"No, she wants me happy with a nice guy. But they're never nice guys.
They're always sort of...weird. I think it's me." She frowned. "I must repel normal men or something. I attract weirdoes. Selfish guys who only care about the Lakers game they're missing."
Evan laughed. "He must be a diehard fan."
"Totally. I only agreed to the date because I've never been to a professional basketball game before. And Mia swore he was a good guy."
"And you still didn't get to go to that game."
"No, I didn't." Her smile was rueful. "He made me quit eating my dinner so we could get there in time for the beginning."
"What a loser." Evan shook his head. He wouldn't rush her for anything.
Well, maybe for some hot and sweaty sex. There was nothing wrong with a quickie here and there...
Jesus. What was wrong with him? He never thought of patients like that.
"He was pretty awful. I think I'm going to ban myself from dating for a while."
Disappointment filled him. Not that he'd act on his urges. He had a strict rule-no dating patients. There were a few of his fellow paramedics who had no qualms asking out their injured patients. They had quite the reputation among their coworkers, but Evan wouldn't do it. It was unprofessional.
And more than anything, he was professional.
"One bad date and you're done?"
"Oh, it's been more than one bad date. More like an endless string of bad dates." Her cheeks turned pink. "I probably shouldn't be confessing any of this to you."
"Why not?"
"I'm making myself look worse. And you probably don't even care to hear about my dating endeavors and how awful they are." Her entire face was flushed.
He smiled. "You're cute when you're all flustered." There, he said it. He was flirting. If Wes had been there, he would've been shocked. He never flirted on the job.
She tore her gaze from his, her teeth sinking into her lower lip-her very plump lower lip. "I must look awful."
She did look plenty awful but he still thought she was pretty. "I've seen worse."
"Great." She rolled her eyes but smiled. "That makes me feel so much better."
The heart takes no prisoners.
Secrets and Seduction 2011 Jane Beckenham The only emotion Leah Grainger can muster when thinking of her dead husband is relief. Until she learns his gambling debt threatens her beloved farm and the child she wanted to protect from the rootless existence she grew up with.
The last straw? Her husband's brother demands a meeting. When she charges into his office to tell him she won't let another Grainger screw up her life, the startlingly handsome, former oil rig wildcatter goes for the jugular. He's claimed legal guardianship of her daughter, bought her mortgage...and he's moving in.
The final email Mac received from his suicidal brother blamed Leah for everything. If it's the last thing he does, he plans to protect his niece. Even if it means using his millions to gain the upper hand. And hardening his heart against the beautiful Leah's protests of innocence.
Yet something seems off. Leah is nothing like the uncaring woman his brother described. She's warm, loving...and when a new threat to her child surfaces and she reaches out to him in need, his body won't let him say no. Even when her last secret forces him to make a decision that exposes his most closely guarded possession. His heart.
Warning: Contains tug-your-heart love, raise-the-roof lust, a marriage of convenience and hot sex that will give a whole new meaning to the word "wildcatter." Enjoy the following excerpt for Secrets and Seduction: Mac Grainger leant against the porch railing, arms folded across his broad chest. He stared at her, full mouth curling at the corners.
Leah swallowed back the sudden lump in her throat.
He'd changed from the suit he'd worn at his office into a pair of jeans and Polo shirt, making him appear deceptively approachable. Almost-because Leah knew Mac Grainger wasn't a man to toy with.
A few yards behind him, parked beneath the copse of cabbage trees, was a red Ferrari. Expensive, classic, with a hint of the devil. She shouldn't have expected anything different.
Leah backed up a step, hoping the shadow cast from the overhanging trees would hide the shock she felt heating her cheeks. "What are you doing here?"
"Exactly what I said I would. I take my role as uncle seriously." The bush she'd been holding slid from her grip and landed at her feet. "You can't just walk in here any time you like. This is my property. I'll..." He stepped away from the porch and took a few steps toward her. "I'm not going away, Leah. We need to talk."
She glanced to the house. Charlee, please stay asleep. "Not now. Not here," she countered.
He came another step closer. "You can't run away." Could he read her mind?
"You don't get a choice, Leah," he reminded her.
Choice. That word highlighted their differences. Rich versus stone broke.
"We can talk here," she prevaricated.
"We could, but we won't."
"Pardon?"
"Look, why make this harder than it has to be?"
"It's already hard. I don't want you here."
"And I told you I'm not going away. So I guess we're at an impasse."
For the count of several heartbeats, his dark eyes held her captive. He wasn't about to budge. Somehow she had to get him on her side and appeal to his better nature.
Did he have one?
Of that, Leah wasn't certain. He was, after all, Curtis's brother.
Steadying her nerves, she exhaled a choppy breath and wiped her hands down her jeans. She hooked her gaze with his, tilting her chin up a tad higher.
"Five minutes. That's all. Then you go."
She jumped off the back of the pickup and walked right past him, refusing to offer a whiff of weakness, even though resignation soured in her stomach and desperation constricted every breath. She took the front steps two at a time up to the wooden porch, where she peeled off her gumboots, entered her house and switched the light on in the entry hall.
A crackle of electricity exploded above her, a current shooting from her fingertips and up her arm. "Ouch." She yanked her hand back. The bulb above flickered momentarily, then a loud popping sound bounced off the walls, and the bulb died, sending the hall into darkness. "Damn."
