PROJECT: RUNAWAY HEIRESS by Heidi Betts

PROJECT: RUNAWAY HEIRESS by Heidi Betts

Undercover Fashionista

When her designs keep showing up on a rival’s runway, heiress and fashion designer Lily Zaccaro vows to catch the thief.  She comes up with the perfect plan—run off to L.A. and go undercover as personal assistant to the other label’s CEO, Nigel Statham, aka the sexiest Brit alive.

As long work days turn into sizzling nights, Lily struggles to stay focused on her secret mission.  She desperately hopes that Nigel is innocent because their relationship is anything but!  In the face of so much deception, pretty soon their newfound love is hanging on by a thread…

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~Excerpt~

Impossible. This was impossible.

Lily Zaccaro maximized her browser window, leaning in even more closely to study the photo on her laptop screen. With angry taps at the keyboard, she minimized that window and opened another.

Dammit.

Screen after screen, window after window, her blood pressure continued to climb.

More angry keystrokes set the printer kicking out each and every picture. Or as she was starting to think of them: The Evidence.

Pulling the full-color photos from the paper tray, she carried them to one of the long, wide, currently empty cutting tables and laid them out side by side, row by row.

Inside her chest, her heart was pounding as though she'd just run a seven-minute mile. Right there, before her very eyes, was proof that someone was stealing her designs.

How had this happened?

She tapped her foot in agitation, twisted the oversize dinner ring on her right middle finger, even rubbed her eyes and blinked before studying the pictures again.

The fabric choices were different, of course, as were some of the lines and cuts, making them just distinctive enough not to be carbon copies. But there was no mistaking her original sketches in the competing designs.

To reassure herself she wasn't imagining things or going completely crazy, Lily moved to one of the hip-high file cabinet drawers where she kept all of her records and design sketches. Old, new, implemented and scratched. Riffling through them, she found the portfolio she was looking for, dragged it out and carried it back to the table.

One after another, she drew out the sketches she'd been working on last spring. The very ones they'd been prepared to work with, manufacture and put out for the following fall's line.

After a short game of mix-and-match, she had each sketch placed beside its counterpart from her rival. The similarities made her ill, almost literally sick to her stomach.

She leaned against the edge of the table while the images swam in front of her eyes, sending a dizzying array of colors and charcoal lines into the mix of emotions that were already leaving her light-headed and nauseated.

How could this happen? she wondered again. How could this possibly have happened?

Wracking her brain, she tried to think of who else might have seen her sketches while she was working. How many people had been in and out of this studio? There couldn't have been that many.

Zoe and Juliet, of course, but she trusted them with her life. She and her sisters shared this work space. The three of them rented the entire New York apartment building, using one of the lofts as a shared living space and the other as a work space for their company, Zaccaro Fashions.

Although there were times when they got on each other's nerves or their work schedules overlapped, their partnership was actually working out surprisingly well. And Lily showed her sisters all of her design ideas, sometimes even soliciting their opinions, the same as they shared their thoughts and sketches with her.

But neither of them—not even slightly flighty party girl, Zoe—would ever steal or sell her designs or betray her in any way. Of that, she was absolutely, one hundred percent certain.

So who else could it have been? They occasionally had others over to the studio, but not very often. Most times when they had business to conduct, they did it at Zaccaro Fashions, their official, public location in Manhattan's Fashion District, where they had more sewing machines set up, with employees to produce items on a larger, faster scale; offices for each of the sisters; and a small boutique set up out front. Something they hoped to expand upon very soon.

Of course, that particular dream would be nearly impossible to realize if their creations continued to get stolen and put on the market before they could release them.

She collected all of the papers from the cutting table, being sure to keep each of the printed pictures with its corresponding sketch. Then she began to pace, worrying a thumbnail between her teeth and wearing out the soles of her one-of-a-kind Zoe-designed pumps while she wondered what to do next.
What could she do?

If she had any idea who was responsible for this, then she might know what to do. Bludgeoning them with a sharp object or having them drawn and quartered in the middle of Times Square sounded infinitely satisfying. But even going to the police would work for her, as long as the theft and replication of her clothes stopped, and the culprit was punished or fired or chased out of town by a mob of angry fashion designers wielding very sharp scissors.

Without a clue of who was behind this, though, she didn't even know where to begin. Wasn't sure she had any options at all.

Her sisters might have some suggestions, but she so didn't want to involve them in this.

She'd been the one to go to design school, then ask their parents for a loan to start her own business.
Because—even though they were quite wealthy and had offered to simply give her the money, since she was already in line for a substantial inheritance—she'd wanted to do this herself, to build something rather than having it handed to her.

She'd been the one to come to New York and struggle to make a name for herself, Zoe and Juliet following along later. Zoe had been interested in the New York party scene more than anything else, and Juliet had quit her job as a moderately successful, fledgling real-estate agent back in Connecticut to join Lily's company.

Without a doubt, they had both added exponentially to Zaccaro Fashions. Lily's clothing designs were fabulous, of course, but Zoe's shoes and Juliet's handbags and accessories were what truly made the Zaccaro label a well-rounded and successful collection.

Accessories like that tended to be where the most money was made, too. Women loved to find not only a new outfit, but all the bells and whistles to go with it. The fact that they could walk into Zaccaro Fashions and walk back out with everything necessary to dress themselves up from head to toe in a single shopping bag was what had customers coming back time and time again. And recommending the store to their friends. Thank God.

But it wasn't her sisters' designs being ripped off, her sisters' stakes in the business being threatened, and she didn't want them to worry—about her or the security of their own futures.

No, she needed to handle this on her own. At least until she had a better idea of what was going on.
Returning to the laptop, she hopped up on the nearest stool and straightened her skirt, tucking her feet beneath her on one of the lower rungs. Her fingers hesitated over the keys, then she just started tapping, not sure she was doing the right thing, but deciding to follow her gut.

Two minutes later, she had the phone number of a corporate-investigation firm uptown, and five minutes after that, she had an appointment for the following week with their top investigator. She wasn't certain yet exactly what she would ask him to do, but once he heard her dilemma, maybe he would have some ideas.

Then she continued searching online, deciding to dig up everything she could on her newest, scheming rival, Ash-down Abbey.

The London-based clothing company had been founded more than a hundred years ago by Arthur Statham. Their fashions ranged from sportswear to business attire and had been featured in any number of magazines, from Seventeen to Vogue. They owned fifty stores worldwide, earning over ten million dollars in revenue annually.

So why in heaven's name would they need to steal ideas from her?

Zaccaro Fashions was still in its infancy, earning barely enough to cover the overhead, make monthly payments to Lily's parents toward the loan and allow Juliet, Zoe and herself to continue living comfortably in the loft and working in the adjoining studio. Ashdown Abbey might as well have been the Hope Diamond sitting beside a chunk of cubic zirconium in comparison.

The hijacked fashions in question had originated from Ashdown Abbey's Los Angeles branch, so she dug a little deeper into that particular division. According to the company's website, it was run by Nigel Statham, CEO and direct descendant of Arthur Statham himself.

But the Los Angeles offices had only been open for a year and a half and were apparently working somewhat independently of the rest of the British company, putting out a couple of exclusive lines and holding their own runway shows geared more toward an American—and specifically Hollywood—customer base.

Which meant it wasn't all of Ashdown Abbey out to ruin Lily's life, just the Los Angeles faction.

Lily narrowed her eyes, leaning closer to the laptop screen and focusing on a photo of Nigel Statham. Public Enemy Number One.

He was a good-looking man, she'd give him that much. Grudgingly. Short, light brown hair with a bit of curl at the ends. High cheekbones and a strong jaw. Lips that were full, but not too full. And eyes that looked to be a deep shade of green, though that was difficult to tell from a picture on the internet.
She wanted to despise him on sight, but in one photo, he was smiling. A sexy, charming smile that went all the way to his eyes and threatened to turn her knees to jelly.

Of course, she was sitting and she was made of sterner stuff than that, so that wasn't going to happen. But at first glance, she certainly wouldn't have pegged him as a thief.

