Look for
VOODOO OR DIE
from Stephanie Bond and
Avon Books in 2006!
IT’S AMAZING! IT’S ASTONISHING!
MAYBE HE REALLY IS INTO YOU!
WELCOME TO THE WORLD
OF THE AVON ROMANCE SUPERLEADERS …
A SURPRISING AND UNUSUAL PLACE,
WHERE MEN ACTUALLY DO WHAT THEY SAY …
AND ACT ON THEIR FEELINGS!
We hear it all the time on television,
read about it in books …
we have been trained to know the signs.
When a man isn’t into you,
he lets you know.
But surely there must be
some men out there who are interested!
Who are these men?
And how can you tell what they’re up to?
Now, in the next four
Avon Romance Superleaders,
you will learn to spot the true heroes
around you—or, at least, in the pages
of the best romances in the marketplace today!
He gets nervous at the thought of being around you!
In Jacquie D’Alessandro’s September 2005 release, Not Quite a Gentleman, Nathan Oliver, the youngest son of an earl, comes face-to-face with the arrival of Lady Victoria Wexhall. On the surface they have nothing in common: he’s content as a country doctor; she’s considerably put-out at having to leave fashionable London Society for some pretty scenery and farm animals. But then she can’t help but notice Nathan’s strong arms and tempting ways…
Colin waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Perhaps it was a table in the drawing room. How did Lord Wexhall put it in his letter? Oh, yes. ‘I expect you to take care of Victoria and see that no harm comes to her,’ ” he recited in a sonorous voice. “I wonder what sort of harm he believes might befall her?”
“Probably thinks she’ll wander off and fall from a cliff. Or overspend in the village shops.”
Colin cocked an eloquent brow. “Perhaps. Note how he said you. Note how I was not mentioned at all. The chit is completely your responsibility. Of course, if she’s as lovely as I recall, I perhaps could be persuaded to assist you in looking after her.”
Nathan blamed the heat that scorched him on the unseasonably warm afternoon. Bloody hell, this conversation was bringing on the headache. “Excellent. Allow me to persuade you. I’ll give you one hundred pounds if you’ll watch over her,” Nathan offered in a light tone completely at odds with the tension consuming him.
“No.”
“Five hundred.”
“No.”
“A thousand pounds.”
“Absolutely not.” Colin grinned. “For starters, given the fact that you’re routinely paid with farm beasts, I doubt that you have a thousand pounds, and unlike you, I’ve no wish to be paid with things that make ‘mooing’ sounds. Then, no amount of money would be worth giving up seeing you do something you so clearly do not wish to do, as in acting as caretaker to a woman you think is a spoiled, irritating twit.”
“Ah, yes, the reasons I stayed away for three years all come rushing back.”
“In fact,” Colin continued as if Nathan hadn’t spoken, “I’ll give you a hundred pounds—in actual currency—if you’re able to carry out your duty to Lady Victoria without me witnessing you fighting with her.”
Well accustomed to Colin’s tricky nature, Nathan said, “Define fighting.”
“Arguing. Exchanging words in a heated manner. Verbal altercations. I’m assuming you would not enter into any physical altercations.”
“I’ve no intention of getting within ten feet of her,” Nathan said, meaning every word.
“Probably for the best. She’s unmarried, you know.”
He stilled. No, he hadn’t known. Not that it mattered. He shrugged. “Can’t say as I’m surprised. I pity the poor bastard who finds himself leg-shackled to that puffed-up bit of talkative goods.”
His mission is to tempt you to leave your own party!
In Stephanie Bond’s October 2005 release, In Deep Voodoo, Penny finds herself with a deadbeat ex-husband who soon turns into a dead ex-husband! Some people think that she’s to blame, and it sure seems like she’s being followed by a handsome, rough-around-the-edges, but oh-so-sexy P.I. But does he want to apprehend her for the crime—or capture her for his own pleasure?
“Is this a private conversation, or can anyone join in?”
