The Debutante Is Mine

by Vivienne Lorret

  When she turned around, North was there beside her. He lifted a hand to cup her jaw. “I am sorry for your friend. If you like, I will work her equation and find a match for her. In addition, I will introduce her to as many of my unmarried friends as possible. You must know that I would do anything . . . ”

  His touch stirred so many sensations within her. She wanted to lean against his hand and close her eyes. Fighting the impulse was next to impossible. “Anything other than marry her yourself.”

  “I am sorry, Ivy.”

  He wouldn’t marry Lilah. Ivy’s entire purpose for attending this party was to save her friend, and she had failed. So then why was joy leaping inside her heart?

  “No. I am the one who should be sorry, because hearing those words from your lips fills me with blissful relief, when it should fill me with agony instead.” It was no use. She lifted her hand to cover his, to urge him to linger. “I am a terrible friend. I failed Jasper, and now I have failed—”

  “How did you fail?” North shook his head, his gaze frank and earnest. “Even in the short duration of our acquaintance, I feel as if I know you. You cannot fail at anything, because you are the kind of person who does not give up when something matters to you. I know you, Ivy, to the very core of my being. You weave the world around you into a fabric of light that blankets anyone who stands near. Your vivacity is as charming as it is infectious. Your heart is warm and open. And your curiosity might even rival my own. There is nothing within you that could fail.”

  Embarrassed, she wanted to look away so that she wouldn’t have to face the truth. She even attempted to step back but found herself against the bookcase. Yet even with North so close, his hand still curled beneath her jaw, she did not feel trapped. Surprisingly, she found his nearness comforting. If ever there was a time to admit her dreaded secret, now was it.

  “But I did fail,” she said. “For years, I tried hard to be perfect. To let Jasper know that I was the bride for him. I was patient. You may not believe it, but I was. Nearly ten years went by before my impulsive nature finally consumed me. And when I kissed him on that last night we ever spoke, he scolded me and told me that I did not stir his passions.”

  North slowly shook his head, his gaze drifting to her mouth, lingering. “That is not possible.”

  “It is true, I tell you. I must have done it wrong. All I know is that I wasn’t enough for him. And there you have it.”

  “Not possible. I simply do not believe it.” His thumb swept against the underside of her bottom lip. “Your mouth is far too perfect.”

  Ivy held her breath. “Apparently not.”

  “It is a matter of simple mechanics.” His gaze lifted to hers. He edged closer by degrees. With one hand propped on the shelf beside her head, and the other sliding to the back of her neck, his fingertip dipped into the hollow at the base of her skull. A riot of tingles traversed her spine, plummeting all the way to her toes. “I’ll show you.”

  And then he kissed her. Her lips parted on a soundless gasp of pleasure. The press of his mouth was brief but warm and pleasantly firm. When he withdrew, the sensation of his lips upon hers lingered. A current zinged through her. She imagined that she knew what an electric coil felt like, all tingly and warm.

  Reeling from it, she was almost afraid to ask his thoughts. Instead, she prolonged the moment. She licked her lips to see if she could taste him, and the barest hint of port teased her tongue.

  His gaze darkened. The hand at her nape tightened ever so slightly. His nostrils flared and his breath rushed against her lips, but he said nothing.

  Surely something that felt so wondrous to her couldn’t have been a complete failure. Could it? Ivy closed her eyes before she asked, “Well?”

  “I’d say the experiment was a complete success. However . . . ”

  Her eyes snapped open. “However?”

  “It was only one kiss,” he said with a slight lift of his brow, as if uncertain. Yet one of those creases made an appearance beside his mouth. “A scientist must experiment multiple times in order to come to a definitive conclusion. I believe we should make another attempt, for further study, of course.”

  He hesitated only long enough for her to agree with a nod before he took her mouth again. This time, he angled his head the other direction, kissing her once—twice, nuzzling the corner of her mouth. By the time he concluded, she was out of breath and clinging to his shoulders.

  “Hmm . . . ” he murmured, the low sound vibrating through her. “Another successful experiment.”

  She moved closer, her hands sliding down from the breadth of his shoulders beneath his coat to wrap around his torso. This new position molded her body to his. Beneath the solid wall of his chest, his heart pounded. Her breasts ached and her back arched so that she felt the firm rise and fall of his breaths. And lower, she felt the unyielding, intriguing heat of him. “Though . . . perhaps further study is in order.”

  “In great depth.” His hand abandoned the shelf and settled on her hip. He shifted, his feet on either side of hers. “I must warn you—this may take a while.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  USA Today best-selling author VIVIENNE LORRET loves romance novels, her pink laptop, her husband, and her two sons (not necessarily in that order . . . but there are days). Transforming copious amounts of tea into words, she is an Avon Impulse author of works including Tempting Mr. Weatherstone, The Wallflower Wedding series, The Rakes of Fallow Hall series, The Duke’s Christmas Wish, and the Season’s Original series.

  Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

  BY VIVIENNE LORRET

  The Season’s Original Series

  “The Duke’s Christmas Wish” in All I Want for Christmas Is a Duke

  The Debutante Is Mine

  The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series

  The Elusive Lord Everhart

  The Devilish Mr. Danvers

  The Maddening Lord Montwood

  The Wallflower Wedding Series

  Tempting Mr. Weatherstone (novella)

  Daring Miss Danvers

  Winning Miss Wakefield

  Finding Miss McFarland

  Give in to your Impulses . . .

  Continue reading for excerpts from

  our newest Avon Impulse books.

  Available now wherever ebooks are sold.

  SERVING TROUBLE

  A SECOND SHOT NOVEL

  By Sara Jane Stone

  IGNITE

  THE WILDWOOD SERIES

  By Karen Erickson

  BLACK LISTED

  A BENEDICTION NOVEL

  By Shelly Bell

  An Excerpt from

  SERVING TROUBLE

  A Second Shot Novel

  by Sara Jane Stone

  Five years ago, Josie Fairmore left timber country in search of a bright future. Now she’s back home with a mountain of debt and reeling from a loss that haunts her. Desperate for a job, she turns to the one man she wishes she could avoid. But former Marine Noah Tager has never forgotten their one wild night and the only thing he desires is a second chance with his best friend’s little sister.

  She tried the door. Locked, dammit.

  Ignoring the warning bells in her head telling her to run to her best friend’s club and offer to serve a topless breakfast, she raised her hand and knocked.

  “Hang on a sec,” a deep voice called from the other side. She remembered that sound and could hear the echo of his words from five long years ago, before he’d joined the marines and before she’d gone to college hoping for a brighter future—and found more heartache.

  Call, email, or send a letter. Hell, send a carrier pigeon. I don’t care how you get in touch, or where I am. If you need me, I’ll find a way to help.

  He’d meant every word. But people changed. They hardened. They took hits and got back up, leaving their heart beaten and wrecked on the ground.

  She glanced down as if the bloody pieces of her broken heart would appear at her feet. Nope.
Nothing but cement and her boots. She’d left her heart behind in Portland, dead and buried, thank you very much.

  The door opened. She looked up and . . .

  Oh my . . . Wow. . .

  She’d gained five pounds—well, more than that, but she’d lost the rest. She’d cried for weeks, tears running down her cheeks while she slept, and flooding her eyes when she woke. And it had aged her. There were lines on her face that made her look a lot older than twenty-three.

  But Noah . . .

  He’d gained five pounds of pure muscle. His tight black T-shirt clung to his biceps. Dark green cargo pants hung low on his hips. And his face . . .

  On the drive, she’d tried to trick herself into believing he was just a friend she’d slept with one wild night. She’d made a fool of herself, losing her heart to him then.

  Never again.

  She’d made a promise to her broken, battered heart and she planned to keep it. She would not fall for Noah this time.

  But oh, the temptation . . .

  His short blond hair still looked as if he’d just run his hands through it. Stubble, the same color as his hair, covered his jaw. He’d forgotten to shave, or just didn’t give a damn. But his familiar blue eyes left her ready to pass out at his feet from lack of oxygen.

  He stared at her, wariness radiating from those blue depths. Five years ago, he’d smiled at her and it had touched his eyes. Not now.

  “Josie?” His brow knitted as if he’d had to search his memory for her name. His grip tightened on the door. Was he debating whether to slam it in her face and pretend his mind had been playing tricks on him?

  “Hi, Noah.” She placed her right boot in the doorway, determined to follow him inside if he tried to shut her out.

  “You’re back,” he said as if putting together the pieces of a puzzle. But still no hint of the warm, welcoming smile he’d worn with an easy-going grace five years ago.

  “I guess you didn’t get the carrier pigeon,” she said, forcing a smile. Please let him remember. “But I need your help.”

  Click to buy Serving Trouble now!

  An Excerpt from

  IGNITE

  The Wildwood Series

  by Karen Erickson

  Weston Gallagher is falling hard—for the wrong woman.

  One night of passion has haunted him for years.

  Now he’s got a second chance to get the girl of his dreams . . . but there’s just one problem:

  She hates him.

  A knock sounded at his door, startling him and he climbed off the couch to go answer it, pissed that it was most likely Holden ready to convince him he should go out to the bars. He didn’t bother looking through the peephole, just unlocked the door and swung it open, launching right into a speech for his little brother.

  “I already told you I didn’t want to go out tonight,” West said, the rest of the words stalling in his throat when he saw who was standing on his front doorstep.

  It was Harper, wearing a black trench coat on a warm June night, her long auburn hair extra wavy and flowing past her shoulders, a secretive little smile curving her very red lips.

  “You did?” She blinked up at him, all wide-eyed sexy innocence. “Maybe I should go then?”

  She started to turn and he grabbed hold of her arm, halting her progress. “Don’t go.” He sounded eager. Way too eager. Clearing his throat, he started over. “Sorry. I just thought—I thought you were Holden.”

  “Oh.” She turned to fully face him once more and his gaze dropped to her feet, which were in the sexiest, shiniest black high heeled shoes he’d ever seen. “So you don’t mind that I stopped by?”