She continued to scroll through pictures and articles and company information, but much of it was for the U.K. division and the other European stores. The Los Angeles branch still seemed to be finding its footing and working to establish itself as a British clothing company on American soil.

Deciding there wasn't much more she could do until she met with the investigator except seethe in silence, Lily began to close up shop. She checked her watch. She was supposed to meet her sisters for dinner in twenty minutes, anyway.

But as she was shutting down browser windows, something caught her eye. A page filled with "job opportunities at Ashdown Abbey—U.S.A." She'd been perusing the list just to get a better idea of how the company operated.

Now, though, she expanded the window, clicked on the link for "more information" and hit Print.
It was crazy, what she was suddenly thinking. Worse yet that she was contemplating actually going through with it.

Her sisters would try to talk her out of it for sure, if she even mentioned the possibility. The investigator would undoubtedly warn her against it, then likely try to convince her to let him handle it at—what?—one hundred…two hundred and fifty.. five hundred dollars an hour.

It would be so much easier for her to slip in and poke around herself. She knew the design world inside and out, so she would certainly fit in. And if she made herself sound smart and qualified enough, surely she would be a shoo-in.

A tiny shiver of anxiety rolled down her spine. Okay, so it was dangerous. A lot could go wrong, and she probably stood to get herself into a heap of trouble if anyone—or the wrong someone, at any rate—found out.

But it was too good an opportunity to pass up. Almost as though she was meant to go through with this, fate bending its bony finger to point the way. Otherwise, what were the chances this particular position would open up just when she most needed the inside scoop on Ashdown Abbey?

No, she had to do this. She had to find out what was going on, how it had happened and get it to stop. And going to work for Ashdown Abbey seemed like a good way to do exactly that.

Not just good—perfect.

Because Nigel Statham needed a personal assistant, and she was just the right woman for the job.

Nigel Statham muttered an unflattering curse, slapping the company's quarterly financial report down on top of his father's latest missive. The one that made him feel like a child in short trousers being scolded for some minor transgression or another.

Handwritten on personal stationery and posted all the way from England—because that's how his parents had always done it, and email was too commonplace for their refined breeding—the letter outlined the U.S. division's disappointing returns and Nigel's failure to make it yet another jewel in the Ashdown Abbey crown since he'd been appointed CEO eighteen months ago.

Disappointment clung to the words as though his father was standing in the room, delivering them face-to-face: hands behind his back, bushy white brows drawn down in a frown of displeasure. Just like when he'd been a boy.

His parents had always expected perfection—an aim he had fallen short of time and time again. But he hardly thought a year and a half was long enough to ascertain the success or failure of a new branch of the business in an entirely new country when it had taken nearly a century for Ashdown Abbey to reach its current level of success in the U.K. alone.

He thought perhaps his father's expectations for this new venture had been set a bit too high. But try telling the senior Statham that.

With a sigh, Nigel leaned back and wondered how long he could put off responding to the letter before his father sent a second. Or worse yet, decided to fly all the way to Los Angeles to check in on his son in person.

Another day, certainly. Especially since he was currently dreading the job of training a brand-new personal assistant.

He'd been through three so far. Three attractive but very young ladies who had been competent enough but hardly dedicated.

The problem with hiring personal assistants in the heart of Los Angeles, he decided, was that they tended to be either aspiring actresses who grew bored easily or quit as soon as they landed a part in a hand-lotion commercial; or they were aspiring fashion designers who grew bored when they didn't make it to the top with their own line in under six months.

And each time one of them moved on, he had to start all over training a new girl. It was enough to make him consider hiring an assistant to be on hand to train his next assistant.

Human resources had hired the latest in his stead, then sent him a memo with her name and a bit of background information, both personal and professional. It probably wasn't even worth remembering the woman's name, but then he'd never been that kind of boss.

Before he had the chance to review her resume once more, there was a tap on his office door. Less than half a second later, it swung open and his new assistant—he deduced she was his new assistant, at any rate—strode across the carpeted floor.

She was prettier than her photo depicted. Her hair teetered somewhere between light brown and dark blond, pulled back in a loose but smoothly twisted bun at the back of her head. Her face was lightly made up, the lines classic and delicate, almost Romanesque.

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SECRETS, LIES & LULLABIES by Heidi Betts

SECRETS, LIES AND LULLABIES by Heidi Betts

ROCK-A-BYE BILLIONAIRE

No problem’s too big for CEO Alexander Bajoran…until a baby is left in his boardroom with a note stating he’s the daddy. The mother must be Jessica Taylor, an unforgettable though regrettable one-night stand. Why would she do such a thing?

When Jessica returns, desperate and remorseful, there’s no way Alex will let her walk away with his son. And after discovering that she’s connected to his jewelry empire’s biggest rival, the mogul wonders if the pregnancy really was an accident. What will he gamble to keep his heir…and the woman who still has a stranglehold on his heart?

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~Excerpt~

Alexander Bajoran swiped his key card and pushed open the heavy oak door to his suite. He'd been halfway down the winding mile-long drive leading away from the luxurious yet rustic resort—aptly named Mountain View Lodge—when he realized he'd forgotten a stack of much-needed paperwork. Now he was late for his meeting, and it was going to be nearly impossible to make it into downtown Portland on time.

He let the door swing closed behind him as he marched toward the large cherrywood desk on the far side of the sitting area. Six steps in, he stopped short at the sound of someone else moving around in the suite. Turning toward the bedroom, he paused in the doorway, taking note of the woman stripping his bed and shaking her rear end to a song only she could hear.

She was wearing a maid's uniform, but sadly not one of the sexy French variety. Just a simple gray dress that did nothing to compliment her figure or coloring.

Her blond hair was pulled up and twisted at the back of her head, held in place by a large plastic clip, but he could still see bits of color peeking out here or there. A thin streak of black, then auburn, then blue running down one side and blending into the rest.

Yes, blue. The woman had blue hair. At least a few bits of it.

She was humming beneath her breath, the occasional odd lyric tripping off her tongue as she whipped back the top sheet, then a corner of the fitted one. The quilted coverlet was already in a heap on the floor.

As she danced around, oblivious to his presence, he noticed the glitter of earrings lining the entire length of one ear. Studs, hoops, dangles; there must have been seven or eight in her right ear alone. The left had only four that he could see—three near the lobe and one higher up near her temple.

Despite all the silver and gold and jeweled settings, he knew they had to be fake. No way could a chambermaid afford the real thing. Which was a shame, because she'd look good in diamonds. And he should know—diamonds were his business.

Soiled sheets balled up in her arms, she turned suddenly, jumping back and giving a high-pitched shriek when she saw him standing there.

He held his hands up in the universal I-mean-you-no-harm gesture. "I didn't mean to startle you," he offered by way of apology.

Reaching up, she yanked the buds from her ears and tucked them into the pocket of the white apron that must have held her MP3 player. He could hear the heavy beat of her music as she fumbled to turn down the volume.

Now that he could look at her straight on, he noticed she wasn't wearing makeup…or not much, at any rate. Strange, considering her hair and jewelry choices. She even had a small gold hoop with a tiny fleck of cubic zirconia hanging from the outer edge of her right eyebrow.

Eyes still wide from the scare he'd given her, she licked her lips. "I'm sorry, I didn't know anybody would be here. I didn't see the sign on the knob."

He shook his head. "There wasn't one. I expected to be gone for the day, but forgot something I need for a meeting."

He didn't know why he was telling her this. He didn't normally spend a lot of time explaining himself to anyone. But the longer he stood here talking, the longer he got to look at her. And he did enjoy looking at her.

That, too, was unusual for him. The women he dated tended to be socialites from wealthy families. Polished and sophisticated, the type who spent their days at the garden club doing nothing more strenuous than planning their next thousand-dollar-a-plate fundraiser for the charity du jour.

Never before had he found himself even remotely attracted to someone with multicolored hair and excessive piercings. But the young woman standing in front of him was fascinating in an exotic-animal, priceless-piece-of-artwork way.

She seemed to be slightly disconcerted by his presence, as well, staring at him as if she expected him to bite.