She swung her head around and the mystery man was standing there, holding a bottle of beer. And he was still breathtakingly sexy… all muscles and male, leather and Levi’s.
“I, uh…” Her brain was pickled.
He looked at the flyer she’d been studying. “Do you know her?” His smooth Cajun cadence was like a down pillow for her ears.
“No. I was just …wondering what might have happened to her.”
He took a drink from the bottle, still reading. “Looks like a good kid, I hope she’s found safe.”
“Or not.”
He arched one eyebrow. “You hope she isn’t found?”
Penny shrugged. “She’s seventeen. Maybe she doesn’t want to be found.”
He pursed his mouth. “Is that the voice of personal experience? Do you have secrets, Penny?”
Her mouth went dry as his gaze bored into hers. One minute in and he was already too close for comfort. “No,” she croaked.
“Ah. So it’s the cynicism of someone newly divorced.” He grinned and took another drink. “You left your own party?”
“I just stepped out for a few minutes.”
“I’m ready to leave, too. So why don’t we leave together?”
She blinked, wondering if she’d misheard him, but the sexy glint in his eyes and the curve of his mouth was unmistakable—he wanted to get busy… with her. A tug on her midsection answered his call, and her breasts tingled, but her good-girl training kicked in. “I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s B.J.,” he said. “And don’t worry—I’m not a serial killer.”
She smirked. “I’ll bet that’s what all the serial killers say.”
He laughed, a pleasant noise that stroked her curiosity. “I promise that as long as you’re with me, nothing will ever happen to you… that you don’t want to happen.”
She swallowed hard. Strangely, she believed him, trusted him… with her body anyway.
He leaned forward. “You smell good.”
“Thanks…it’s, um, almond oil.”
“Really? Smells like doughnuts.”
She pushed her tongue into her cheek. She had to find a new place to live.
He grinned. “I love doughnuts.”
“I don’t,” she said firmly, and started to push away from the wall.
“Hey,” he said with a little laugh. “Relax. What do you like?”
She lifted her chin. “Tofu.”
“Tofu?” He made a rueful noise. “Lady, I’d sure like to try to change your idea of fun.”
She couldn’t help but laugh at his Cajun masochism. The man was appealing in a base sort of way.
He nodded toward the exit. “So how about it, Penny? Let me take your mind off… whatever.”
He listens to your mother!
In Lynsay Sands’ November 2005 release, A Quick Bite, Dr. Gregory Hewitt was just living his life, when a beautiful woman actually lures him into the trunk of a car… then presents him to her daughter as a birthday present! But this isn’t any birthday present, because Lissianna Argeneau is a vampire—a beautiful, alluring vampire, who is afraid of blood. And Greg is a psychiatrist—just the man to cure her… even if he does need to get all untied to begin his task.
The blonde paused at the door and turned to peer at him curiously.
Greg forced a stiff smile and asked, “Do you think you could maybe untie me?”
“Untie you?” Appearing surprised by the request, she moved to the bedside to peer down at him.
“Yes, please,” he said f
irmly, noting the way her gaze slid over his hands. Greg knew his wrists were red and abraded from tugging at his bindings. Their state seemed to confuse and distress her.
“Why didn’t Mother calm you? She shouldn’t have left you like this. Why—” She paused and blinked, then understanding filled her face. “Oh, of course. Bastien’s early arrival must have interrupted her before she could properly settle you. She probably meant to come back and finish with you after, but forgot.”
Greg didn’t have a clue what she was talking about, except that she seemed to think her mother had brought him here and he was positive she was wrong. “The woman who brought me here was too young to be your mother. She looked like you but had dark hair. Your sister maybe?” he guessed.
For some reason his words made her smile. “I don’t have a sister. The woman you’re describing is my mother. She’s older than she looks.”
Greg accepted this with some incredulity, then his eyes widened at the ramifications of what she was saying. “Then, I’m your birthday gift?”
She nodded slowly, then tilted her head and said, “That’s an odd smile. What are you thinking?”
