by Kris Pearson
Get a grip, Kerri, she snapped at herself. It’s only a building. You’re here to interview the man who donated it to Gamblers Anonymous—not because you’ve a little gambling problem yourself.
She patted her pocket. Yes, the mini-recorder was safely there. She checked her watch. Jiggled her keys. And still those scarlet shoes weren’t willing to cross the street.
Finally, she took a deep breath, tossed her dark hair, clenched her fingers around her briefcase handle, and stepped out.
Bet I get right across before that taxi draws level.
Bet Alexander Beaufort will be about seventy-five with a bristling white mustache and a comb-over.
She flashed her press ID at the forty-something receptionist. “Kerri Lush, to interview Alexander Beaufort about his very impressive gift.”
Her pulse lurched to a hectic rhythm as she caught sight of the ‘Gambling wrecks lives’ poster on the wall. Could the woman see Kerri’s own life was a mess?
She climbed the half-flight of stairs to where glasses clinked and voices brayed in animated conversation. A local TV crew had set up their gear. Other familiar media faces were in evidence. Maybe this was a bigger deal than she’d thought?
She lifted a white wine from a passing tray and sipped with caution
in case it was Chateau Cardboard. To her surprise, it tasted crisp and dry and delicious. More brownie-points to Alexander Beaufort.
And was there food? She’d missed lunch because of a tight deadline and the sudden re-assignment of this job. A little something to nibble would be wise in view of the wine’s attractions.
She sauntered to a serving table and found the other guests had already made fast and loose with the goodies.
One lonely cracker with a sliver of avocado and a couple of shrimps sat amongst a tide of parsley sprigs, empty kebab sticks, and crumbs. Kerri grabbed it before anyone else could, swallowed her remaining half-glass of wine, and claimed a refill.
Seconds later the woman at the reception desk approached the podium and the noise-level ebbed away.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” she began. “I’m Addictions Councilor Lydia Herbert, and I’d like to welcome you all here today to view our wonderful new facility. A safe financial future for Gamblers Anonymous New Zealand is possible because of the generosity and far-sightedness of one man. Please welcome Monsieur Alexandre Beaufort.”
Enthusiastic applause broke out.
Kerri’s eyes roamed over the assembled males, seeking a suitable old johnnie with a big moustache and a gleaming pate. Alexandre? Not Alexander then—so much for her boss’s haphazard keyboard skills.
And he was French? She took an appreciative swig from her second glass of wine and washed a lingering cracker-crumb down the wrong way.
Spluttering, bent double, furiously embarrassed, she missed the tall dark man who strode in from a rear doorway brandishing a mobile phone.
But she heard him.
“Apologies, mes amis, technology is taking over our lives, no?” he said in a voice so husky it caressed her skin like a fine sprinkling of toasted hazelnuts settling over ice-cream.
Taken by the Sheikh (Sheikhs of Al Sounam 1)
Abducted. Seduced. Purring.
Laurel de Courcey is captured by terrorists, chained up in a disgusting bunker, and videoed for a ransom demand which is shown worldwide.
Ooops—wrong hostage! Who’d expect a shy Kiwi nanny to be worth anything?
Laurel’s soon tied up in Sheikh Rafiq’s bed instead, because he rescues her and appoints himself her personal bodyguard. Very personal. But she has good reason to distrust men.
Imprisoned in his old royal hunting lodge deep in the desert ‘for her own protection’, Laurel rebels. Spectacular fireworks, dangerous escape attempts, and an impossible love affair follow.
Warning: contains one red-hot Sheikh with a wicked tongue and unlimited stamina.
Excerpt
Laurel de Courcey stared at the cliff in dismay. After her exhausting trek through the desert she had to climb that?
The unexpected barrier at the end of the gully rose up steep and crumbling. The tiny stream she’d been following seeped out from under the daunting rock-face. What was on the other side? Rafiq hadn’t warned her about this—simply ordered her to walk, and said she’d find ‘a house’.
Well, there was no house in sight. And did she trust him anyway? He might be all taut muscles and flashing eyes, but she had to remember he was only the lesser of two evils. The other men in his group? Her body convulsed in a sudden shudder just thinking about them.
She tried to banish the hideous memory and gulped the last of her water, refilled the bottle from the life-saving trickle, clenched her teeth, and attempted the hazardous scramble up out of her temporary hiding place. How she wished she had his strength and endurance!
