pressed her thighs together.

“First, tell me, are you in bed?”

“Uh-huh. Are you?”

“Yes. I hate to be cliché and ask what you’re wearing, so I’m going to pretend it’s a black, short, lace nightgown.”

She glanced down at her flowered boxer shorts and Bob Marley T-shirt and bit her lip. “Yeah, we’ll go with that.”

His warm chuckle sent a thrill through her, and she smiled.

“Are the lights on?” Mac asked.

“Yes.”

“Turn them off.”

She didn’t hesitate, reaching over to turn off the bedside lamp. “Okay, they’re off.”

“Mine too.”

He must have moved to settle in because she could hear the creak of the bed. The darkness of the room only intensified the intimacy of the situation.

“Do you remember the first car I brought you?”

She burst out laughing. “Um, let’s see. I think it was the Camaro, right? Is that your idea of mechanic dirty talk?” she teased.

“Nope. I only brought it up to give you a point of reference. That day your dad was out, and you came out of the garage into the office wiping your hands on a rag. Your hair was in a ponytail like usual, and you had on black overalls. They were made of some stretchy material, and they fit you like a glove. It was like some high school wet dream come to life.”