Things Good Girls Don't Do

by Gary, Codi

  He could tell by the look on her face that she didn’t believe him, so he continued, “The trouble with sexy is people have different tastes. Some guys like girls in flashy, skimpy clothes with big hair and cowboy boots. Other guys think shy girls who are less obvious are more desirable. Some guys check out a woman’s body and others look at her face. It’s all about personal preference.”

  “What kind of girls do you like?”

  Was she kidding? He didn’t really have a type, unless you counted busty redheads with blue eyes who liked to wear a lot of wool, but he wasn’t about to say that. Besides accepting his kiss at New Year’s, Ryan had been nothing but professional, and a good friend. He wasn’t going to jeopardize that by opening his big fat mouth. “I like girls who are confident. They need to be funny and like the same things I do—”

  She interrupted him. “Yeah, but that’s not what makes you approach her, right? Are you a leg man or a breast man?”

  “What?” He couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped.

  “It’s a simple question. Does a girl who walks into a bar wearing a miniskirt get you going or a low-cut top?”

  This conversation was leading into some very dangerous areas, but he answered her anyway. “Low-cut top.”

  She blushed at his quick reply, and at that moment he’d have given more than a penny to get a real good look at those thoughts.

  About the Author

  * * *

  CODI GARY has been an obsessive bookworm for twenty years and dreamed of writing romances since her first Sweet Valley High book. She writes best with a white mocha in one hand and the sound of female country singers in her ears. She lives in Idaho with her family.

  You can find her online at www.codigarysbooks.com or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/CodiGarysBooks.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

  By Codi Gary

  Things Good Girls Don’t Do

  “The Trouble With Sexy” in Kiss Me:

  An Avon Books Valentine’s Day Anthology

  Give in to your impulses . . .

  Read on for a sneak peek at four brand-new

  e-book original tales of romance from Avon Books.

  Available now wherever e-books are sold.

  LESS THAN A GENTLEMAN

  By Kerrelyn Sparks

  WHEN I FIND YOU

  A TRUST NO ONE NOVEL

  By Dixie Lee Brown

  PLAYING THE FIELD

  A DIAMONDS AND DUGOUTS NOVEL

  By Jennifer Seasons

  HOW TO MARRY A HIGHLANDER

  By Katharine Ashe

  An Excerpt from

  LESS THAN A GENTLEMAN

  by Kerrelyn Sparks

  New York Times bestselling author Kerrelyn Sparks returns to romance during the Revolutionary War with the sequel to her debut historical novel, The Forbidden Lady.

  Matthias gazed up the lattice to his balcony. As youngsters, he and his cousin had used the lattice to sneak out at night and go fishing. Of course the doors had not been bolted back then, but climbing down the lattice had seemed more exciting.

  Matthias wasn’t sure the lattice would hold his weight now, but with Dottie’s restorative coursing through him, he felt eager to give it a jolly good try. Halfway up, a thin board cracked beneath his shoe. He shifted his weight and found another foothold. The last thing he wanted was to slip and tear Dottie’s stitches from his shoulder.

  He swung his legs over the balcony railing and landed with a soft thud. How odd. His door was open. Of course, he reminded himself. Dottie had gone there to fetch his clothes. She must have opened the door to air out the room.

  He slipped inside. Moonlight filtered into the room, glimmering off the white mosquito netting. He strolled over to the secretaire, then kicked off his shoes and dropped his breeches. When he draped the breeches on the back of the chair, he noticed something was already there, something thick. He ran his fingers over the folds of cotton. The scent of roses drifted up to his nose. His mother’s perfume. Why would she have left one of her gowns in his room?

  Odd. He pulled off his stockings. He’d talk to his mother in the morning. For now, he simply wanted to sink into a mattress and forget about the war.

  He unwrapped his neck cloth, then removed his shirt and undergarments. How could he forget the war when he had so much to do? Ferryboats to burn. Supplies to capture. He untied the bow from his hair and dropped the thin leather thong on the desk. And those two missing females. Where the hell could they be?

  He strode to the bed and slipped under the netting. With a sigh of contentment, he stretched out between the clean cotton sheets.

  The bed shifted.

  He blinked, staring at the ghostly netting overhead. He hadn’t budged an inch. There was only one explanation.

  Slowly, he turned his head and peered into the darkness beside him. The counterpane appeared lumpy, as if— He listened carefully. Yes, soft breathing.

  He sat up. A soft moan emanated from the form beside him. Female. His heart started to pound, his body reacting instinctively. Good God, it had been too long since he . . .

  What the hell? He drew his racing libido to a screeching halt. This had to be another one of his mother’s plots to force him to marry! Even Dottie was in on it. She had insisted he bathe and go to the Great House. Then they had locked up the house, so he would be forced to climb the lattice to his bedchamber. Straight into their trap.

  He scrambled out of bed, batting at the mosquito netting that still covered him.

  The female gasped and sat up. “Who’s there?”

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered. His mother’s scheme had worked perfectly. He was alone and naked with whomever she had chosen for his bride.

  Another gasp, and a rustling of sheets. The woman climbed out of bed. Damn! She would run straight to her witnesses to inform them that he’d bedded her.

