by Bonnie Dee
Revealing Skills
Taken Unaware
The Knight’s Challenge
Unnatural Calamities
The Psychic and the Sleuth
Taming the Bander
Coming Soon:
Sibling Rivals
A life of crime is easy…until love goes all ninja on your ass.
Confidence Tricks
© 2013 Tamara Morgan
Asprey Charles has always assumed he would one day take his place in the family art appraisal and insurance firm. “His place” meaning he plans to continue to enjoy his playboy lifestyle, lavish money on his Cessna, and shirk every responsibility that dares come his way.
But when a life of crime is thrust upon him, he is just as happy to slip on a mask and cape and play a highwayman rogue. After all, life is one big game—and he excels at playing.
Poppy Donovan vows that her recent release from jail will be her last—no more crime, no more cons. But when she learns that her grandmother lost her savings to a low-life financial advisor, she’s forced to do just one more job.
It’s all going smoothly until the necklace she intends to pawn to fund her con is stolen by a handsome, mocking, white-collar thief. A thief who, it turns out, could take a whole lot more than money. If she’s not careful, this blue blood with no business on her side of the tracks could run off with the last thing she can afford to lose. Her heart.
Warning: This book contains masked crusaders, a remorseless con woman, and plans to boost a ten million dollar painting. Expect high speeds and fast hands.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Confidence Tricks:
“Someone has breached the perimeter,” Asprey announced, pulling a pair of binoculars down from his eyes.
Graff looked up from his book. “You make it sound like we’re in the White House or something. It’s probably a salesman or a Girl Scout. Get rid of them.”
Asprey ignored his brother and peered back through the window, which faced the runway leading up to the massive hangar they called home. This was definitely no salesman or little girl. The woman was still far enough away that he couldn’t make out all the details, but a smallish pair of jean shorts, bright teal cowboy boots and a flowy white blouse didn’t seem like standard attire for hawking Avon or vacuum cleaners.
“She’s on foot,” Asprey added, searching around for a parked car or bicycle. Located as they were at the end of an abandoned airport, the only other way to get to the hangar was by teleportation. They weren’t exactly on the bus route. “Why would anyone walk all the way out here?”
Graff slammed the book in his lap that time. “I don’t know, Asprey. Why don’t you go out there and ask? I know it might seem foreign to you, but I’m actually working over here.”
“Fine,” Asprey returned. “I’ll forcibly remove our visitor.” He set the binoculars aside and gently rotated his shoulder. It still hurt like a bitch—he’d gotten their younger sister, Tiffany, to pop it back in two nights ago, but she’d been less of the ministering angel he’d been hoping for and more like a gleeful spectator.
“Man up, big brother,” she’d said as he lay on the ground and she lifted his arm over his head. Bones and joints weren’t supposed to go that way, he was sure of it. “According to Graff, the woman could have done a lot worse to you. He said she went easy. I bet she thought you were cute.”
“Laugh it up, Tiffany,” he’d replied. “It’s easy for you to judge from the safety of your Internet cocoon back here at the lair.”
At least he thought that was what he’d said. His memories were rendered slightly hazy, what with the bone-searing pain and all. He might have just been screaming.
And now he had to hold his arm at a weird angle for days, moving around like a baby bird and praying there’d be no call for any sudden movements. Experience and multiple dislocations had taught him to avoid a sling—sucking it up and getting back to life were the best ways to make the recovery period ten times shorter, mostly because the muscles grew too stiff otherwise.
“Need some help?” Tiffany didn’t glance up from her computer, set up along the far wall of the hangar on a long, faux-wood table like the kind housed in school cafeterias. “I’m just about done with this code.”
“Sure,” Asprey said. “Why don’t we put you in charge of security? You can intimidate all incomers with your stature and overalls.”
That got her to look up. Tiffany promptly stuck out her tongue. “I can’t help that I’m short. And it’s called a romper.”
