Avery, arms still wrapped around her middle, turned and saw him first.
He was, in a word, breathtaking.
NO KISSING UNDER
THE BOARDWALK
by Kate Angell
Will a first love get a second chance?
Zane Cates has fallen in love twice—once with flying and once with Tori Rollins, the girl who stole his heart in high school. For a brief, shining moment, their future looked bright. Then the offer of a place at the Air Force Academy got between Zane and his beautiful young wife, and he found his marriage over as abruptly as a wave washing back to sea. After taking comfort in the wide-open skies, he’s ready to return to the sunlit beach town of Barefoot William—and the woman he never wanted to leave behind. Starting over with Tori is the plan—if only his stubborn ex will have him. . . .
A vagabond childhood left Tori shy and withdrawn, but after her family arrived in the pretty resort town, she made the first real friend she ever had—Zane. Opening up to him was a risk she didn’t regret taking, but she never looked back once she decided to end their brief marriage. Seeing him again now is a startling shock—and an irresistible temptation. Can she let him back into her life—and finally find joy in their love?
Prologue
Barefoot William Beach
Fall 1999
“Oswald! That bikini top better have come from the lost and found at the lifeguard station.”
Zane Cates’s words reached Tori Rollins across a wide expanse of sugar sand. His tone was stern, concerned, and directed toward a Dalmatian pup. She cringed. Scrunched her nose. She followed astrology. Mercury was in retrograde. She blamed life’s screwups, impacts, and aftershocks on the planet. Mercury could be a prankster. She’d been puppy pranked.
A playful Oswald had tugged and stolen her polka-dot swimsuit top. She presently lay facedown on a beach towel on the smooth expanse of white sand. It was October, and the snowbirds had yet to flock south. She’d located a secluded spot and untied her top, not wanting tan lines. She hadn’t planned on falling asleep, but she had. Attending high school, then working the night shift at Zinotti’s Pizza ate up her time, exhausting her. Saturday afternoon, and the warmth of the sun soothed. Had lulled her. One unexpected pull on her top from Ozzie, and it slid beneath her breasts before she could grab it. Gone.
Escaping puppy paws kicked sand on her Hawaiian Tropic oiled arm. The roly-poly Dalmatian scampered off, with her top in tow. Tripping over the white on black polka-dot cups. Tumbling forward, nose in the sand, quickly recovering, then picking up speed.
Oswald. Zane’s sneaky pup. Spotted chaos. Notorious for his antics. Cute and conniving, Oz stole whatever he could wrap his little mouth around. Zane had yet to break him of the habit. Beachgoers lost Frisbees, flip-flops, paperback books, water bottles, whistles, and sunglasses to the scamp. Items Zane then apologetically returned to the owners. The Dalmatian had now gotten the best of Tori. Great, just great.
She desperately needed to cover herself. She hadn’t worn a T-shirt over her bikini top. So she grabbed a pair of cutoff shorts, white-seamed and fringed. She pressed them to her chest. Rolling onto her hip, she sat up. Wishing she’d come to the beach better prepared, she called after the pup, “Not funny, Ozzie. Stop!”
There was no stopping Oswald. The Dalmatian’s tail wagged as he scooted around the corner of the boardwalk. Disappearing. She sucked air. Set her jaw. Waited for Zane to appear. He did within seconds.
Zane Cates was a presence unto himself.
His reputation preceded him. A good-looking guy, clean-cut, smart, athletic, friendly, and outgoing. Whereas she was aloof. Always kept to herself. It was a protective measure, taken to hide the fact that she was an outsider. Always had been. Her parents had difficultly holding jobs, which forced the family to relocate each year. She’d abandoned friendships with every move. There’d be no future attachments in the resort town. She did alone just fine.
He walked toward her now. He was careful where he stepped. Rambunctious Oz ran circles around his feet, nipping at his ankles. She took him in. A solid six foot, broad-shouldered, bared chest, wearing black board shorts. He was mature for eighteen. Confident. He recognized his place in life. The Cates name was well-known. His ancestry, deep-rooted. His great-great-great-grandfather had founded Barefoot William. Zane had three brothers and one sister. All equally popular.