"Is there anything you need, as long as I'm here?" she asked, nervously licking her lips over and over again. "Extra towels or glasses, that sort of thing?"

He shook his head. "I'm fine, thank you."

Then, because he couldn't think of anything else to say or any other reason to stand there, staring at the help as though she was on display, he moved away, heading back across the sitting room and grabbing up the file he'd forgotten. It was her turn to stand in the bedroom doorway while he slapped the manila folder against his free hand a couple of times.

"Well," he murmured, for no particular reason, "I'll leave you to it, then."

She inclined her head in acknowledgment, still watching him warily.

Walking to the suite's main door, he pulled it open and set one foot across the threshold into the hall. But before walking off, he couldn't resist turning back and taking one last glance at the intriguing young woman who had already returned to her job of changing his sheets.

"It was Alexander Bajoran," Jessica said in a harsh whisper, leaning so far across the small round deli table that her nose very nearly touched her cousin's.

"You're kidding," Erin returned in an equally hushed voice, her eyes going wide in amazement.

Jessica shook her head, crossed her arms over her chest and flopped back in her chair, causing her cousin to move forward in hers. Their sandwiches sat untouched in front of them, their ice-filled fountain drinks slowly producing rivulets of condensation down the sides of the paper cups.

"Did he recognize you?" Erin asked.

"I don't know. He didn't say anything, but he was looking at me a little funny."

"Funny, how?"

Jessica flashed her a tiny grin. "The usual."

"Well, you do tend to stand out."

Jessica stuck her tongue out at her cousin's teasing. "We can't all be prim and proper Jackie O wannabes."

"Nobody's asking you to be Jackie O. The family just wishes you weren't quite so intent on being the next Courtney Love."

Following through on the natural instincts that had probably earned her that reputation in the first place, Jessica flipped her cousin a good-natured hand gesture. Not the least offended by the response, Erin merely rolled her eyes.

"Actually, your unique personal style may work in our favor. You don't look at all the way you did five years ago. Chances are, Bajoran won't have a clue who you are."

"I hope not. I'll try to switch floors with Hilda, though. That should keep me from accidentally bumping into him again."

"No, don't do that!" Erin said quickly. "The fact that he doesn't recognize you is a good thing. You can move around his suite freely without arousing suspicion."

"Arousing suspicion?" Jessica repeated. "Who am I— James Bond?"

"If I could do it, I would, believe me," Erin told her with no small amount of bitterness leeching into her voice. "But you're the one he already thinks is a chambermaid."

Jessica narrowed her eyes. "Why does that matter?"

"Because it means you can move around the lodge without being noticed. You know what men like Bajoran are like. Rich and self-absorbed…to him, you'll be all but invisible."

Jessica understood her cousin's anger, really she did. Fifty years ago, Alexander Bajoran's grandfather and great-uncle had launched Bajoran Designs. Soon after, they'd begun a partnership with Jessica's and Erin's grandfathers, who owned Taylor Fine Jewels. Both companies had been based in Seattle, Washington, and together they'd been responsible for creating some of the most beautiful and valuable jewelry in the world. Million-dollar necklaces, bracelets and earrings worn by celebrities and royalty across the globe.

The Taylor-Bajoran partnership had lasted for decades, making both families extremely wealthy. And then one day about five years ago, Alexander had taken over Bajoran Designs from his father, and his first order of business had been to steal her family's company right out from under them.

Without warning he'd bought up a majority of shares of Taylor Fine Jewels and forced Jessica's and Erin's fathers off the Board of Directors so he could absorb the company into his own and essentially corner the market on priceless jewels and their settings.

Thanks to Alexander's treacherous move, the Taylor family had gone bankrupt and been driven out of Seattle almost overnight. They were far from destitute, but all the same, the Taylors were not used to living frugally. Jessica didn't think her mother was used to her new, more middle-class lifestyle even now, and Erin's mother had taken the reversal of fortune hardest of all.

Jessica was doing okay, though. Did she enjoy being a maid at a resort where she used to be a guest? Where she used to stay in a three-thousand-dollar-a-night suite and that her family could easily have purchased with a flick of the wrist?

Not always. But being a maid, working at a normal job like a normal person, gave her a freedom she'd never felt as a rich, well-known socialite. No way could she have gotten away with streaks in her hair and pierced everything when she'd been one of those Taylors. When she'd been attending luncheons at the country club with her mother and been the subject of regular snapshots by local and national paparazzi.

Money was good, but she thought anonymity might be a little bit better. For her, at least. For Erin, she knew the opposite was true.

"Why do I need to be invisible?" she asked finally. "It's lucky enough he didn't recognize me the first time. I should switch floors and maybe even shifts with one of the other girls before he does."

"No!" Erin exploded again. "Don't you see? This is our chance! Our chance to get back at that bastard for what he did to us."

"What are you talking about?" Thoroughly confused, Jessica shook her head. "How could we possibly get back at him for that? He's a millionaire. Billionaire. The CEO of a zillion-dollar company. We're nobodies. No money, no power, no leverage."

"That's right, we're nobodies. And he's the CEO of a zillion-dollar company that used to be ours. Maybe it could be again."

Before Jessica had the chance to respond, Erin rushed on. "He's here on business, right? That means he has to have business information with him. Paperwork, contracts, documents we could use to possibly get Taylor Fine Jewels back."

"Taylor Fine Jewels doesn't exist anymore. It's been absorbed into Bajoran Designs."

"So?" Erin replied with a shrug of one delicate shoulder. "It can always be un-absorbed."

Jessica didn't know how that would work. She wasn't sure it was even possible. But whether it was or it wasn't, what Erin was suggesting was insanity.

"I can't go poking around in his things. It's wrong. And dangerous. And corporate espionage. And definitely against Mountain View policy. I could lose my job!"

Her cousin made a sound low in her throat. "It's only corporate espionage if you're employed by a rival company. Which you're not, because Alexander Bajoran stole our company and put us all out on the street. And who cares if you lose that stupid job? Surely you can scrub toilets for the wealthy elite at some other high-priced hotel."

Jessica leaned back, stunned by the venom in her cousin's voice, as well as her obvious disdain for Jessica's occupation. Yes, she scrubbed toilets and stripped beds and vacuumed carpets instead of folding scarves and dressing mannequins at an upscale boutique like Erin, but she kind of liked it. She got to spend most of her time alone, got along well with the rest of the housekeeping staff and didn't have to claim her sometimes quite generous tips on her taxes.

And it kept her busy enough that she didn't have time to dwell on the past or nurse a redwood-size grudge against an old enemy the way her cousin obviously did.

"Come on, Jess. Please," Erin begged. "You have to do this. For the family. We may never get another opportunity to find out what Bajoran is up to, or if there's some way—any way—to rebuild the business and our lives."

She wanted to refuse. Should refuse. But the pain in Erin's voice and in her eyes gave Jessica pause.

She could maybe poke around a little.

"What would I have to do?" she asked carefully. "What would I be looking for?"

"Just…see if you can find some paperwork. On the desk, in his briefcase if he leaves it. Interoffice memos, maybe, or documents outlining his next top secret, underhanded takeover."

Against her better judgment, Jessica gave a reluctant nod. "All right, I'll do it. But I'm not going to get caught. I'll glance around. Keep my eyes open. But I'm not going to rummage through his belongings like a common thief."

Erin's nod was much more exuberant. "Fine, I understand. Just look around. Maybe linger over fluffing the pillows if he's on the phone…listen in on his conversation."

She wasn't certain she could do that, either, but simply acting like she would seemed to make her cousin happy enough.

"Don't get your hopes up, Erin. This has 'Lucy and Ethel' written all over it, and you know how their crazy schemes always turned out. I'm not going to jail for you, either. A Taylor with a criminal record would get even more press than one having to work a menial, nine-to-five job cleaning other people's bathrooms."

Two

This was insane.

She was a former socialite turned chambermaid, not some stealthy spy trained to ferret out classified information. She didn't even know what she was looking for, let alone how to find it.