Greg was thinking he was the luckiest son of a bitch alive as his mind automatically readjusted his earlier imaginings of a large, ugly woman stripping and climbing on top of him, to this woman doing so. He allowed himself to enjoy the fantasy for a moment, but then realized that his body was enjoying it way too much, a noticeable bulge growing in his pants. He gave his head a shake. As delightful as a night as this woman’s sex slave might be, he had plans: a trip full of sandy beaches, palm trees and half naked women gyrating on a dance floor. And it was already paid for.
Now if after his trip this woman wanted to go on a date in the normal way, then tie him to a bed and have her way with him…Well, Greg liked to consider himself an obliging sort. Besides, in this case, he thought being a sex slave might not be so bad. Realizing his thoughts were wandering into areas better left alone, Greg gave himself a mental kick and forced a stern look onto his face. “Kidnapping is illegal.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Did Mom kidnap you?”
“Not exactly,” he admitted, recalling how he’d climbed into the trunk under his own impetus. Kidnapping generally required being forcibly taken away. Greg supposed he could have lied, however, he was a poor liar. “But I don’t want to be here, and really I don’t have any idea why I climbed into the trunk of your mother’s car. It seemed the most natural thing to do at the time, but I’ve never …”
Greg’s voice trailed away as he realized that the blonde wasn’t listening to him. At least, she didn’t appear to be. She was staring at his head with concentration and a deepening frown. She was also moving closer to the bed, though he suspected it was a subconscious action. She seemed wholly concentrated on his hair, but then she shook her head with apparent frustration and muttered, “I can’t read your mind.”
“You can’t read my mind?” Greg echoed slowly.
She shook her head.
“I see … and … er … is that a problem?” he queried. “I mean, can you usually read people’s minds?”
She nodded, but it was an absent action; her thoughts were obviously elsewhere.
Greg tried to ignore the disappointment suddenly pinching at him as he acknowledged that the woman was mad, or at least delusional, if she thought she could read minds. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. The mother couldn’t exactly be normal or she wouldn’t allow strange men to climb into her trunk—for she’d been behind him and had to have seen him climb in. Anyone else would have run screaming for building security instead of taking him home.
It seemed madness was running rampant tonight. The first example had been his behavior, then the brunette’s, and now the blonde thought she could read minds. It made him wonder if there wasn’t some sort of citywide madness occurring. Perhaps men all around Toronto were climbing into trunks and letting themselves be tied to beds. Perhaps it was some sort of drug released into the city’s water reservoir, a terrorist plot to incapacitate the men in Canada.
On the other hand, maybe this was all just a weird dream and he was really still at his desk at work, head down and sound asleep. Greg decided that was the most likely possibility. It provided a most satisfactory explanation for his own inexplicable behavior in getting himself here. Of course, none of that really mattered. Asleep or awake, mad or not, he was here and, even if it was a dream, he wanted to get home. He had a flight to catch.
He turns up to help you just when you need him most!
In An Invitation to Sin, the December 2005 release by Suzanne Enoch, pretty Miss Caroline Witfeld is no usual Regency miss. She longs for a career—as a portrait artist. And she’s very, very good at it. But society dictates she must marry… or become a governess. Enter Lord Zachary Griffin …he’s so handsome, so amazingly portrait-worthy. What a subject on which to make her reputation! Zacharynotices immediately, though, that Caro has no interest in marriage, which makes her a most tempting kind of female, indeed! And soon, much more than Caroline’s professional reputation is at stake!
As they organized themselves, one of them—the chit who had emerged last from the house—caught his attention. It wasn’t that she was particularly striking, though she did have soft copper hair a few shades darker than her next sister, clear green eyes, and a trim, tall figure. No, it was the way she kept eyeing him from head to toe, even edging around to view his profile, as if he were some sort of insect and she an entomologist.
“Lord Zachary,” Mrs. Witfeld said, hauling the copper-haired girl to the head of the line, “this is my eldest girl, Caroline.”