He soon reached her. His toes touched the frayed, faded edges of her beach towel. He had big feet. He towered over her. Casting shade. He twirled one strap of her bikini top around his finger. “This belong to you?” he asked, knowing the answer.
“See anyone else topless?” Her tone was dry.
He glanced over her shoulder. “Only you. Dogs aren’t allowed on the boardwalk and beach. We were coming from the dog park when Ozzie got rowdy and slipped his collar. He ran to you, scored your top.” His sincerity was soon lost to his smile, which was broad and teasing. “Sorry, Tori.”
He knew her name. Surprising. They hadn’t been introduced. She eyed her bikini top. Held out her hand. “Mine. Give.”
“Yours in a sec.” He gazed at her, his dark eyes probing. “You’re new in town.”
Small talk? He had to be kidding. She responded, if only to get her top back. “I’ve been here six weeks.” Since the start of the school year.
He nodded. “Yeah, I’ve seen you around. You’re in my Honors English and World History classes.”
He’d noticed her. Unexpected. She’d given him the discreet side-eye. Not something she’d admit. Girls in the senior class were hot for him. He got a lot of attention. Her appreciation would mean little.
She wiggled her fingers. “My top.”
He held back still. For whatever reason, he was prolonging her unease, taking advantage of her situation. “So who’s Tori Rollins?”
She was far from special. She heaved a sigh. “What you see is what you get.”
He lowered his gaze to her chest. Gave her a hot look. “You’re more than a nip slip,” he teased.
A nip slip. She startled. Pale, hard-tipped, her right nipple peeked at him through the denim fringe. She didn’t embarrass easily. She hated the heat in her cheeks now. She quickly adjusted her cutoffs. Then eyed his board shorts. Stared at his groin. A substantial bulge. She was a virgin, but big was big. Her nipple turned him on.
“I like what I saw.” No shame whatsoever from Zane. Full smile and single dimple. He shook out his legs. Shifted his stance. Actually laughed at himself, deep and masculine. “Some things are harder to hide than others.”
Her throat had gone dry. Her palms were now sweaty. “My top,” she said insistently. More a demand than a request.
He released it.
She caught it.
“Need help putting it on?” he asked, straight-faced.
She rolled her eyes. Other girls might accept his offer, but not her. “Turn around. Take off,” she muttered.
He pivoted on his heel. Shuffled his feet in the sand. Yet didn’t walk away. She eyed his backside. Some guys developed early. He’d already grown into his skin, more man than boy.
Tori scanned for passersby. Not a soul. The nearest person was a speck on the southern shoreline. She awkwardly worked the polka-dot top beneath the cutoffs clutched to her chest. She went on to adjust the shoulder straps and secure her breasts in the cups. Then set the shorts aside. She tied the back strings. Tightly. Breathed easier. Despite the fit. Her swimsuit was three years old. She’d filled out last year, going from an A to a C cup. The sides pinched. Pushed up her boobs, revealing curves and cleavage.
Oswald dropped down beside her on the beach towel. He rolled over, wanting his tummy rubbed. He whined for her attention. She gave in, scratched his belly. Then circled and connected the black dots on his white fur with her finger. He was cute. Despite being a thief.
“Decent?” Zane glanced back before she could respond. His gaze lingered on her breasts. Fortunately there was no visible nipple. He hunkered down. “Mind if
I sit?”
“It’s your beach.”
“True, but I share.”
FOREVER WILD
by Allyson Charles
Wild life is about to take on a whole new meaning....
Dax Cannon never says no to a challenge. But when he discovers a sexy stowaway in the back of his van, he realizes Annelise Ansel might be more than he bargained for.
An artist, Lissa claims she’s leaving New Orleans for a fresh start in Michigan—which just happens to be where he’s headed with the pack of rescue dogs he’s delivering to the sanctuary he works for. But when three thugs threaten to take lovely Lissa off his hands, he realizes she’s in need of a sanctuary, too.
Once Lissa is riding shotgun with her long, lean protector, she’s wondering if fate might have something better in store for her than a life in hiding. But when her hijinks threaten to take down the best man she’s ever had the pleasure to run away with, Lissa realizes it’s time to face her demons. Now it’s up to the two of them to fight through the danger to discover the life—and love—waiting on the other side....