Her cart was in the hall, but she'd dragged nearly everything she needed to clean and restock the room in with her. Sheets, towels, toilet paper, the vacuum cleaner… If there were enough supplies spread out, she figured she would look busier and have more of an excuse for moving all over the suite in case anyone—specifically Alexander Bajoran—came in and caught her poking around.

The problem was, his suite was pretty much immaculate. She'd been cleaning it herself on a daily basis, even before he'd checked in, and the Mountain View's housekeeping standards were quite high. Add to that the fact that Alexander Bajoran was apparently quite tidy himself, and there was almost nothing personal left out for her to snoop through.

Regardless of what she'd let her cousin believe, she was not going to ransack this room. She would glance through the desk, under the bed, in the nightstands, maybe inside the closet, but she was not going to root through his underwear drawer. Not when she didn't even know what she was supposed to be looking for.

Business-related what? Compromising what?

Jessica couldn't blame her cousin for wanting to find something incriminating. Anything that might turn the tables on the man who had destroyed the Taylors' livelihood and a few members of the family personally.

But how realistic was that, really? It had been five years since Bajoran's hostile takeover. He had moved on and was certainly juggling a dozen other deals and business ventures by now. And even if those weren't entirely on the level, she doubted he was walking around with a paper trail detailing his treachery.

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ON THE VERGE OF I DO by Heidi Betts

Dynasties: The Kincaids Book 4

Wedding, Interrupted

It’s hard for events planner Kara Kincaid to be planning her sister's wedding to the man Kara's had a crush on since childhood. Even harder when said sister calls the whole thing off. Hardest still is when the jilted groom shows Kara some very personal attention, threatening to destroy her relationship with her family - and Kara ends up in his bed anyway.

After a just-friends engagement that just didn't work, hotel magnate Eli Houghton thinks he's finally found the right woman. His new plan: convince Kara there's no hidden agenda, and that the magic words are I do…

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~Excerpt~

The elevator doors slid open and they stepped inside. Eli swiped his pass key and punched the button for his private suites, then brought her around so they could face forward while remaining in physical contact. Otherwise, she was sure they looked perfectly professional, perfectly normal.

The doors slid closed, shutting them in together, alone. One minute she was staring at their blurry reflection in the polished silver of the double elevator doors. The next, she was spinning like a top, coming to rest between the hard wall of Eli’s broad chest at her front and the cool steel of the doors at her back.

“I can’t wait one more minute to do this,” he growled.

She opened her mouth to ask Do what?, but didn’t get the chance to voice the first syllable before his mouth crushed down on hers. It took her completely by surprise, cutting off her oxygen and making her muscles go limp as noodles.

Against her better judgment, when his tongue licked the seam of her lips and he attempted to nudge his way inside, she let him. It was just a kiss, after all. Just one . . . tiny . . . kiss.

Somewhere over their heads, a bell dinged. The sound didn’t have time to register in her fog-laden brain before the doors behind her slid open and she fell backward.

Eli stumbled after her, catching them both before they ended up in an undignified pile on the foyer floor. Keeping them on their feet, he continued backing her across the entryway until she was once again stopped by a wall. He pinned her there with his body, touching her from collarbones to knee bones.

He kissed her again, not nearly as gently as he had in the elevator. If the kiss in the elevator could be called gentle, which is couldn’t. But he didn’t wait for her compliance, didn’t give her time to adjust or a chance to open her mouth in invitation. He simply leaned in and took what he wanted.

For long, languid moments, they stood there, tasting, touching, letting the rest of the world spin out of control. His hands clutched her waist. His erection pressed into her belly. In return, she pawed at his shoulders, her nails kneading him through the material of his suit jacket like a kitten kneading for cream.

When he released her mouth, she gasped. Then, while she was sucking air into her scalded, much-abused lungs, he caught her off-guard by scooping her into his arms.

She let out a startled yip to find herself suddenly horizontal, literally swept off her feet. “What are you doing?”

“What do you think?” he retorted without inflection, not sounding the least bit out of breath, even though she was still struggling not to pant.

Now that he wasn’t muddling her mind with steamy kisses and subtle strokes of his hands up and down her sides, she could almost think straight, and she knew this wasn’t right. Knew they couldn’t do what he was carrying her off to do.

Pressing a palm to his rock-solid shoulder and wiggling slightly in his embrace, she said, “Eli, no. We can’t do this.”

“Yes,” he told her in no uncertain terms. “We can.”

Reaching the bedroom doorway, he elbowed open the pocket doors and headed straight for the massive king size mattress at its center. The entire room was decorated in shades of the ocean—sand, turquoise, salmon—and the bed was made up with a thick golden comforter with enough pillows stacked against the woven bamboo headboard to build a fort.

That’s all she had time to notice, though, as he carried her around to the side and set her on her feet so he could begin tossing those pillows onto the floor and tearing back the covers. Snowy white sheets in what she was sure was the finest Egyptian cotton lay beneath, just begging to be dirtied and rumpled.

Uh-oh. She took a step back in self-preservation.

Eli noticed her retreat immediately.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he mumbled, grabbing her wrist and tugging her toward him.

Her hands went up to stop her from bumping into his chest, but he apparently wanted her to do just that, because he kept tugging until she made contact with a solid thump.

“We can’t do this, Eli,” she said again, trying desperately to make him see sense.

“Yes,” he returned with even more resolve than before, “we can.”

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MUST LOVE VAMPIRES by Heidi Betts

MUST LOVE VAMPIRES by Heidi Betts

Love At First Bite

Nightclub dancer Chloe Lamoureaux just met the man of her dreams: Aidan Raines is charming, considerate, rich, and hot. Of course, he's a little mysterious about his age. And his favorite drink. And he's not much for sunlight. But he's asked her to marry him, and she's ready to do it. Sure, she has a few secrets too - but they'll have plenty of time to work things out while they're living happily ever after. Right?

Her identical twin sister, Chuck, isn't so sure. Maybe reporting for the local Bigfoot-sighting tabloid doesn't make her an expert, but to Chuck, Aidan and his brother Sebastian look like honest-to-Dracula vampires. Especially Sebastian: beguiling, seductive, and just a hint of dangerous. Maybe she wouldn't mind him taking a little taste. But with Chloe's life in the balance, she has to know - do they want hot love or hot blood? Or maybe...a little of both?

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And don’t miss...

ONE LAST BITE (an epilogue to Must Love Vampires)

The tantalizing happily-ever-after finale to the story of Sebastian and Charlotte, Aidan and Chloe, available as a free e-book download.

Download your copy today!

~Excerpt~

Chuck couldn’t believe it. She was sitting on the sofa beside an honest to goodness vampire. A vampire!

She was almost giddy with excitement. Sure, there was a fair amount of trepidation roiling in her belly, too, but mostly she was just too darn pleased with herself.

Even if Sebastian went all feral and ate her for his supper, she figured she’d die happy in the knowledge that she’d been right! She wasn’t crazy, and she hadn’t let the wild imaginings of her previous stories for the Tattler get her all whipped up over nothing. Sebastian Raines was definitely something.

Whoo-howdy, was he ever. Was it wrong to be sitting here, drinking his wine, silently writing up bullet points for her article, and lusting after him like a sailor on shore leave? Well, like the female version of one, anyway, whatever that might be.

“I want to interview you,” she blurted out suddenly, bouncing up on her knees on the soft sofa cushions.

It had never occurred to her before—probably because she’d never intended to actually come face to face with him. Follow him around his own casino, dig into his past and present, and sneak through his penthouse looking for clues to his otherworldliness, sure. But actually sit down with him and ask him questions directly? It was an underpaid tabloid reporter’s dream come true.

Careful not to spill her wine in all her sit-up-and-shake puppy dog excitement, she asked, “Would you let me?”

His dark lashes fluttered over his even darker eyes. “I’ve never been interviewed,” he replied slowly. “Get more requests each week than you can imagine, but I’ve never granted a single one.”
“I know.”

And she did; she’d scoured the internet, old newspapers and magazines, even microfiche, for God’s sake, for any hint of something personal about Sebastian Raines in Sebastian Raines’s own words. She’d found nothing. Oh, there had been plenty of articles written about him—about his properties, his multi-million dollar corporations, even a few with a where-did-this-guy-come-from? tone—but always from an outsider’s perspective.

