When they were alone again, Nadine found a seat and dropped into it. She didn’t look at him, choosing instead to pet Louie.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know what they were doing.”
God, she was beautiful. And sweet. And sexy.
Shohn took a seat beside her. “Everyone knows I have a buttinsky family.”
“You have a lovely family—when they aren’t meddling.”
He grinned, remembering the first time she’d said that. “If you don’t mind, I’d really like to tell them.” The cat meowed, and Shohn picked him up. “And Louie, too. He’s part of the deal.”
“Tell them...what?”
He brushed a finger over her jaw, bent and kissed her lightly. “That I love you.”
When Nadine sat there, glassy-eyed and looking somewhat shocked, he said, “Well? What do you say? Can I let my family—or for that matter, all of Buckhorn, even—know that you’re mine?” And just to convince her, he added, “It’ll be safer for Garrett that way.”
“Garrett could never be any real competition for you.”
Shohn couldn’t wait to tell his cousin that. “If you think so, then you must love me, too?”
She launched off her seat to land in his lap, laughing a little, crying some, too. “Yes, I love you, Shohn. So much! I’ve loved you since we were kids.”
Louie complained at being squished between them. He wiggled free with a protesting “Meowrrrr” and crawled up and over Shohn’s shoulder, where he draped himself in lazy splendor.
“I’ve lusted after you since I was a kid.” Shohn tipped up her chin. “I might’ve been slow then, not realizing that it was everything about you that drew me, not just your awesome bod. But now as a man, you can count on me loving you for the rest of my life.”
Nadine hugged him tight. “I guess good things come to those who wait.” And under her breath, she muttered, “Take that, pride.”
Shohn started to ask her what she meant, but then she kissed him, and he forgot about it. Life was good in Buckhorn County.
Given the excited way his family chatted in the yard, they agreed.
* * * * *
Keep reading for a sneak peek at HOLDING STRONG, the sizzling new book in Lori’s ULTIMATE series, coming soon from HQN Books!
CHERRY PEYTON WAS ALWAYS the life of the party.
The loud music competed with the furious drumming of Denver’s heart as he monitored her every move. The music’s wild tempo kept her body from touching Stack’s. They danced around each other and the rest of the crowd on the floor.
Every guy there made note of her, seeing her once and then taking a longer look. Her happiness, her laugh and that killer bod all combined for one hell of an impact on the male libido.
For over an hour Denver watched her draw attention and smiles and, no doubt, sexual thoughts. He ignored other women who tried to get his attention, those who came up to him and propositioned him in modest and sometimes lewd ways.
Yeah, he wanted to get laid.
But he wanted Cherry, not anyone else.
It pissed him off that he couldn’t get her out of his head. He should have had her before decreeing theirs an acquaintance-only relationship—then maybe he could have some perspective when it came to seeing her with other men.
Then again, maybe not—because days after meeting her, he’d known sex wasn’t the only thing he wanted. He’d already begun to think of her as his, even though he hadn’t even kissed her yet.
If only his territorial tendencies didn’t clash so badly with her carefree party-girl manner.
Seeing her accept her third glass of wine, he finished off his beer and called it quits.
At least on the alcohol.
He stewed while she indulged in several dances with too many different guys—never mind that they were all from their group, fighters that she, and he, knew well and trusted as friends. They’d all come down en masse to cheer on one of their own. Fighters from the rec center who sparred and coached together. Men he’d known forever.
Men who had befriended Cherry when she’d become roommates with Merissa, another fighter’s sister.
She was well and truly enmeshed in his life, friends with his friends, a part of their inner group, and if he wasn’t denying himself like a freaking masochist he’d be over there with them right now. She’d be laughing and joking with him. Dancing with him.
Treating him like everyone else.
That she was so well accepted in their circle made it even more impossible to stop thinking about her, because everywhere he went, he saw her.
Finally, after a robust dance that had her laughing aloud, Cherry began to fade. She dropped into a chair at a table with three other fighters and a few women.
Her gaze never once came his way—almost as if she knew where he was and avoided making eye contact with him.
Suited Denver fine. Mostly.
Damn it.
Copyright © 2015 by Lori Foster
About the Author
Lori Foster is a New York Times, USA TODAY and Publishers Weekly bestselling author with books from a variety of publishers, including Berkley/Jove, Kensington, St. Martin’s, Harlequin and Silhouette. Lori has been a recipient of the prestigious RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award for Series Romantic Fantasy and for Contemporary Romance. For more about Lori, visit her website at www.lorifoster.com.
THE ONE
YOU WANT
Gena Showalter
A huge thank-you to Susan Mallery,
Lori Foster and Bella Andre.
Being in a book with you guys is a dream come true!
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
EXCERPT FROM THE CLOSER YOU COME
CHAPTER ONE
“YOU’RE LATE.” A harried man wearing a suit that could have graced the cover of a high-fashion magazine stepped into Kenna Starr’s path, stopping her. “All staff enters at the back. Be a good girl and hurry.”