Long minutes later she hauled herself over the top and lay panting. Black spots whirled across her vision. She squeezed her eyes closed, and still the spots flickered and jumped. Finally she raised her head.
Indeed there was a house—or some sort of half-concealed building anyway. A high plastered wall hid much of it, but an arched gateway, softened by cascades of pink blossom from a gnarled tree, looked inviting.
She rose wearily and staggered onward. Palm-fronds and other lush greenery came into focus as she limped nearer, and she feared the unexpected oasis might be a mirage after the endless inhospitable miles of sand and rock.
But no—the gate was real. She stood in the dancing shade of the blossoms and tugged the bell-rope. Within seconds a small wrinkled woman appeared, bustling toward her with colorful long skirts fluttering around her legs.
Laurel pulled Rafiq’s note from her jeans pocket and smoothed it out. Would this be the woman she was supposed to give it to? She held it forward.
The impassive dark face lit up. The gate swung open. The little woman whisked the note from her fingers and became extremely animated, urging her in and rattling away with great enthusiasm.
“Laurel,” Laurel said, tapping her chest with a finger.
“Yasmina,” the woman replied, thumping her own.
“Yasmina,” Laurel tried. This brought nods and smiles.
“Rafiq?” she asked. More nods and smiles, but also an unmistakable gesture of ‘not here now’.
Oh darn.
Christmas Holiday Hearts
Ellie McKenna’s dream job becomes her worst nightmare when she discovers the man she’ll be working for is her long-ago holiday fling. He gave her the hottest memories of her life – and a son he knows nothing about. How will Ellie carry out her Christmas holiday contract now?
Grieving, guilt-stricken and gorgeous, Tony Robinson needs a summer tutor for twin daughters on his huge New Zealand farm. He doesn’t expect the teacher to be the beautiful holiday lover he’s never forgotten. And with their fierce attraction in no way dead, why is she so determined to keep a distance between them?
WARNING: The earth definitely moves – in more ways than one.
Excerpt
Ellie woke with a jump. Bright New Zealand sunlight streamed in from the balcony. Unfamiliar countryside noises floated on the summer air. Several of the farm dogs barked up a frenzy not too far away, and the ocean roared incessantly in the background.
A glance at her watch had her cursing softly. A quarter to eight—no way to impress her new employer. And what about the twin daughters she was here to tutor? She didn’t want them waiting in their schoolroom, wondering where their tardy teacher was.
Scrambling from the huge bed, she showered in haste, then dragged on the first clothes that came to hand—the jeans she’d travelled in yesterday and a fresh yellow and white striped T-shirt. She pulled her dark hair into a ponytail and ran peachy gloss quickly over her lips.
Embarrassed, and still somewhat disheveled, she raced down the grand staircase and into the deliciously scented farmhouse kitchen.
“Bacon and eggs?” an amused male voice asked. There
was a rustle of newsprint, and the farmer lowered his paper and glanced over the top of the pages at her.
Ellie registered dark eyes. A cleft chin. Hair cut brutally short. A once-loved face that now showed both sorrow and exhaustion.
He managed to speak before her astounded brain found any words. “Ellie? Ellie McKenna? What the...?”
Romances that sizzle with love, life and laughter
http://www.krispearson.com
The Wellington series –
The Boat Builder’s Bed http://krispearson.com/the-boat-builders-bed
Resisting Nick http://krispearson.com/resisting-nick
Seduction On The Cards http://krispearson.com/seduction-on-the-cards
The Wrong Sister http://krispearson.com/the-wrong-sister
Out Of Bounds http://krispearson.com/out-of-bounds
Hot For You http://krispearson.com/hot-for-you-games-for-two
Ravishing Rose http://krispearson.com/ravishing-rose
3 novels, boxed set http://krispearson.com/wicked-in-wellington-books-123
The Heartlands series –
Melting His Heart http://krispearson.melting-his-heart
Christmas Holiday Hearts http://krispearson.com/christmas-holiday-hearts
Cowboy Wants Her Heart http://krispearson.com/cowboy-wants-her-heart
3 novels, boxed set http://krispearson.com/3-novels-the-complete-heartlands-series
And –
Taken By The Sheikh http://krispearson.com/taken-by-the-sheikh
Desired By The Sheikh http://krispearson.com/desired-by-the-sheikh
The Scarlet Bay Series –
Hard to Regret http://krispearson.com/hard-to-regret-scarlet-bay-book-1
Hard to Resist – coming soon