With a small inclination of his head, he said, “I told you I’d tell you everything, so I will. But my frankness comes with a price.”

Chuck’s heart leapt. Whatever it was, she would pay.

Did he want actual cash? Probably not, since he had about nine thousand, sixteen trillion more dollars in his bank account than she did, but she was still willing to offer.

If he was more in the market for a live-in maid, or even a live-in mistress . . . well, she was up for that, too. She’d already been drooling over him from afar, so putting herself out there like that (ha—putting out) for the story of a lifetime wouldn’t exactly be a hardship.

As for the other . . . well, she could scrub a toilet as well as anyone, she supposed.

“You won’t remember anything once I finish.”

She blinked, slamming on her brain’s brakes and laying rubber until she could pull a mental U-ie. Wait. What?

“What?” she repeated aloud, knowing she was blinking like a camel in a sandstorm.

“That’s the deal, Char— Sorry. Chuck.”

He said her name as though he didn’t particularly like it, and definitely wasn’t used to calling a woman by a man’s name. She got that a lot.

“What does that mean?” she asked carefully.

Was he telling her that he wouldn’t allow her to use anything he told her when they were finished? An off-the-record-type interview. Or was he telling her she wouldn’t remember the interview when they were done in a Mafia Boss, you’ll-sleep-with-the-fishes sort of way?

She honestly didn’t know which made her feel more sick to her stomach. Swimming with the fishes would be bad, but not being able to use the most coveted interview on the planet would be devastating. Heartbreaking. Even if he didn’t put her in cement shoes and drop her to the bottom of Lake Tahoe, she would probably take a voluntary dive off the Hoover Dam, anyway.

“It means that I can answer your questions. I can tell you everything you’ve ever wanted to know. But when we’re done, your memory of this evening will be completely erased and you’ll remember nothing.”

“How . . .” When her voice squeaked on the word, she paused, collected herself, and tried again. “How exactly will that happen?”
One corner of his mouth quirked up in a self-deprecating grin. “Come now. Do you think all vampires do is drink blood from unsuspecting victims?”

Inside her chest, Chuck’s heart was ka-thump-ka-thump-ka-thumping to beat the band. Holy hell on a hamburger bun. That was as good as an admission that he was, indeed, a vampire.

Granted, he hadn’t come right out and said, “Why, yes, ma’am, I am a bloodsucking fiend of the night. Wanna see my fangs?”

But she’d seen the fangs, hadn’t see? No full-on, double fang action, but there for a second, just a minute or two ago, she’d definitely seen . . . more tooth where most people had less tooth.

And though she hadn’t asked him directly whether or not he was a vampire, she’d certainly made it clear that’s what she was after, and nothing he’d said so far led her to believe his answer would be no.

The glass in her hand trembled, and her lips started to go numb. Was she having a heart attack? Was this what one felt like? Or maybe she was simply on the verge of a panic attack.

Either way, this was IT. Big I, big T, nothing was ever going to top this in her entire life. If she one day gave birth to a litter of porcupines and got into the Guinness Book of World Records, she would still look back at the night she’d sat across from an honest-to-goodness vampire and gotten the story from his very own blood-stained mouth, and consider it the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her.

But could she go through the most exciting event of her life, get all of her nagging questions answered, know she’d finally proven that vampires really did exist . . . and then consent to having it all wiped away as though it never happened?

She thought about it for all of about a milli-second. The time it took for her fingers to flex more tightly around her wine glass and her gaze to once again zero in on Sebastian’s impressive, almost Romanesque profile as he reached for the bottle to refill his own glass.

Yes. Yes, she could. She had to know. Wanted it more than her next breath or her daily top secret Snickers bar.

It killed her, absolutely killed her to think that when she woke up the next morning, she might not remember a single thing about tonight, but it was a risk she was willing to take. Who knew, maybe his vampire mojo or whatever it was wouldn’t work. Maybe she would wake up not only remembering the events of this evening, but as far back as having her ass slapped by the doctor when she’d been born.

A frown crossed her face as one last thought occurred to her. “This whole . . . erasing my memory thing,” she murmured, nibbling at one side of her bottom lip. “It doesn’t involve any sort of electro-shock or frontal lobotomy-type stuff, does it?”

He chuckled. “No, I assure you it’s entirely non-invasive. Except for the loss of recent memories, of course.”

Of course.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded, and forced the words past a throat closed tight with anxiety. “All right. As long as you promise not to leave me a drooling vegetable staring at Phineas and Ferb all day, I’m in.”

“Who?”

She waved off his question with a flip of her wrist. “It’s a cartoon. For kids.” Something she knew only because she spent way too many hours awake when she should be asleep, with only the Disney Channel for company.

“No, I will not leave you drooling over this Phillius on Verb, or anything else. You’ll be perfectly fine, except for a few missing hours of your life you’ll probably wonder about. After a while, you’ll even forget that they ever went missing.”

“Then I want to know,” she told him, making her voice strong and sure in hopes of convincing herself, as well.

He inclined his head. “Where would you like to start?”

Well, shoot, she wasn’t expecting that. Her brows crossed. Where did she want to start?

She already knew he was a vampire. At this point, that was a given. He’d never come right out and admitted as much, but . . . yeah, it was a given.

And she assumed he drank blood, couldn’t go out in sunlight, and had been around since the invention of the wheel or soon thereafter. The whole nine undead yards.

She wanted to know more than just the everyday minutia of an immortal’s existence. Although, yes, she was sure that was all fascinating. She’d come back to it later. But for now, she wanted to dig deeper, learn something a little more substantial than whether or not he slept in a coffin or had to carry dirt from his native land in his pants pocket twenty-four/seven.

When she thought about it, what she wanted to know most was really pretty simple. And probably what had driven her to go after Sebastian like a pitbull with this “there’s a vampire living in Las Vegas” theory in the first place.

Licking her lips and meeting his steel gray gaze, she asked, “How does it feel to know you’re going to live forever?”

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THE BITE BEFORE CHRISTMAS by Heidi Betts

THE BITE BEFORE CHRISTMAS by Heidi Betts

It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Vampires...

Vampires turn to fanged and fabulous matchmaker extraordinaire Angelina Ricci to help them find that special someone to curl up with under the mistletoe in this charming (read: sexy) and delightful (read: funny) holiday collection by national bestselling author Heidi Betts. Because vampires need love, too. (Biting optional. Hot sex guaranteed.)

"All I Vant For Christmas"

Millionaire vampire Connor Drake loves trimming the tree, baking gingerbread cookies, and hanging the mistletoe for Christmas, but his Goth and gloomy vampire siblings won't have anything to do with it. Enter Angelina, who sends party planner Jillian Parker to the rescue. But when Jillian - who's mortal -discovers that she's decking the halls for a family of vampires, will she run...or will Connor have a beautiful woman to share the holidays with?

"A Vampire in Her Stocking"

When Vivian learns that her secret crush, Sean, is terminally ill, she is heartbroken. Confiding in her matchmaking friend, Angelina recommends the obvious - give Sean eternal life by turning him into a vampire, too. But when Vivian refuses, Angelina decides to play Santa (with a side of Cupid) and changes Sean for her, leaving him wrapped in a bright red bow on Vivian's doorstep...

"It's A Wonderful Bite"

Although Angelina is happy with her longtime lover, Ian, she's ready for a commitment. After drinking eggnog and watching It's a Wonderful Life on Christmas Eve for the (literally) four millionth time, Angelina falls into a dream where she is mortal, and Ian is involved with someone else. Talk about the nightmare before Christmas! But Santa must have checked his list twice, because this Christmas, Angelina's wishes are about to come true...

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~Excerpt~

“Don’t you ever miss the comfortable, cozy feeling the holidays used to bring?” he asked quietly. “That sense of togetherness, the remembrance of what’s truly important as the minutia of everyday life falls away.”

“You forget, love, that I’m the old-fashioned type, just like you. I still celebrate the holidays, complete with all the trimmings.”