Humiliation burned her cheeks as his identity clicked into place. Timothy Calbert Jr. She’d practically grown up with the guy, and though he’d left town years ago and must have returned only for this special event, the fact that he was her boss’s son meant she couldn’t correct him the way she had as a child: a slap to the back of the head.
“I’m not staff,” she muttered. Not tonight, at least. Usually she did work events just like this one. And, granted, she was wearing a dress similar to the one gracing every female serving hors d’oeuvres to the engagement party guests.
By “similar,” of course, she meant “the exact same.”
But every cent she made went to bills and there was never anything left over for extras. So she’d gone with Plan ABG. All Baby’s Got. Her uniform.
Sure, it was far too short and so tight breathing was nothing more than a pipe dream, but it had one redeeming feature—it cost zero dollars.
Resourceful gal that she was, Kenna had tried to set herself apart by tying a sheer white scarf around her neck, letting the ends hang between her cleavage and fall all the way to the dress’s hem.
Clearly #WardrobeFail.
No! Bad Kenna! No mentally using Twitter tonight. “I’m a guest,” she added. “An honored guest.” Kind of. Maybe.
Okay, probably not.
Junior’s lips pursed with irritation. “Name?”
Seriously? She told him, trying not to be further humiliated.
He checked his clipboard. After a blink of surprise, he gave her a disapproving once-over. “Through there.” He pointed to the left, but made no effort to move out of her way.
Head high, she skirted around him and came to the foyer’s edge. The party was already in full swing, the spacious sitting room crowded. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she studied face after face she didn’t recognize. With the glitter and shine radiating from flawless skin and perfectly made-up features, these people had “city” written all over them.
And she was just supposed to mingle with them? The cream of Oklahoman society? With Dane Michaelson, who was expected to be here?
#ThisSucks!
He’d moved away from Strawberry Valley sixteen years ago. Though his parents had kept their home, he’d never returned. Not even for a short visit. But the town had never forgotten him and, according to gossip, he’d recently taken over his father’s crude oil and natural gas business.
Natural gas, she thought, snickering.
I am not a child. She quickly smoothed her features into a prim-and-proper expression. I am a good little robot.
She scanned the crowd again, but found no sign of Dane. A man rumored to go through supermodel-like beauties as if they entered his bedroom on a conveyor belt—and exited that way, too. In his spare time, he raced fast cars, played golf and sailed, and attended the occasional charity gala. Rich-boy luxuries a country girl like her would never experience.
Did he spend any time thinking about her? Remembering her—hating her?
Can’t worry about stupid Dane Michaelson and his stupid feelings. I’m going to have fun. For once.
#LiesITellMyself.
Desperate for a distraction, she took a step forward. Finally she spotted a few locals. In Strawberry Valley, everyone knew everyone else, so it was only a matter of time before someone noticed her and waved her over....
Andy fetch me a scotch and this time don’t be stingy Teegle skipped his gaze right over her. Caroline I’ll know if you spit in my food Walloby pointed to her empty champagne glass, expecting a refill.
All I’ll ever be to these people is a waitress.
Kenna’s best friend and roommate, Brook Lynn Dillon, who was serving tonight, noticed her and made a funny face. Kenna laughed, wishing she could sidle up to her friend and stay put for the rest of the evening. To near the girl was to enter her force field, becoming invisible to everyone everywhere. Men especially couldn’t see anything but Brook Lynn’s fall of curling blond hair and big blue eyes.
As if he hoped to prove it, an older male wrapped his beefy fingers around Brook Lynn’s arm. The girl jolted, and the tray she held wavered. Champagne sloshed over the rim of the glasses, and the women around her stepped away as if she’d just contracted a deadly virus—while all of the men moved closer in an attempt to help her.
She tried to wave them off.
They kept talking to her, patting her with napkins to blot up what had spilled.
One rescue, coming up. Kenna hopped off the dais and strode forward, determined to free her friend from the grabby hands. But as more and more partygoers moved away from the chaos, a path beside the girl opened up, revealing the group of people Kenna hadn’t yet noticed. At the center of them was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. So beautiful he couldn’t possibly be real.
The moisture in her mouth instantly dried. He was tall and leanly muscled, with bronzed skin and hair a rich jet-black. His features looked chiseled from granite. Strong, sculpted. Hard. His eyes, a smoldering gold, were stunning and somehow familiar, perfectly offsetting his blade of a nose. A nose that would have been considered too severe if not for the luscious contrast provided by the only point of softness he possessed—his lips. Even his jaw was hard, a square shadowed by the hint of a beard.
He wore danger and excitement as well as he wore his pin-striped suit, as if everything had been perfectly tailored to fit him by magic fairies. Kenna shivered. He was every woman’s fantasy made flesh...and he was staring right at her, his glass lifted midway to his lips, as if he’d been frozen in time.