He bowed. “Miss Witfeld. Pleased to meet you.”
Caroline Witfeld nodded back at him. “I advise you to save the bowing till the end, or you’ll end up dizzy,” she returned in a low, amused voice. Since her mother had moved on to the next daughter, he was probably the only one who’d heard it.
“Susan,” the matriarch was saying as she traveled down the line, “then the twins Joanna and Julia. Grace is just eighteen. The youngest are Anne and then Violet.”
Zachary shook Harold, the dog, off his foot, waited a moment to be certain Mrs. Witfeld was finished with the introductions, then bowed again. “It’s good to meet all of you,” he said, glancing again at the oldest girl, who seemed to have forgotten her wit of a moment ago and was now staring at his left hand. He experimentally wiggled his fingers, and she blinked.
“You’ve all grown so much,” Aunt Tremaine commented to the brood. “And into such lovely young ladies. My niece married a month ago, and I’m afraid I’ve been a bit starved for a good chat and a look at the fashion plates.”
One of the twins rushed her, clasping her hand. “Then you must stay! Mama, tell Lady Gladys she and Lord Zachary must stay!”
“Of course they’ll stay. I wouldn’t have it otherwise, and I’m certain Mr. Witfeld would agree.”
Aunt Tremaine smiled. “If it’s not imposing, we would love to visit for a few days.”
Caroline hung back a little as her sisters swarmed around Lord Zachary, each vying to be the one to show him to a guest bedchamber. She watched as he smiled again, diplomatically offering his arm to Violet, the youngest, and gestured the rest to lead the way.
Deep brown, almost black hair, with a slight glint of bronze in the afternoon sunlight, eyes that seemed to vary between a dusky charcoal and cloudy gray, and a pleasing figure both tall and athletic, Lord Zachary was an exceptionally handsome gentleman. In addition, his face, with its high cheekbones and aristocratic brow, had some very nice angles to it. Caroline would have smiled, but it wouldn’t do to announce victory until she’d made a few preliminary sketches and discovered whether she could do him justice on canvas.
At this moment, though, it seemed as if her prayers had been answered. She’d asked for an aristocrat, and Lord Zachary Griffin had practically sprung to life on her doorstep. And with him, her way out of Wiltshire.
Acknowledgme
nts
Many thanks to David and Grace Waldrop for the title brainstorming session over margaritas on the beach at Captiva—In Deep Voodoo is my favorite title ever. Thanks to my husband, Christopher Hauck, who listened to my oftentimes nonsensical ramblings as this story and these characters came to life in my head. A shout-out to gal pal Joan Hug for giving me the idea for my character’s secret vice, and to Christy Brown for entertaining “taxing” questions for all of my books. Thanks to my writing critique partners, Carmen Green and Rita Herron, for their constant support. And many thanks to my logistics men, Willis Bond and Tim Logsdon. Thanks also to my agent, Kimberly Whalen at Trident Media Group, for encouraging me to write this series, and to my editor, Lyssa Keusch at Avon Books, for buying it (and making it better). And to my readers, whose e-mail notes to “write faster!” keep me going when the words don’t want to come.
About the Author
STEPHANIE BOND walked away from a corporate career in computer programming to write romantic fiction full time. These days she uses her computer keyboard to produce fast-paced novels with a comedic twist. Stephanie lives with her husband and her laptop in midtown Atlanta. You can contact Stephanie in care of Avon Books, 10 East 53rd Street, New York, NY 10022 or via her website at
www.stephaniebond.com.
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By Stephanie Bond
IN DEEP VOODOO
WHOLE LOTTA TROUBLE
PARTY CRASHERS
KILL THE COMPETITION
I THINK I LOVE YOU
GOT YOUR NUMBER
OUR HUSBAND
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
IN DEEP VOODOO. Copyright © 2005 by Stephanie Bond Hauck. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of PerfectBound™.
In Deep Voodoo Page 29
