Making the Play (27 page)

 

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Acknowledgments

T
HIS BOOK WAS
such an incredible challenge for me and I loved every moment of it. But I never worked on this alone, not for one solitary second.

First, thank you so much to Tessa Woodward! For all of the cutting, polishing and shining you do to make me look good. You are a magician. And, for the rest of the Harper­Collins crew who treat us like diamonds, even if we are in the rough. I adore you, Nicole, Jessie, Caro and Pam.

I can't let another second pass without thanking my agent, Suzie Townsend, and the New Leaf Family (that's you, Sara!) for always being ready for anything from me, no matter what time of the day, or what day of the week. I couldn't do this without you!

For my Country Crew and the Avon Addicts! You ladies are indispensable and far too much fun. For my local girls—­Kristin and Deb, we are definitely doing that again but this time, we bring a calculator! Rebecca and Codi—­you two are the best cheerleaders a girl could ever ask for. I love you both!

For my nephew, Cody. We didn't realize just how much you would change our lives, Little Man. Thank you for letting me be a part of your journey!

For my kids, it was so fun for me to remember back to the days when you were little while writing about James. He is a little part of each of you, and all three of you are precious to me. I can't believe how fast you've grown up and I cherish every day as your mother.

Bryun, you are the light of my life, my own personal hero and I thank God every day for bringing you into my life when we were fifteen (even if you swear it wasn't for another year!) I can't believe we get to live this amazing life together but I'm so very grateful that we do.

Finally, thank you, my dear readers! Every one of you is what keeps me going each and every day when the words don't want to come, or the characters don't cooperate. I picture you waiting and get to work.

 

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THIS EARL IS ON FIRE

T
HE
S
EASON
'
S
O
RIGI
NAL
S
ERIES

by Vivienne Lorret

TORCH

T
HE
W
IL
DWOOD
S
ERIES

by Karen Erickson

HERO OF MINE

T
HE
M
EN IN
U
NIFORM
S
ERIES

by Codi Gary

 

An Excerpt from

THIS EARL IS ON FIRE

The Season's Original Series

By Vivienne Lorret

Vivienne Lorret's Season's Original series continues with an earl whose friends are determined to turn him into a respectable member of society . . . and the one woman who could finally tame him.

 

L
iam Cavanaugh grinned at the corrugated lines marking his cousin's lifted brows. It wasn't often that Northcliff Bromley, the Duke of Vale and renowned genius, showed astonishment.

Bending his dark head, Vale peered closer at the marble heads within the crates. “Remarkable. Even seeing them side by side, I hardly notice a difference. The
fellows
will be fascinated when you present this to the Royal Society at month's end.”

“It was pure luck that I had the original as well.” Liam shrugged as if he'd merely stumbled upon the differences between a genuine article and an imposter.

Vale turned, and his obsidian eyes sharpened on Liam. “No need to play the simpleton with me. You forget that I know your secret.”

Liam cast a hasty glance around the sconce-­lit, cluttered ballroom of Wolford House, ensuring they were alone. Fortunately, the vast space was empty aside from the two of them and a dozen or more large crates filled with artifacts. “By definition, a secret is that of which we do not speak. So lower your voice, if you please.”

No one needed to know that he actually studied each piece of his collection in detail—­enough that he'd learned how to spot a forgery in an instant.

“Afraid the servants will tell the
ton
your collection isn't merely a frivolous venture? Or that your housekeeper's complaints of dusty urns and statues crowding each room would suddenly fall silent?” Vale flashed a smile that bracketed his mouth with deep creases.

Liam pretended to consider his answer, pursing his lips. “It would be cruel of me to render Mrs. Brasher mute when she finds such enjoyment in haranguing me.”

“She may have a point,” Vale said, skirting in between two crates when a wayward nail snagged his coat, issuing a sharp
rip
of rending fabric. He stopped to examine the hole and shook his head. “Your collection has grown by leaps and bounds in the past few months. So much so that you were forced to purchase another property to house it all.”

“The curse of immense wealth and boredom, I'm afraid.”

His cousin's quick glower revealed that he was not amused by Liam's insouciant guise. Then, as if to punish him for it, he issued the foulest epithet known to man. “You should marry.”

Not wanting to reveal the discomfort slowly clawing up his spine, Liam chuckled. “As a cure for boredom?”

Vale said nothing. He merely crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

It was a standoff now. They were nearly equal in regard to observation skills, but apparently Vale thought he had the upper hand.

Liam knew differently. He crossed his arms as well and smirked.

If anyone were to peer into the room at this moment, they might wonder if they were staring at matching wax figures. The two of them looked enough alike in build and coloring to be brothers, but with subtle differences. Vale's features were blunter, while Liam's were angular. And Vale's dark eyes were full of intellect, while Liam's green eyes tended to reveal the streak of mischief within.

“Marriage would do you good,” Vale said.

Liam disagreed. “You're starting to sound like Thayne, always hinting of ways to improve my social standing.”

The Marquess of Thayne was determined to reform Liam into the
ton
's favorite pet—­the Season's
Original
. In fact, Thayne had been so confident in success that he'd wagered on the outcome.
What a fool
.

“I never hint,” Vale said.