He laughed. “I can’t remember the last time you did anything even approaching romping.” For as long as he could recall, Tiffany had been attached to technology like her USB cord was some kind of umbilicus. She had the translucent skin tone and caffeine addiction to prove it.
“Can you please stop being an idiot for five minutes and go take care of our problem?” Graff asked.
“I was about to.” Asprey used his stiff movements to exaggerate a swagger. “Do you think I should do slick mobster or Texas Ranger?” When Graff didn’t answer right away, Asprey swiveled on one leg and pretended to pull a gun out of a holster. “Texas Ranger, I think. That thar woman won’t be able to resist the ol’ Asprey charm.”
Graff sighed and got up from his chair, gently adjusting it so he faced the opposite direction of the door. Asprey made a face. His brother never appreciated his talent for accents. His brother never appreciated him, period.
As he passed, Asprey ran his hand over the upholstery of his brother’s chair. Soft, buttery yellow silk rippled under his fingertips.
“Don’t. Touch. Louis,” Graff said through his teeth. “Unless you wash your goddamn hands first.”
Asprey leaned down and licked the chair, careful to duck when the heavy leather tome his brother had been reading sailed past his head. He covered his laugh with a tsking noise. “Didn’t you say that book was a first edition? You should be more careful.”
And then he practically skipped away before Graff threw something heavier—like a hammer or one of the steel katanas they’d recently acquired. The only thing he could be sure wouldn’t be thrown was Louis, their authentic eighteenth-century Louis XV chair. It was Graff’s prized possession, his baby.
It was also the only piece of furniture in the entire twelve-thousand-square-foot hangar, if you didn’t count a few folding chairs and the worktables heaped with Tiffany’s computers and the bulk of their stolen goods.
Asprey thought about grabbing one of the shotguns leaning against the wall by the door, but changed his mind at the last minute. It was early afternoon, and the woman traveled alone. Chances were she’d gotten lost or had a flat tire somewhere in the vicinity. Even he couldn’t botch this one up.
As the woman drew nearer, Asprey leaned against the corrugated metal exterior of the hangar and donned his most disarming smile, squinting into the rare patch of sun. The shorts she wore were as infinitesimal as distance had promised, and she carried a red jug in one hand, a clear sign that her tank was empty and she was in need of a little assistance.
“Do I detect a damsel in distress?” he asked as soon as she came within earshot.
One of the woman’s brows rose, but she didn’t say anything, so Asprey took her reticence as an invitation. In addition to the world’s smallest shorts and her odd choice of footwear, everything about her attire was eccentric and playful and invited perusal. Her hair was a short tangle of loopy brown curls, and there were a few brightly colored feathers worked in, dangling over her shoulders and making it look as though she might take flight at any moment. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, fresh-faced and glowing with the exertion of hiking all the way to their quiet, secluded hiding place.
But it was the legs he kept going back to. This woman obviously worked out.
“Are you done?” she asked, using the toe of her boot to scratch the back of her calf.
“Sorry,” he said, not feeling nearly as sheepish as he should have, given the situation. He blamed months of sleep
ing on a mattress next to Graff in their makeshift apartment in the office above the hangar. All that stuff in the movies about dashing thieves and women being wooed by his outlaw ways were a crock. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on a date, let alone near a pair of legs like that.
“So…what can I do for you?” he asked. She wasn’t a very forthcoming visitor, that was for sure, content to stand there trying to stare him into a state of discomfiture. Good thing Asprey was impervious to the disdain of others. As the least impressive and most likely to screw up member of his family, that sort of thing came standard. “Are you running on empty?”
“Only temporarily,” she said. “I was hoping you might be able to help me get on track again.”
Her smile, crooked and mocking, seemed familiar. His awareness of it was more of a visceral reaction than a mental one, all warm and tingly and a bit like he was about to be strapped to a chair and given intense dental work without Novocaine.
“So I was right?” he asked, ignoring the feeling. “About the distress?”
“This place was hard to find,” she agreed, setting down the red jug. “But I hate to disappoint you…I don’t need anyone to rescue me.”