  He looked up, their eyes meeting. “Not at all.” What was she up to? Her eyes were heavily made up, as were her ruby red lips. And her hair was downright wild . . . all he could think of was fisting it in his hands and tugging her head back so he could plant a long, deep kiss on those juicy lips.

  “It’s sort of late.” She blatantly scanned his mostly naked body, her glossy lips parted, her pink tongue touching just the corner of her mouth. Her gaze lingered on his chest and arms, cataloging his tattoos. She seemed fascinated with them and he was half tempted to flex his muscles just to see if her eyes grew hungrier . . .

  Which they seemed to do, without any encouragement on his part. If she didn’t stop looking at him like that he might get a freaking boner and that probably wouldn’t be good. “Were you in . . . bed?”

  The provocative way she just said it made him aware of her close proximity. How her hands tugged on the ends of the belt wrapped tight around her waist. The hollow of her throat was exposed, as was a bit of her chest. She looked practically naked under that coat.

  Hmmm.

  “No, I wasn’t in bed.” He paused, wondering what the hell she was up to. Whatever it was, he could appreciate the way she was staring at him, and he was damn thankful she’d come by. He figured he’d blown it for good with Harper. “You want to come in?”

  “I would love to.” She smiled and he stepped out of her way, the scent of her surrounding him as she walked by. He shut and locked the door and followed her as she moved deeper into the living room. Grabbing the remote from the side table, he turned off the TV, the sudden silence amplifying every move she made.

  “So I have a proposition for you,” she said, turning to face him once more. “One I’m hoping you’ll agree to.”

  In the hushed quiet of his house, she looked a little less sure, a little more nervous. A lot more like the Harper he knew. He wanted to reach out and reassure her but he also wanted to hear what she had to say first.

  “Really?” He rested his hands on his hips, noting the way her gaze dropped to linger on his stomach. He felt downright exposed, what with the way she studied him. Not that he minded. “What is it?”

  She bit her lower lip as she contemplated him, her straight white teeth a bold contrast to the deep red coating her lips. “Last night, when we talked, you said you weren’t boyfriend material.”

  He winced. Did he really need a reminder of the stupid things he’d said?

  “And I told you I wasn’t looking for a relationship, which is true. I don’t want one. But I do want something from you, West.” She reached for the coat belt, slowly undoing it. “I’m hoping you want the same thing.”

  Click to buy Ignite now!

  An Excerpt from

  BLACK LISTED

  A Benediction Novel

  by Shelly Bell

  Years ago con artist Lisa Smith fell in love with her mark, then vanished without a trace . . . but now he’s found her and he’s not going to let her slip through his fingers again.

  An Avon Red Romance

  He sucked in a breath, the tightening in his chest becoming more pronounced as he watched her glide across the dance floor with a glass of champagne in her hand. She’d changed since the last time he’d seen her. Gone was her halo of white blonde tresses that spilled down her back and those round silver irises that looked at him with what he’d believed was love. Like a chameleon, she’d adapted to her environment, her chestnut hair cut into a sleek bob and an air of sophistication clinging to her designer-clad body.

  With a smile on her face, she had everyone at this wedding fooled, but he knew the truth. She was a con artist who had stolen millions from unsuspecting men and women. At the drop of a hat, she could become someone else, fade into the crowds until she turned invisible, only to return moments later as someone new. And no one would ever guess the truth. She’d mastered the art of disguise, her ability to convince someone of her love and devotion worthy of an Academy Award. Just when she had you wrapped completely around her finger, she’d disappear without a trace, taking your money and your heart with her.

  But she’d grown careless when she’d allowed herself to be photographed, the picture on the front page of every major newspaper. She’d been in the background, barely discernable to most. But not to him. Never him. He’d know his chameleon anywhere.

  She ha
d no idea he was watching her.

  Stalking her.

  Hunting her.

  His chameleon had forgotten to use the reptilian sense that warned her of impending danger. She might believe she was a predator, but she was now the prey.

  His prey.

  Sweat dripped down the back of his neck and black spots flickered in his vision. He shook his head as if clearing the cobwebs from his mind. Didn’t she understand he needed her? After everything he’d done for her, she owed him. It was time for her to repay her debts.

  Time and fate had kept them apart for far too long. But now that he’d found her, he was never letting her go again.

  She loved to play her games.

  He smiled.

  A game was what they’d play.

  Walking away from her friends, Lisa Smith took a sip of wine and headed toward where she’d last seen the caterer. Not spotting him, she stopped and scanned the crowd.

  “Lisa!”

  Lisa turned and caught sight of her friend Rachel Dawson walking toward her with two men by her side.

  It took only a moment for it to register.

  The long blond hair she loved to tug on during rough sex.

  The stubble lining his jaw that used to scratch the skin of her inner thighs as he worked her over with his mouth.

  The roguish and lighthearted appearance he maintained in public and the dark dominance that lurked beneath the surface.

  It was him.

  He was here.

  Her Master.

  He had found her.