Liam offered his cousin a nod. “True. You are a forthright, scientific gentleman, and I appreciate that about you. Therefore, I will give you the courtesy of answering in kind: No. I should
not
marry. I like my life just as it is.” He lifted his hands in a gesture to encompass his collection within this room. “Besides, I could never respect a woman who would have me.”

Vale scoffed. “Respect?”

“Very well. I could never
trust
a woman who desired to marry me. Not with my reputation. Such a woman would either be mad or conniving, and I want neither for a wife.”

He'd nearly succumbed once, falling for the worst of all deceptions. After that narrow escape, he'd vowed never to be tricked again.

“Come now. There are many who care nothing for your reputation.”

That statement only served to cement his belief. If his despoiled reputation were the only thing keeping him far afield of the
ton
's conniving matchmakers, then he would make the most of it. And the perfect place to add the crème de la crème to his list of scandalous exploits would be at Lady Forester's masquerade tonight.

After all, he had a carefully crafted reputation of unrepentant debauchery to uphold.

Liam squared his shoulders and walked with his cousin to the door. “If the Fates have it in mind to see me married before I turn sixty, then they will have to knock me over the head and drag me to the altar.”

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This Earl is on Fire
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An Excerpt from

TORCH

The Wildwood Series

By Karen Erickson

USA Today bestselling author Karen Erickson continues her Wildwood series with a hot firefighter who knows that enemies make the best lovers . . .

 

W
ren Gallagher wasn't the type to drown her sorrows in alcohol, but tonight seemed as good a time as any to start.

“Another Malibu and pineapple, Russ,” she said to the bartender, who gave her a look before nodding reluctantly.

“That's your third drink,” Russ said gruffly as he plunked the fresh glass in front of her.

She grabbed it and took a long sip from the skinny red straw. It was her third drink because the first two weren't potent enough. She didn't even feel that drunk. But how could she tell Russ that when he was the one mixing her drinks? “And they're equally delicious,” she replied with a sweet smile.

He scowled at her, his bushy eyebrows threaded with gray hairs seeming to hang low over his eyes. “You all right, Wren?”

“I'm fine.” She smiled but it felt incredibly false, so she let it fade before taking another sip of her drink.

Sighing, she pushed the wimpy straw out of the way and brought the glass to her lips, chugging the drink in a few long swallows. Polishing it off like a pro, she wiped her damp lips with the back of her hand as she set the glass down on the bar.

A low whistle sounded behind her and she went still, her breath trapped in her lungs.

“Trying to get drunk, Dove?”

That too-­amused, too-­arrogant voice was disappointingly familiar. Her shoulders slumping, she glanced to her right to watch as Tate Warren settled his too-­perfect butt onto the barstool next to hers, a giant smile curving his too-­sexy mouth as he looked her up and down. Her body heated everywhere his eyes landed and she frowned.

Ugh.
She hated him. His new favorite thing was to call her every other bird name besides her own. It drove her crazy and he knew it. It didn't help that they ran into each other all the time. The town was too small, and their circle of mutual friends—­and family members—­even smaller.

Tate worked at Cal Fire with her brothers Weston and Holden. He was good friends with West and her oldest brother, Lane, so they all spent a lot of time together when they could. But fire season was in full swing and Tate had been at the station the last time they all got together.

She hadn't missed him either. Not one bit.

At least, that's what she told herself.

“What are you doing here?” Her tone was snottier than she intended and he noticed. His brows rose, surprise etching his very fine, very handsome features.

He was seriously too good-­looking for words. Like Abercrombie & Fitch type good looking. With that pretty, pretty face and shock of dark hair and the finely muscled body and
oh shit
, that smile. Although, he wasn't flashing it at her right now like he usually did. Nope, not at all.

“I'm assuming you're looking to get drunk alone tonight? I don't want to get in your way.” He started to stand and she reached out, resting her hand on his forearm to stop him.

And
oh wow
, his skin was hot. And firm. As in, the boy's got muscles. Erm, the man. Tate could never be mistaken for a boy. He was all man. One hundred percent, delicious, sexy man . . .

“Don't go,” she said, her eyes meeting his. His brows went up until they looked like they could reach his hairline and she snatched her hand away, her fingers still tingling where she touched him.

Whoo boy, that wasn't good. Could she blame it on the alcohol?

Tate settled his big body back on the barstool, ordering a Heineken when Russ asked what he wanted. “You all right, bird?” His voice was low and full of concern and her heart ached to say something. Admit her faults, her fears, and hope for some sympathy.

But she couldn't do that. Couldn't make a fool of herself in front of Tate. She'd never hear the end of it.

So she'd let the bird remark go. At least he hadn't called her Cuckoo or Woodpecker. “Having a bad day,” she offered with a weak smile, lifting her ice-­filled glass in a toasting gesture. At that precise moment, Russ delivered Tate's beer, and he raised it as well, clinking the green bottle against her glass.

“Me too,” Tate murmured before he took a drink, his gaze never leaving hers.

Wren stared at him in a daze. How come she never noticed how green his eyes were before? They matched the beer bottle, which proved he didn't have the best taste in beer, but she'd forgive him for that.

But, yes. They were pretty eyes. Kind eyes. Amused eyes. Laughing eyes. Sexy eyes.

She tore her gaze away from his, mentally beating herself up. He chuckled under his breath and she wanted to beat him up too. Just before she ripped off his clothes and had her way with him . . .

Oh, jeez. Clearly she was drunker than she thought.

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Torch
now!