Connor took a sip of his AB-negative, then gave a weary sigh. “Only a few weeks until Christmas. It’s going to be the worst one yet, I expect.”

“Not necessarily.” Setting her glass on the table beside her large, brocade wing-back chair, Angelina uncrossed her legs and leaned forward slightly. “I know someone,” she told him. “A professional.”

Working hard to hide his astonishment, he allowed only one dark brow to dart upward. “You’re offering to send me a prostitute to cheer me up over the holidays?”

She threw her head back, her smoky laugh filling the entire library where they sat. “Don’t be silly. There are other professions women can excel at these days, you know. I like to think I’m a perfect example of that.”

Her lips twisted in the intimation of a pout, but he knew she was really amused.

“No, I know a professional event coordinator. She’s very good, and I think she may be able to put together a Christmas event for you that won’t have you praying for Hailey’s Comet to strike you dead.”

“If only that would do the job,” he muttered beneath his breath.

“Let me talk to her. If she’s available, I’ll have her give you a call.”

“Is she also a miracle worker? Because I’m afraid that’s what it will take to convince Liam and Maeve to sit still through a four-course meal and not burst into flames at the sound of ‘Jingle Bells.’”

“I don’t know about that, but I do think she’ll be able to give you the holiday you’re wishing for, whether your brother and sister decide to behave themselves or not.”

Despite Angelina’s assurances, Connor didn’t hold much hope that her prediction would come true. But then, what did he have to lose?

“Fine,” he replied without inflection. Then, as he lifted his glass to his mouth to drink, he added, “But I think I might be better off with the hooker.”

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HOTTER THAN HELL edited by Kim Harrison

HOTTER THAN HELL

Anthology featuring stories from L.A. Banks, Kim Harrison, Heidi Betts, Keri Arthur, Marjorie M. Liu, and more!

SURRENDER TO THE SEDUCTION OF THE OTHERWORLDLY…

Beyond the boundaries of the everyday is an unseen realm where anything you imagine is possible. Your demon lover is waiting for you in the shadows, ready to fulfill your secret wishes and most dangerous fantasies. Here passion has a face and form both titillating and terrifying–and love has teeth and claws. Get ready to give in to your craving for sometehing exquisitely dark…and different.

HOTTER THAN HELL gathers together a baker’s dozen of today’s boldest and best authors of supernatural fiction and paranormal romance in a breathtaking anthology that blends black magic and red-hot desire. From the tantalizing tale of a conflicted psychic vampire driven by a powerful, savage love to the strange saga of a Greek warrior woman battling to save the world, these are stories outside the limits, as hypnotic as the full moon…and hotter than the sun.

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She’d been asleep only a few minutes when the dream began. And she knew it was a dream, knew it was one of those dreams, even as she drifted through that delicate space between slumber and reality.

She was in Castle MacKay, curled up in her sleeping bag, but she wasn’t alone. It was no rat or spider keeping her company, either, but a man.

Dougal.

He stepped out of the shadows, all six-plus-feet of him, and walked toward her.

He moved slowly, making no sound as he crossed the earthen floor, giving her a chance to study him. He was bare-chested, wearing nothing more than a kilt and soft-soled, worn leather boots. His hair was black, tousled and long enough to brush his broad, well-formed shoulders. His green eyes glowed, looking serpentine in the dark, with their thin, vertical pupils.

And his flesh . . . every inch of that strong, impressive chest that she could see . . . was covered with a beautiful, almost iridescent sort of tattoo. But not of any picture or form she could make out. Instead, it looked like layer after layer of lovely, colorful . . . scales.

That might have seemed odd to her, probably had in the beginning, but after so many dreams of this man, she was not only used to the unique markings, but found them attractive and erotic to the extreme.

Even as that thought flitted through her brain, he was upon her, kneeling down and flipping back the top fold of the sleeping bag. Heat radiated from every pore of his body as he stared down at her, taking in her pale pink t-shirt with its hibiscus flowers and hula girl, advertising Hawaii as “a great place to get leied.” The hem had ridden up around her hips, leaving her stark white, French-cut bikini panties in full view.

He murmured a single word, low and emphatic, but in a language she didn’t understand, had never heard before she’d begun having these dreams. And then he was loosening the wide belt at his waist, kicking off his calf-high boots, and letting the blue, black, and green fabric of his family tartan fall to the floor. A second later, he was stretched out full length on top of her.

His mouth covered hers, furnace hot, sending flickering flames down her throat and to her very center. He bit, licked, sucked, devoured her like a starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet. The firm contours of his muscled chest and arms pressed in on her, his legs straddling her own, the rigid length of his arousal rubbing against the soft material at the apex of her thighs.

She had been wet long before he touched her. One glance at his rippling, masculine body towering over her, and she’d turned liquid with fiery lust. Her nipples were puckered and jutting beneath the cotton of her top as she writhed beneath him.

His lips and teeth burned her flesh, tugged at her lips, skimming her cheek, trailing down the line of her throat. He lifted up only long enough to grab the bottom of her shirt in his large, long-fingered hands and strip it off over her head. Then he lowered his head again and feasted at her breast.

Her back arched on a moan, her fingers threading through his black hair as his tongue circled her areola, the budded tip, and then drew her fully into his mouth.

“Yes, please.” She scratched at his back with her nails, lifting, reaching for more.

The heat of his long, seeking cock brushing between her legs made her want him inside her now. Hard, hot, fast. She rotated her hips, trying to hurry him, trying to take him in, even before she was fully naked.

And–thank you, Jesus–he took the hint. His rough, callused fingers traced her waist, and then her legs, taking her underwear with them. Without ceremony, he shoved her legs apart, settled himself between them, and thrust home.

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HER LITTLE SECRET, HIS HIDDEN HEIR by Heidi Betts

HER LITTLE SECRET, HIS HIDDEN HEIR by Heidi Betts

Lies and lullabies…

Face-to-face with his ex-wife again, millionaire Marcus Keller received more than a jolt of deep attraction - he discovered he was a daddy. Vanessa had been pregnant when they divorced, bore him a son and kept it a secret. It was a betrayal he couldn't forgive.

There was no way he would walk away from his child...his heir. The businessman would do his best to be civil to the lovely bakery owner, who was one tough cookie in her own right. But would it only be business between them, or would Marcus indulge his own secret agenda to make this woman his again...once and for all?

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Excerpt

Marcus Keller flexed his fingers on the warm leather of the steering wheel, his sleek black Mercedes hugging the road as he took the narrow curves leading into Summerville faster than was probably wise.

The small Pennsylvania town was only three hours from his own home in Pittsburgh, but it might as well have been a world away. Where Pittsburgh was ninety percent concrete and city lights, Summerville was thick forests, green grass, quaint houses and a small downtown area that reminded Marcus of a modern version of Mayberry.

He slowed his speed, taking the time to examine the storefronts as he passed. A drug store, a post office, a bar and grill, a gift shop…and a bakery.

Lifting his foot from the gas, he slowed even more, studying the bright yellow awning and fancy black lettering declaring it to be The Sugar Shack…the red neon sign in the window letting customers know they were open…and the handful of people inside, enjoying freshly made baked goods.

It looked inviting, which was important in the food service industry. He was tempted to lower his window and see if he could actually smell the delicious scents of breads and cookies and pies in the air.

But there was more to running a successful business than a cute name and an attractive front window, and if he was going to put money into The Sugar Shack, he wanted to know it was a sound investment.

At the corner, he took a left and continued down a side street, following the directions he'd been given to reach the offices of Blake and Fetzer, Financial Advisors. He'd worked with Brian Blake before, though never on an investment this far from home or this close to Blake's own offices. Still, the man had never steered him wrong, which made Marcus more willing to take time off work and make the long drive.

A few blocks down the street, he noticed a lone woman walking quickly on three-inch heels. Given the uneven pavement and pebbles littering the sidewalk, she wasn't having an easy time of it. She also seemed distracted, rooting around inside an oversize handbag rather than keeping her attention on where she was going.