  “No!” He leapt across the bed and grabbed her. “You’re not getting away.” He hauled her squirming body back onto the bed. Her sudden intake of air warned him of her intent to scream.

  He cupped a hand over her mouth. “Don’t.”

  She clamped down with her teeth.

  “Ow!” He ripped his hand from her mouth.

  She slapped at his shoulders.

  He winced as she pounded on his injury. “Enough.” He seized her by the wrists and pinned her arms down. “No screaming. And no biting. Do you understand?”

  Her breaths sounded quick and frightened.

  He settled on top of her, applying just enough pressure to keep her from escaping. “I know what you’re after. You think to trap me in wedlock so easily?”

  “What?”

  He could hardly see her pale face in the dark. His damp hair fell forward, further obstructing his view as he leaned closer. The scent of her soap surrounded him. Magnolia blossoms. His favorite, and Dottie knew it. This was a full-fledged conspiracy. “I assume you brought witnesses with you?”

  “Witnesses?”

  “Of course. Why would you want me in your bed if there were no one to see it?”

  “My God, you’re perverse.”

  “You’re hoping I am, aren’t you?” He stroked the inside of her wrist. “You’re hoping I’ll be tempted by your soft skin.”

  She shook her head and wiggled beneath him.

  He gulped. She was definitely not wearing a corset beneath her shift. “You think I cannot resist a beautiful, womanly form?” Damn, but she was hard to resist.

  “Get off of me,” she hissed.

  “I beg your pardon? That’s hardly the language of a seductress. Didn’t they coach you better than that?”

  “Damn you, release me.”

  He chuckled. “You’re supposed to coo in my ear, not curse me. Come now, let me hear your pretty little speech. Tell me how much you want me. Tell me how you’re burning to make love to me.”

  “I’d rather burn in hell, you demented buffoon.”<
br />
  He paused, wondering for the first time whether he had misinterpreted the situation. “You’re . . . not here to seduce me?”

  “Of course not. Why would I have any interest in a demented buffoon?”

  He gritted his teeth. “Then who are you and why are you in this bed?”

  “I was in bed to sleep, which would be obvious if you weren’t such a demented—”

  “Enough! Who are you?”

  She paused.

  “Is the question too difficult?”

  She huffed. “I . . . I’m Agatha Ludlow.”

  An Excerpt from

  WHEN I FIND YOU

  A TRUST NO ONE NOVEL

  by Dixie Lee Brown

  Dixie Lee Brown continues her heart-racing Trust No One series with a sexy veteran determined to protect an innocent woman on the run.

  “Okay—now that I’ve got your attention, let me tell you about my day.” Walker resumed his pacing. “I’ve been up since four-thirty this morning. I’ve saved your neck three times so far today, and for my trouble I’ve been cracked on the skull, threatened by a bear, and nearly drowned. We’re through doing it your way.” He stopped and pinned her with a warning glance. “I realize you’re confused and you’ve got no idea who I am, but there’s only one thing you need to know. I’m taking you out of here with me, and I don’t care if I have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you out. Are we clear?”

  She watched him without saying a word, looking anything but resigned to her fate.

  Walker stared back, daring her to defy him.

  She never even flinched.

  “If you were me, what would you do?” Her strong, clear voice challenged him, while her eyes flashed with fire.

  “If I were you, I’d find someone I could trust and stick with him until this is over.”

  “And that’s you, I suppose? How do I know I can trust you?”

  He made a show of looking around. “You don’t have a lot of options at the moment, but, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m the one trying to keep you alive.” He reached for her elbow and pulled her to her feet. The cool breeze through his wet clothes chilled him, and he worried about her. Even with her arms wrapped around herself, just beneath her breasts, she still shook. No sense putting this off. She wasn’t magically going to start trusting him in the next few minutes, and they had to get moving.

  He held up his jacket in front of her and took a deep breath. “Get out of those wet clothes and put this coat on.”

  Her eyes widened in alarm and she stared at him, resting her hands on her hips in a stance that would have made him smile if she hadn’t been so serious. He held her gaze, expecting her to tell him to go to hell. He couldn’t afford to give on this issue, so he kept talking. “We’ll head back to higher ground, start a fire, and get our clothes dried out. I have to warm you up, and this is the only way I know to do it. We don’t have time to argue about this.”

  “You can’t seriously expect me to . . . you’re wet and cold, too. Wear your own damn coat.” She wrapped her arms around her waist again, as though she could stop her trembling.

  The fear in her expression tugged at his conscience and sent him searching for the words to reassure her that he wasn’t going to jump her as soon as she undressed. The suspicious glare she fixed him with succeeded in hardening his resolve, and he lowered the coat, raised an eyebrow, and swept his gaze over her. “Either you can get out of those clothes yourself, or I can help you.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “You’ll find there’s not too much I wouldn’t do.”

  Darcy glowered at him a few more seconds, clearly wishing she had a tree branch in her hand. Then she sighed and dropped her gaze, blinking several times in quick succession, obviously determined that he wouldn’t see her break down. So, the woman wasn’t as tough as she wanted him to believe. Her vulnerability unleashed a wave of protectiveness that washed over him and left him feeling like an ass.