"Problem?"
"Nothing I can't handle," she snapped. Darn it. How many more bulbs would blow? "I might as well take out shares in the company that makes those blasted bulbs," she grumbled. "It's an old house and dates back to the eighteen hundreds. There's bound to be...problems," she said, unsure why she was trying to explain the shortcomings of her dilapidated house.
"So get them fixed," he countered.
If only it were that easy.
"Follow me." She beckoned to Mac and led him down the hallway and into the welcoming kitchen-cum-dining-and-lounge area, grateful no more bulbs exploded overhead.
Leah knew he followed. She felt him right behind her, just as she'd done when she'd left his office. It was a sensation that was disconcerting and scarily exciting at the same time. Mac Grainger didn't exactly frighten her, though she was uncertain what he really knew or didn't know about Charlee. But she did, however, fear his power and what he could take away.
A coffee, a chat, then she'd see him out. Easy.
Confident she could cope with at least that, she washed her hands at the sink, wiped them on the towel she kept close by and busied herself in the kitchen. She reached for two mugs from a cupboard and, without asking him, tossed a spoonful of coffee into each. "Sugar?" she queried, holding a sugar bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other.
He shook his head.
He stood at the entrance to her tiny kitchen, so close that heat burned off him. Her mouth dried, and she slid her tongue across parted lips, only to catch him watching her like a falcon focused on its prey.
"You don't have to stand guard, Mr. Grainger. I'm not running."
"Yet," he answered smoothly.
Nerves spun taut, her fragile control tilted precariously. She directed her attention to the steam rising from the kettle, though her awareness of him burgeoned as she tried desperately to remember what, if anything, Curtis had said about him. Though in truth, her husband's brother had barely rated a mention during their marriage, and while Curtis had been good-looking, charming her easily, Mac doubled the quota in the good-looks department. She peered at him through the wispy steam rising from the kettle.
He was tall, imposing and sexy as hell, and even though it shouldn't, her heart did a flurry of flip-flops.
Don't let him charm you, Leah!
The kettle's reedy whistle echoed across the silence, breaking her thoughts, which was just as well. Those sorts of thoughts weren't a good idea, and she chastised herself for even noticing him.
She filled both cups and handed one to him, holding hers with both hands so he wouldn't see them shaking. She walked right past him and back into her tiny lounge and stood beside the rough-hewn table. "I'm not letting you walk in here on a whim, so you can get that idea right out of your head, Mr. Grainger." He took a sip from his coffee, his expression unreadable. "Tough. Curtis asked me to look out for her."
Leah's heart constricted. "Why?"
"Because I'm his brother and Charlee's uncle." Focusing on keeping her voice calm and controlled, she put her cup down on the table. "And I was his wife. As far as I'm aware, you've never been around, too busy for family. Curtis died weeks ago. Where were you then?" Instead of answering her, he scanned the room, and Leah found herself bristling, knowing what he saw: the faded and peeled paintwork, a tired house in need of repair.
She challenged him with an upward flick of her chin. "It's not much, but it's mine."
His gaze returned to her, his mouth severe. "Not quite."
"Pardon?"
"Running this place must take a lot of time, energy and money." He pointed toward her mail scattered on the table. The mail she didn't want to read. Bills she couldn't pay.
"I'm not complaining."
"Borrowing money, spending it when you know you can't pay it back." He wagged a finger at her as if she were a spoilt child. "Tut, tut." A sting of heat curled across her skin. "That's not true."
"I'm no fool. You're Curtis's wife."
"His widow," she corrected.
"He said you never had enough money."
Leah met Mac's gaze full on. Big mistake. He stepped closer. Not so close that he touched her, but still too close, his expression unyielding and full of condemnation.
But it was her reaction to him that scared her the most. The awareness that fired up all over again. She shook her head, willing away thoughts that had no right being there, and backed up.
"I've seen the loan documents, Leah. Your signature is quite clear, and according to an interesting conversation I had with Curtis's solicitor, your big problem runs into five digits."
Leah's shoulders slumped, and Mac bit out a harsh laugh, his tone as arrogant and brutal as the expression he wore. "Finally, I've got your attention."
"You have no right to nose into something that doesn't concern you."
"You're wrong. As Charlee's uncle, I've made it my business. I promised Curtis to look out for his daughter."
"His... Curtis barely registered her existence." Mac frowned, but even her uttering the truth didn't swerve him from his self-proclaimed purpose. "I always keep my promises. Your husband insinuated certain...allegations."
Her heartbeat skidded to a standstill. "Rubbish." But she had to ask. "About what?"
"That you're not a fit mother."
Leah threw her hands up, then shoved back the hair that had fallen across her eyes. Her palms were sweaty, and a sticky sheen of nervous perspiration slicked across her pores. "That's ridiculous. Curtis was sick and not in his right mind."
"That's your story, but don't worry, I intend to find out the truth."
Look for these titles by Now Available:.
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Worth It.
Worth the Risk.
Worth the Challenge.
Sometimes you run in to love. Sometimes it runs into you.
Simple Twist of Fate.
2011 The heart takes no prisoners.
Secrets and Seduction.
2011 Jane Beckenham.