A niggle of something uncomfortable skated through his belly. She reminded him somehow of his ex-wife. A bit heavier and curvier, her coppery hair cut short instead of left to flow halfway down her back, but still very similar. Especially the way she walked and dressed. This woman was wearing a white blouse and a black skirt with a short slit at the back, framing a pair of long, lovely legs. No jacket and no clunky accessories, which followed Vanessa's personal style to a T.

Shifting his gaze back to the road, he tamped down on whatever emotion had his chest going tight. Guilt? Regret? Simple sentimentality? He wasn't sure and didn't care to examine the unexpected feelings too closely.

They'd been divorced for over a year. Better to put it all behind him and move on, as he was sure Vanessa had done.

Spotting the offices of Blake and Fetzer, he pulled into the diminutive three-car lot at the back of the building, cut the engine and stepped out into the warm spring day. With any luck, this meeting and the subsequent tour of The Sugar Shack would only take a couple of hours, then he could be back on the road and headed home. Small town life might be fine for some people, but Marcus would be only too happy to get back to the hustle and bustle of the city and the life he'd made for himself there.

Vanessa stopped outside Brian Blake's office, taking a moment to straighten her blouse and skirt, run a hand through her short-cropped hair and touch up her lipstick. It had been a long time since she'd gotten this dressed up and she was sorely out of practice.

It didn't help, either, that all of the nicer clothes she'd acquired while being married to Marcus were now at least one size too small. That meant her top was a bit too snug across the chest, her skirt was a good inch shorter than she would have liked and darned if the waistband wasn't cutting off her circulation.

Thankfully, the town of Summerville didn't require her to dress up this much, even for Sunday services. Otherwise, she may have had to invest in a new wardrobe, and given what a hard time she was having just keeping her head above water and her business afloat, that was an added expense she definitely could not afford.

Deciding that her appearance was about as good as it was going to get at this late date, she took a deep breath and pushed through the door. Blake and Fetzer's lone receptionist greeted her with a wide smile, informed her that Brian and the potential investor were waiting in his office, and told her to go right in.

She took another steadying breath and before stepping inside sent a quick prayer heavenward that the wealthy entrepreneur Brian had found to hopefully invest in her fledging enterprise would find The Sugar Shack worthy of his financial backing.

The first thing she saw was Brian sitting behind his desk, smiling as he chatted with the visitor facing away from her in one of the guest chairs. The man had dark hair that barely dusted the collar of his charcoal-gray jacket and was tapping a tan, long-fingered hand on the arm of his chair, as though he was impatient to get down to business.

As soon as Brian spotted her, his smile widened and he rose to his feet. "Vanessa," he greeted her, "you're right on time. Allow me to introduce you to the man I hope will become an investor in your wonderful bakery. Marcus Keller, this is Vanessa Mason. Vanessa this is—"

"We've met."

Marcus's voice hit her like a sledgehammer to the solar plexus, but it was only one of a series of rapid-fire shocks to her system. Brian had spoken her ex-husband's name and her stomach had plummeted all the way to her feet. At the same time, Marcus had risen from his seat and turned to face her, and her heart had started to pound against her rib cage like a runaway freight train.

She saw him standing in front of her, black hair glinting midnight blue in the dappled sunlight streaming through the tall, multipaned windows lining one wall of the office, his green eyes gleaming with devilment. Yet his suit-and-tie image wavered and no amount of blinking brought him into focus.

"Hello, Vanessa," he murmured softly.

Brushing his jacket aside, he slipped his hands into the front pockets of his matching charcoal slacks, adopting a negligent pose. He looked so comfortable and amused, while she felt as though an army of ants was crawling beneath her skin.

How in God's name could this have happened? How could she not know that he was the potential investor? How could Brian not realize that Marcus was her ex-husband?

She wanted to kick herself for not asking more questions or insisting on being given more details about today's meeting. But then, she hadn't really cared who Brian's mystery investor was, had she? She'd cared only that he was rich and seemed willing to partner up with small business owners in the hopes of a big payoff down the road.

She'd convinced herself she was desperate and needed a quick influx of cash to keep The Sugar Shack's doors open. But she would never be desperate enough to take charity from the man who had broken her heart and turned his back on her when she'd needed him the most.

Not bothering to address Marcus, she turned her gaze to Brian. "I'm sorry, but this isn't going to work out," she told him, then promptly turned on her heel and marched back out of the office building.

She was down the front steps and halfway up the block before she heard the first call.

"Vanessa! Vanessa, wait!"

The three-inch pumps she'd worn because they went so well with her outfit—and because she'd wanted to make a good impression—pinched her toes as she nearly ran the length of the uneven sidewalk in the direction of The Sugar Shack. All she wanted was to get away from Marcus, away from those glittering eyes and the arrogant tilt of his chin.

She didn't care that he was yelling for her, or that she could hear his footsteps keeping pace several yards behind her. "Vanessa!"

Turning the corner only a short distance from The Sugar Shack, her steps faltered. Her heart lurched and her blood chilled.

Oh, no. She'd been so angry, so eager to get away from her ex-husband and escape back to the safety of the bakery that she'd forgotten that's where Danny was. And if there was anything she needed to protect more than her own sanity, it was her son.

Suddenly, she couldn't take another step, coming to a jerky stop only feet from the bakery door. Marcus rounded the corner a moment later, coming to an equally abrupt halt when he spotted her simply standing there like a panicked and disheveled department store mannequin.

He was slightly out of breath, and she found that more than a little satisfying. It was a nice change from his normal state of being calm, cool and always in control. And nothing less than he deserved, given what he was putting her through now.

"Finally," he muttered, sounding completely put out. "Why did you run?" He wanted to know. "We may be divorced, but that doesn't mean we can't sit and have a civil conversation."

"I have nothing to say to you," she bit out. And there was nothing she had to say that he wanted to hear. The cruel declaration replayed through her mind, bringing with it a fresh stab of pain and reminding her of just how important it was to keep him away from her child.

"What about this business of yours?" he asked, running a hand through his thick, dark hair before smoothing his tie and buttoning his suit jacket, once again the epitome of entrepreneurial precision. "It sounds like you could use the capital and I'm always on the lookout for a good investment."

"I don't want your money," she told him.

He inclined his head, acknowledging the sincerity of her words. "But do you need it?"

He asked the question in a low tone, with no hint of condescension and not as though he meant to dangle his wealth over her head like a plump, juicy carrot. Instead, he sounded willing to help her if she needed it.

Oh, she needed help, but not of the strings-attached variety. And not from her cold, unfeeling ex-husband.

Fighting the urge to grab whatever money he was willing to toss her way and run, she straightened her spine, squared her shoulders and reminded herself that she was doing just fine on her own. She didn't need a man—any man—to ride in and rescue her.

"The bakery is doing quite well, thank you," she replied, her voice clipped. "And even if it weren't, I wouldn't need anything from you."

Marc opened his mouth, about to reply and possibly try to change her mind, when Brian Blake rushed around the corner. He skidded to a jerky halt when he saw them, looking frazzled and alarmed. For a second, he stood there, breathing heavily, his gaze darting back and forth between the two of them. Then he shook his head and his puzzlement seemed to clear.

"Mr. Keller… Vanessa…" He took another moment to suck in much-needed oxygen, his Adam's apple riding up and down above the tight collar of his pale blue dress shirt. "This isn't at all how I'd planned for this meeting to go," he told them apologetically. "If you'll just come back to the office…. Let's sit down and see if we can't work something out."

A touch of guilt tugged at Vanessa's chest. Brian was a good guy. He didn't deserve to suffer or be put in the middle of an acrimonious situation just because she despised Marc and refused to have anything more to do with him—let alone go into business with him.

"I'm sorry, Brian," she apologized. "I appreciate everything you've done for me, but this particular partnership just isn't going to work."

For a minute, Brian looked as though he meant to argue. Noting the firm expression on her face, however, he released a sigh of resignation and nodded. "I understand."

"Actually," Marc said, "I'm still very much interested in hearing about the bakery."

Brian's eyes widened with a spark of relief, but Vanessa immediately tensed.

"No, Marcus," she told him, her firm tone brooking no arguments. Not that that had ever stopped him before.