  He frowned. “I’m not the enemy.” He held the coat higher so it blocked his view of everything but her head and shoulders. “Hurry, we have to get moving.” Trembling visibly, her lips still maintained a bluish tint. She wasn’t out of danger yet.

  An Excerpt from

  PLAYING THE FIELD

  A DIAMONDS AND DUGOUTS NOVEL

  by Jennifer Seasons

  The sexy baseball players of Jennifer Seasons’ Diamonds and Dugouts series are back with the story of a single mom, a hot rookie, and a second chance at love.

  JP reached out an arm to snag her, but she slipped just out of reach—for the moment. Did she really think she could get away from him?

  There was a reason he played shortstop in the major leagues. He was damn fast. And now that he’d decided to make Sonny his woman, she was about to find out just how quick he could be. All night he’d tossed and turned for her, his curiosity rampant. When he’d finally rolled out of bed, he’d had one clear goal: to see Sonny. Nothing had existed outside that.

  Her leaving her cell phone at the restaurant last night had been the perfect excuse. All he’d had to do was run an internet search for her business to get her address. And now here he was, unexpectedly up close and personal with her. So close he could smell the scent of her shampoo, and it was doing funny things to him. Things like making him want to bury his nose in her hair and inhale.

  No way was he going to miss this golden opportunity.

  With a devil’s grin, he moved and had her back against the aging barn wall before she’d finished gasping. “Look me in the eyes right now and tell me I don’t affect you, that you’re not interested.” He traced a lazy path down the side of her neck with his fingertips and felt her shiver. “Because I don’t believe that line for an instant, sunshine.”

  Close enough to feel the heat she was throwing from her deliciously curved body, JP laughed softly when she tried to sidestep and squeeze free. Her shyness was so damn cute. He raised an arm and blocked her in, his palm flush against the rough, splintering wood. Leaning in close, he grinned when she blushed and her gaze flickered to his lips. Her mouth opened on a soft rush of breath, and, for a suspended moment, something sparked and held between them.

  But then Sonny shook back her rose-gold curls and tipped her chin with defiance. “Believe what you want, JP. I don’t have to prove anything to you.” Her denim blue eyes flashed with emotion. “This might come as a surprise, but I’m not interested in playing with a celebrity like you. I have a business to run and a son to raise. I don’t need the headache.”

  There was an underlying nervousness to her tone that didn’t quite jive with the tough-as-nails attitude she was trying to project. Either she was scared or he affected her more than she wanted to admit. She didn’t look scared.

  JP dropped his gaze to her mouth, wanting to kiss those juicy lips, and felt her body brush against his. He could feel her pulse, fast and frantic, under his fingertips.

  It made his pulse kick up a notch in anticipation. “There’s a surefire way to end this little disagreement right now, because I say you’re lying. I say you are interested in a celebrity like me.” He cupped her chin with his hand and watched her thick lashes flutter as she broke eye contact. But she didn’t pull away. “In fact, I say you’re interested in me.”

  JP knew he had her.

  Her voice came, soft and a little shaky. “How do I prove I’m not?” The way she was staring at his mouth contradicted her words. So did the way her body was leaning into his.

  Lowering his head until he was a whisper away, he issued the challenge, “Kiss me.”

  Her gaze flew to his, her eyes wide with shock. “You want me to do what?”

  What he knew they both wanted.

  “Kiss me. Prove to me you’re not interested, and I’ll leave here. You can go back to your business and your son and never see my celebrity ass again.”

  An Excerpt from

  HOW TO MARRY A HIGHLANDER

  by Katharine Ashe

  In this del
ightful novella from award-winning author Katharine Ashe, a young matchmaker may win the laird of her dreams if she can manage to find husbands for seven Scottish ladies—in just one month!

  It would have been remarkable if Teresa had not been quivering in her prettiest slippers. Six pairs of eyes stared at her as though she wore horns atop her hat. She was astounded that she had not yet turned and run. Desperation and determination were all well and good when one was sitting in Mrs. Biddycock’s parlor, traveling in one’s best friend’s commodious carriage, and living in one’s best friend’s comfortable town house. But standing in a strange flat in an alien part of town, anticipating meeting the man one had been dreaming about for eighteen months while being studied intensely by his female relatives, did give one pause.

  Her cheeks felt like flame, which was dispiriting; when she blushed, her hair looked glaringly orange in contrast. And this was not the romantic setting in which she had long imagined they would again encounter each other—another ballroom glittering with candlelight, or a rose-trellised garden path in the moonlight, or even a field of waving heather aglow with sunshine. Instead she now stood in a dingy little flat three stories above what looked suspiciously like a gin house.

  But desperate times called for desperate measures. She gripped the rim of her bonnet before her and tried to still her nerves.

  The sister who had gone to fetch him reappeared in the doorway and smiled. “Here he is, then, miss.”

  A heavy tread sounded on the squeaking floorboards. Teresa’s breath fled.

  Then he was standing not two yards away, filling the doorway, and . . .