Chapter 1
Dax Cannon never thought trouble would appear in such an unassuming package. But with his vast experience in stirring it up or sniffing it out, he really should have known better.
She wore a paisley kerchief tank top. The triangle hem fluttered around her waist. Dax didn’t see her face as she hurried past, but the cascade of soft curls tumbling down her back was enough to capture his attention. They looked so silky, Dax’s palms itched to reach out and touch them. Her hair was a rich mahogany near the roots, growing lighter until the blond tips disappeared into the sunlight. Her bare, tawny arms were long and slender, and the tips of the fingers on her right hand were stained blue. She had a black backpack tossed over one shoulder, and it bounced off of her pert behind with each step she took as she jaywalked across the street.
Unbidden, his feet turned to follow. Dax stepped onto Decatur Street, and a mule brayed a foot from his left ear. Heart thumping, he leapt back onto the sidewalk.
He shook his head and patted the animal’s rump as it trotted past. “What a dumbass,” he muttered, and he wasn’t talking about the mule. When the tourist carriage passed, the woman with the long curls was gone.
He sighed. Well, no matter. He wasn’t in New Orleans for a vacation. He’d left Crook County, Michigan, only two days ago. Two days, one thousand miles, four tanks of gas, and more fast-food restaurants than he could count. And now he would make the return trip at the same exhausting pace. But the eight at-risk dogs he’d picked up from the local pound were heading to Forever Friends, the no-kill shelter he volunteered for in Michigan. They were safe, and that made the trip worth every headache.
A gust of wind rippled the green awning of Café Du Monde. An elderly woman in front of the café grabbed for her scarf, but it blew off her shoulders. Caught in the breeze, it drifted up and up and wrapped itself around a light post.
Dax jogged over to her. “I’ll get that for you, ma’am. If you’ll just hold my bags . . .” He waited until she cupped the two bags of baked goods with wrinkled fingers.
She drew her eyebrows together. “It’s fifteen feet up, young man. You’ll never reach it.”
“I love when someone says I can’t do something.” He shook out his arms and shot her a grin. “It makes it that much more satisfying when I succeed.” He winked and turned toward his target. The light post had a boxy base that rose two feet from the ground. The lip was an inch wider than the pole, plenty of space for a toe-hold. He ran for the light, jumped onto the base, and pushed off. He stretched his lanky 6’3” frame and grabbed the pole close to the horizontal arm the scarf was wrapped around.
Hand over hand, he pulled himself up the last couple of feet and tugged the silk square free. He slid down the pole, hopped off, and presented the scarf to the woman with a flourish. “Madam.”
Several patrons from the café’s patio clapped, and Dax swept a low bow.
The woman handed him his bags and knotted the scarf around her neck. “Thank you for the dramatic rescue,” she said wryly.
Dax opened his mouth to respond, but a group of three beefy men knocked into him as they hurried down the sidewalk.
Dax staggered into the woman and threw out a hand to steady her. “Hey, watch it,” he shouted after the jerks. The men ignored him and quickened their pace.
The older woman sniffed. “People today. What are you going to do?”
He shrugged and waved goodbye. His irritation melted away before he’d crossed the street. It was hard to stay annoyed in the Big Easy. With its decadent food, sultry music, and beguiling women—Dax looked up and down Decatur but didn’t see any long curls—New Orleans didn’t allow a person to stay in a bad mood for long. Maybe he should take a real vacation down here sometime.
He found the Forever Friends van parked a block away in front of a used bookstore. He opened the back doors, and a chorus of barking greeted him.
“I know, I said I wouldn’t be long. But it took me a while to find Da Bone Bakery.” He opened his second bag and doled out cookies amongst the eight dogs in their cages. The dog treats smelled as good as his beignets and if he didn’t already have his own snack, Dax would have been tempted. “I’ll find a rest stop in a couple of hours, little dudes.”
A bluetick coonhound scratched at his cage and whined.
“You’ll get to run free in a little bit.” Through the wire, Dax scratched the white patch on his black head. “Sit tight.” He hopped out of the van and closed one of the doors.