Electricity crackled in the air between them, a new experience for her. One she didn’t understand, and didn’t like. But as ensnared by him as she was, she didn’t realize she’d bypassed Brook Lynn completely to stop directly in front of him...until it was too late to back away without causing a scene.
What have I done?
Chin up. Shoulders back. Smile.
“Um, hi,” she said, then cursed herself for being lame.
The chesty blonde at the man’s side flicked her an irritated glance, only to brighten. “Oh, good.” She handed Kenna an empty glass. “I’d like another. Thanks.” Then, with her profile to Kenna, she returned to her story about a recent trip to Italy and all the fun she’d had.
Welcome to my nightmare. Kenna’s cheeks heated.
Sadly, I doubt this will be the last time I’m embarrassed tonight.
Mr. Fantasy slowly lowered his glass. His eyelids appeared heavy, long black lashes shielding all that smoldering gold. “Kenna Starr,” he said, unrepentant as he interrupted the blonde—who then faced Kenna with darkening interest. “It’s nice to see you again.” His voice was as heady and seductive as the rest of him. Low, with a raspy quality, like melted honey drizzled over warm chocolate chip cookies.
Then his words penetrated her awareness of his masculine charm. See her...again?
He must have sensed her confusion, because he added, “And in the same spot we first met, no less.”
Realization was like a punch in the gut. The same spot. There was only one person she’d met in this house...no, please no...but there was no denying it. She’d just stumbled upon Dane Michaelson.
He looked to be the right age. Around twenty-nine. He had the right hair and eye color. But he didn’t have a mess of scars on the left side of his face—surgery?—and he wasn’t peering at her with hatred, wasn’t calling her awful names.
You’re stupid and ugly and trash!
Those were the words he’d spat at her during their last “play date.” She’d been seven, and he’d been thirteen, and before that moment, she’d loved spending time with him. Which was funny, considering he’d ignored her every time they were thrown together, never deigning to speak with her until those final minutes. But she’d wanted a friend so badly she’d somehow convinced herself she could win him over.
Now, looking back, she knew how impossible that would have been. At the time, he’d known what she hadn’t. Her mother and his father were having an affair.
Kenna wanted to hide under the covers every time her mind drifted back to the day of discovery—when she remembered Christine Michaelson, Dane’s mother, walking in on the couple.
How could you do this to me? I’m your wife. And you. You’re nothing but trash. A cheap whore!
The very next day, the Michaelson family had moved into the city, about an hour and a half away. Kenna often wondered if Dane realized the affair had continued despite the long distance. Roanne Starr’s “me vacations” to “rest and recharge,” despite the fact that she had never worked a day in her life, had given her away. And—
Everyone is watching me, Kenna realized with dawning horror. They were waiting for her to respond to Dane.
“You grew up,” she blurted out. Oh, wow. State the obvious much? Way to rack up the fails tonight. You don’t even deserve a mental Twitter account.
“I know a few people who would agree with you,” he replied easily, those amber eyes glittering. “But not many.”
“Well,” the chesty blonde said, running her well-manicured hand down his tie. “I happen to know for a fact that you’re a big...big boy.”
O-kay. Going there, are we?
Dane frowned at the woman.
“Darling!” Roanne’s voice registered, saving Kenna from having to say anything else.
A slender arm wrapped around Kenna’s waist and tugged her none too gently from the group. “Excuse us, please.”
“I guess this is goodbye,” Kenna said with a wave.
Dane’s frown landed on her and deepened.
Roanne drew her away, managing to maintain a smile as she whispered, “I asked you not to embarrass me, and you show up like this?”
Ah. Motherly love and unconditional acceptance. Can’t ever get enough.
They stopped in a shadowed corner. At forty-five, Roanne was still one of the most beautiful women Kenna had ever seen, with a thick mass of red waves and green eyes that rivaled the most expensive of emeralds, two features Kenna had inherited. But while Roanne had flawless porcelain skin, Kenna was covered in freckles.
“It’s like you go out of your way to hurt me.” Roanne removed Kenna’s scarf and tucked one end along the bust of her dress.
“What are you doing?” she asked, standing still and just letting it happen, whatever it was. Fighting would do no good.
“Making you somewhat presentable. You should have let me buy you a dress.”
Roanne had been living off Henry Starr’s insurance money for about two years. He’d died of cancer after an eight-month battle; actually, he’d died of a broken heart long before that, hating Roanne for her betrayal, but never leaving her. Why he’d stuck around, Kenna had never known. It certainly hadn’t been for her. He’d actually disowned her right before her seventeenth birthday, and he’d made it clear his money wasn’t to be spent on her, so despite her mom’s seemingly kind offer—always comes with strings—Kenna would never take a dime.
“You know Daddy would have rather I wore last season’s garbage bag,” she said.
“He’s dead. What he wants doesn’t matter anymore.”
“That’s so cold.”
All For You: Halfway ThereBuckhorn Ever AfterThe One You WantOne Perfect Night Page 15