Perfection takes time, but desire waits for no man. Or woman…
Hotter than Texas
© 2013 Tina Leonard
Pecan Creek, Book 1
With more than one skeleton rattling in her closet, Sugar Cassevechia hopes “The Most Honest Town in Texas” will be the perfect place to start an online business. As soon as her mother remembers the family recipe that’ll get hotterthanhellnuts.com off the ground.
In the meantime, no way is Sugar letting their new landlord get away with renting them a run-down house that’s decorated like a rich widow’s orgasm. Even if he’s the biggest hunk of hot she’s ever laid eyes on.
Jake Bentley would love to do nothing but sit back and be amused as the Cassevechia women unwittingly stir up trouble in his uptight town. But something about them thaws out his frozen rescue complex. Especially Sugar’s long, chestnut hair and sassy mouth.
Right about the time Sugar figures one steamy night in Jake’s bed won’t hurt, another skeleton joins the party in the form of a dead body in the “Belle Watling” room. And Sugar must decide if her family’s reputation—and her own heart—are safe with Jake.
Warning: No sex in this book. Nope. None. Nada. Honest. Now, if you believe that, the author has an iceberg in Texas to sell you. Better hurry before there’s none left to cool the fevered dreams generated by this book.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Hotter than Texas:
They all put in their orders for burgers and sodas, and then Lucy knocked her water glass over on Jake. He jumped, Lucy said, “Oh, I’m so sorry,” in a tone that Sugar knew was less than contrite, and Maggie handed him her napkin.
“Lucy,” Sugar said, taking the napkin and wiping water off Jake’s arm and the front of his denim shirt. Holy Christmas, he had a hard body. Hard as a rock. She rubbed a little harder than necessary on the soaked fabric, feeling tight muscles and a surge of desire that stunned her.
“It’s all right,” Jake said, taking the napkin from her. “In this heat, I’ll dry in less than five minutes.”
Lucy blew a big pink gum bubble, then collapsed it with a sucking sound. “I’m not usually so clumsy.”
“Lucy, it’s okay. It’s so okay that I’m going to tell Kel to comp your meals tonight.”
“Do you manage the restaurant?” Sugar asked.
“Not exactly,” Jake said. “I wouldn’t be caught managing much of anything.”
“That’s why you’re trying to stick our mother with the mayor gig, because you don’t want it,” Lucy said benignly.
“True,” Jake said easily. “Excuse me, ladies.” He gave Maggie a last fond hug, Lucy a level look and Sugar a devil-may-care grin. “Do you have a minute? I’d like to discuss something with you in private. Nothing I couldn’t say in front of you ladies, but I don’t want anybody overhearing.” He gestured to the people packed around them, laughing and chatting as they ate burgers and drank tall, frosty sodas.
“Sure.” Sugar slid off the stool.
“We’ll be right back,” Jake said, tipping his hat to Maggie and Lucy.
Lucy rolled her eyes, and Maggie waved them off. Jake took Sugar over to an open window area. Light country western music played, though not loud enough to drown out the conversational babble.
“So what’s up?” Sugar asked.
“First, about the other night.” Jake looked apologetic. “I didn’t think my mother and her friends would be so—”
“Stuck-up? Witchy?” Sugar leveled a stare at him that could have wilted lettuce before it ever hit a hamburger. “I think my sister is right. I think you did set Maggie up just because you don’t want to be the mayor. What is it you do exactly, besides rent houses that are nothing like their advertised descriptions to unsuspecting out-of-towners?”
He shook his head. “I’ll show you my deep, dark secret. Come on.”
Sugar followed him around to the back, and then down some wooden stairs that went deep underneath the rocking burger joint. “Wow, a dungeon.”
“Now you sound like Lucy.” Jake laughed. “Your sister does not like me at all.”
“Lucy warms up slowly.” Sugar felt compelled to defend her sister. “She’s protective of Mom.”