Shouting down the street drew his attention. He walked to the front of the van and eyed one of the yahoos who had knocked into him, yelling at a cabbie. Out of his open window, the driver tossed the man a one-fingered response and sped off, narrowly missing the guy’s toes. His buddies pulled him off the street. They strode down the sidewalk, peeking into shop windows and down alleys.
Karma was a bitch. Dax was a firm believer that what a person sent out into the world boomeranged back around. Knock into someone one moment, almost get your toes run over the next. One of the men turned, and Dax spun around to hide his grin. He circled to the back of the van and shut the other door. Jumping into the driver’s seat, he cranked the engine. The van sputtered, coughed, and with a little bit of coaxing and pedal-pumping, finally turned over.
Dax eased onto the narrow street and made his way out of Crescent City. He hit the I-10 freeway and headed for home. Rummaging in his bag, he pulled out a beignet and took a bite. Powdered sugar drifted down like snow to dust his cargo pants. Dax moaned. Sweet, lardy goodness.
A dog in the back howled, the sound muffled through the wall between the cab and the cargo area.
“We’ll go for a run soon,” Dax called around a mouthful of fried dough. Obviously not believing him, the dog howled again. Poor bugger. Dax hated to cage the animals, but it was for their own safety. And Brad, the owner of Forever Friends, would tan Dax’s hide if he caught him building a playpen in the back of the van again. As long as Dax worked for other people, he’d do as they asked. But when he had his own business . . .
He wiped his hand on his pants and flipped the visor down. A picture of a different van stared back at him. Off-Road Adventures was written in a chunky print across its side. He ran his finger over the picture and his stomach fluttered.
Dax enjoyed volunteering for Forever Friends, which was lucky since he didn’t have a choice about it. Legally enforced servitude, he liked to call it. But his time there couldn’t compare to the thrill of leading a group of people out into the wilderness for a vacation they’d never forget. His probation was almost up, and soon he could return to working at the adventure company full-time. But he wanted to be more than just an employee.
He squeezed the steering wheel. Jesse had agreed to his sale price. Dax still couldn’t believe it. In four short months, when Jesse retired, Off-Road Adventures could belong to Dax. If Dax could raise the down payment.
Considering his life savings consisted of a bundled-up roll of fifties in a coffee can under his bed, that might be a challenge. But he loved challenges.
He hit a causeway, a ten-mile stretch of freeway raised above swampland on the left and Lake Pontchartrain on the right.
The howling from the back rose in volume and was joined by a round of barks. The cacophony drowned out the radio set to a country music station. Maybe it was the song, heavy on the fiddle, that was riling up the dogs. Dax turned the radio off, and the ruckus in the back grew louder. Something thumped.
“Shit.” It couldn’t have been a cage tipping over. He’d checked the tie-downs twice. Something falling from a shelf? The bag of dog food hitting the floor? Water stretched on both sides of the freeway. There was nowhere to pull off to check. None of the barks sounded pained or frightened, but Dax pressed his foot to the accelerator anyway.
It was five more miles until he hit land. He took the first exit and pulled over onto a grassy patch lined with beech trees. He cut the engine and hopped out. The barking increased to a fevered pitch. “Guys, I’m coming. Cool your jets.”
He stretched his hands to the sky as he stood before the back doors. Now that he’d stopped, he should let the dogs out to stretch their legs, too. It was six hours to Memphis, his goal for the night, and even though their cages were lined with the fluffiest dog beds money could buy, it still wasn’t the Hilton back there.
The loudmouth of the group howled again, the mournful cry going on and on. “All right, I’m coming.” He unlocked the door and pulled the handle. Reaching around to the latch on the second door, he released it and threw both doors wide. “Now what—”
A wave of fur and slobber charged at him. The front paws of a husky hit Dax’s chest, and he stumbled back. The body of a basset hound knocked into his legs, and Dax went down. All eight dogs leapt from the van and seemed to take pleasure in jumping on top of him. Thirty-two paws stampeding over his body. The air was knocked from his lungs. Small dots of light swam across his vision.
The Bakeshop at Pumpkin and Spice Page 31