“And you. Obviously you.” He turned to face her in front of a pool table covered with red felt. “She practically snaps like an electrical fence hit by water whenever I get near you.”
“Cassavechias look out for each other. Anyway, your mom isn’t exactly a study in Southern hospitality.” She looked at the pool table. “Isn’t Brunswick a bit fancy to hide away in a dungeon?”
“Keep my secret. Even my mother doesn’t know this baby’s here.” He handed her a cue. “Do you play?”
“A little.” Sugar studied the room. “Why are we down here?”
“I told you,” Jake said, “I’m sharing my deepest, darkest secret with you.” He sighted down the length of the cue, nodding with satisfaction. “I own Bait and Burgers. This is my private office. None of this info is known by anyone except my partners who cover for me, so if you share, I’ll have to enact landlord penance on you.”
“Terrifying, I’m sure, considering you’d probably never find another sucker to rent the lusty family domicile.” Sugar looked at him. “So this is your Bat Cave. Interesting.”
“You mean man cave.”
She shook her head and walked over to break. “My guess is you hide down here from the bats that inhabit Pecan Creek.”
He laughed. “Just keep my secret.”
“So you wanted me to know this so I won’t be mad at you for trying to dump your mayor’s job on Mom?”
“Yeah.” He leaned against the black vinyl bar and grinned, too sexy for words. “I’m a very busy man. This is your chance to have leverage with me.”
“Got it.” She broke the rack, and balls flew in every direction.
“Not bad.” He got up to study the table.
“Not so fast. Let me see if I can figure the subtext out.” She looked at him before leaning over the table to line up her shot. “The little red ball is going to go first, by the way.”
She made that shot, and went on. “So what you’re trying to tell me is that you’re not an absolute ass for shifting your responsibilities. You own a restaurant, and you rent the family home, and you don’t want your mother breathing down your neck all the time.”
He grinned. “Not bad.”
“Purple-striped ball is history.” She made that shot and moved to the opposite side of the table, near Jake. “Excuse me.”
He raised a dark brow. “Sugar, I think Maggie can handle my mother any day of the week. What are you protecting her from?”
Sugar leaned over. “Rats.”
He turned her toward him. “I honestly am not a rat. I’m not using Maggie.”
&nb
sp; “Do not try to mess up my rhythm.” She pulled herself away from Jake with an effort. “Green.”
He waited until she made the shot, then he took her cue from her, setting it down on the table. “I get it. You’re nobody’s fool. You don’t want to be taken advantage of.” He kissed her, his lips warm on hers, but not demanding. Something hot and welcoming surged into Sugar, something she hadn’t felt in a long time, didn’t know if she wanted to feel now. She pulled away, resisting the urge to press her fingertips to her lips to feel the echo of his kiss.
“I’ll keep your secret, Jake.” Sugar looked in his dark eyes, thinking that he was handsome and hot—and oh, so not what she needed in her life. “You don’t have to seduce me to get what you want.”
“I wasn’t seducing you.”
She let his statement hang in the air.
“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’d seduce you in a minute if I thought I could.” He looked at her for a long moment. “The truth is, I’m pretty sure you’re so far out of my league, Sugar, that all I’m hoping for is a good relationship.”
She slowly shook her head. “Let’s just stick with the tenant/landlord thing. It works for me.”
Fugitive Heart
Bonnie Dee and Summer Devon
Love is always in the last place you’d think to look.
Between her steady waitressing job and less-steady gigs designing websites, Ames Jensen is scraping together enough money to buy the old farmhouse that holds most of her most treasured childhood memories.
When a complete stranger buys it right out from under her nose, she stomps over for a neighborly visit, prepared to dislike him on sight. Yet even after he nearly brains her with a shovel, she finds herself more attracted than alarmed.
Falsely implicated for stealing from the Esposito crime family, Nick Ross is frantically in search of his supposed accomplice, Elliot Jensen, or at least the money and information the man took. Elliot’s hometown seems the perfect place to look—and the last place the Espositos will look for him.