"It sounds like it might be a sound investment, Nessa," he retorted, arching a single dark brow and using his old pet name for her. No doubt to put her off balance. "I drove three hours to get here and I'd prefer not to turn right around and go back empty-handed." He paused for a beat, letting that sink in. Then he added, "At least give me a tour."

No. Oh, no. She definitely couldn't let him into the bakery. That would be even more dangerous than simply having him in town, aware that she lived here now, as well.

She opened her mouth to say so, linking her arms across her chest to let him know she had no intention of changing her mind, when Brian stopped her. Touching her shoulder, he tipped his head, signaling her to follow him a few steps away, out of earshot of Marcus.

"Miss Mason. Vanessa," he said, dropping formalities. "Think about this. Please. I know Mr. Keller is your ex-husband—although I had no idea when I set up today's meeting. I never would have asked him to come here if I had—but if he's willing to invest in The Sugar Shack, as your financial advisor, I have to recommend that you seriously consider his offer. You're doing all right at the moment. The bakery is holding its own. But you'll never be able to move forward with your plans to expand without added capital from an outside source, and if worst comes to worst, one bad season could cause you to lose the business entirely."

Even though Vanessa didn't want to listen, didn't want to believe Brian was right, she knew deep down that he was. The Sugar Shack might be her livelihood, but smart financial planning was his. She wouldn't have begun working with him in the first place if she didn't think he knew what he was doing.

Casting a glance over her shoulder to be sure Marc couldn't overhear their conversation, she turned back and whispered, "There's more at stake here than just the bakery, Brian." So much more. "I'll let him look around. Let the two of you talk. But no matter what kind of plan you two come up with, no matter what offer he might make, I can't promise I'll be willing to accept. I'm sorry."

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BOUGHT BY A MILLIONAIRE by Heidi Betts

BOUGHT BY A MILLIONAIRE by Heidi Betts

Millionaire Bachelor Seeks Heir

Chicago's Most Eligible Bachelor, Burke Bishop, wanted a child—but didn't want to be shackled by marriage. Surrogacy seemed the only solution, and when he met gorgeous Shannon Moriarity, he knew he'd found the perfect mother for his baby. For reasons she wouldn’t say, Shannon accepted his high-price offer and requested they keep things strictly business.

They conceived without touching, yet Burke found himself craving Shannon’s warmth and demanded she move into his penthouse. Soon, the close quarters elevated their relationship into intimate territory where neither could deny the bond they shared. But when their contract was fulfilled, would they find a prize richer than money could buy?

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Excerpt:

“Dance with me.”

Startled out of her reverie, she realized she’d been more focused on the curve of his full, attractive mouth than the words coming out of it. “Excuse me?”

He took her hand as he rose to his feet. “Dance with me.”

Setting her napkin on the table beside her empty dessert plate, she followed him through the maze of elegantly appointed tables to the polished oak dance floor. A full orchestra played a light, classic rendition of “I’m In the Mood For Love”, and although she didn’t know all the proper steps to this kind of music, she found herself leaning against Burke and simply following his lead.

He held her close, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. They moved in tandem, swaying back and forth as though they were the only couple on the dance floor. The only two people in the room.

“Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?”

Shannon fought her way through the lull of the music and Burke’s soft, possessive hold. She forced her heavy lids open to look him in the eye, and said, “It’s the dress.”

One side of his mouth quirked upwards. “It’s not the dress. Although that’s lovely, too, I’m much more impressed by the woman wearing the dress.”

The first slow song blended into next as they took another turn around the floor. His splayed hand moved lower on her back, tingling the bare flesh there and shooting sparks of awareness up and down her spine. When he pressed his cheek to hers, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

She rubbed against the slight sandpapery texture, even though she knew he’d shaved just before they left for the evening. Soft to hard, smooth to rough, woman to man. It was real and right, and she wanted to freeze this moment in time so she could remember it forever.

Burke’s voice melted in her ear as he nuzzled her lobe and the patch of neck just beneath. “Let me take you home.”

She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. For one thing, she didn’t want to. Not anymore.

The orchestra, the atmosphere, Burke’s closeness all meshed together to beat down her defenses. She didn’t care anymore about propriety or keeping her relationship with Burke distanced and professional. She didn’t care about what tomorrow might bring or how many regrets they both might have.

For once, just once, she wanted to follow her heart. She wanted this adventure, with this man.

CHRISTMAS IN HIS ROYAL BED by Heidi Betts

CHRISTMAS IN HIS ROYAL BED by Heidi Betts

OWNED BY THE PRINCE

The moment Prince Nicolas saw sultry Alandra Sanchez, he wanted her for his mistress. Determined to have her in his bed by Christmas, he lured her with a job at his island palace. Nicolas would stop at nothing to satisfy his lust, including seducing her with a little royal treatment. Soon his fiery passion began to awaken Alandra’s own forbidden desires. But would she leave him once she discovered he was about to enter a loveless royal marriage?

She’d become the prince’s paramour…but would she ever be his wife?

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Excerpt:

Alandra was drawn from her thoughts when the limousine slowed and waited for a tall antiqued iron gate to slide open and allow them entrance. They drove up a long, winding drive that ran between two sections of pristine, well-manicured lawn before arriving in front of what could never be mistaken for anything but a palace.

The house—for lack of a better word—was somewhat historical in design, but looked updated and modern. Eggshell white, with pillars and balconies and a myriad of floor-to-ceiling, multi-paned windows everywhere she looked, it stood atop a small rise and overlooked the rushing waves of the Mediterranean.

As the driver opened the door and helped her out of the vehicle, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the breathtaking view. She continued to gawk while he removed her bags from the trunk and escorted her to the front of the palace.

A butler opened the door and invited her inside, where a handful of maids dressed in matching gray uniforms collected her luggage and trotted off with it.

Rather than showing her where she would be staying, the butler said, “The Prince has requested you be brought to him immediately upon your arrival, Miss Sanchez. If you’ll follow me.”

Feeling as though she’d just stepped into a fairy tale, Alandra did just that, taking in every detail of the foyer as they passed.

The floor was expensive, highly polished marble in checked squares of black and a mottled white that looked almost gray. A chandelier the size of a small bus hung overhead, thousands of dangling crystals twinkling in the natural light. Directly across from the front entrance stood a wide staircase leading halfway to the second level before branching off to either side.

The butler led her to the right of the foyer, still on the first floor, and down a carpeted corridor lined with priceless artwork and closed doorways. He paused at one of these doors and knocked. When a low, muffled voice bade him entrance, he stepped inside, announced her presence, and then moved aside for her to pass.

The personal office was decidedly masculine, with a dark area rug, built-in bookshelves lining three of the four walls, and a large cherry wood desk taking up a good portion of the room.

Dragging her gaze from the impressive surroundings, Alandra turned her attention to the man sitting behind that desk . . . only to feel her eyes go wide and her mouth fall open.

Dear God, it was . . . “You,” she breathed.

“Miss Sanchez.” He rose and regally rounded the desk until he stood directly in front of her. “How good of you to accept my offer and come to work for our family.”

“You’re Prince Stephan—”

“Nicolas Braedon of Glendovia, yes. You may call me Nicolas.”

Nicolas. The same Nicolas who had asked her over for a glass of champagne and then invited her to sleep with him.

Her mouth went dry with shock, her stomach clenching and her pulse kicking as hard as though she’d just run a marathon. At the same time, her palms turned damp and she feared her knees might give out on her.

How could this be happening? How could she have missed all the hints and clues?

My God, she felt like an idiot.

She should have recognized the jacket he was wearing the night of the charity dinner, similar to the one he wore now that all but shouted “royalty.”

Or his reluctance to give her a full name when he’d introduced himself.

Or the name on the letterhead, with the one name he had given her right there in dark, raised script. Just because it was a middle name didn’t mean it wasn’t still the same name.

Looking back, there were any number of signs she should have picked up on, more research she should have done before accepting this position. It was enough to make her want to bang her head against the nearest brick wall.

“I don’t understand,” she said, her voice fainter than usual as she struggled to put her thoughts into words. “Why would you invite me to work for you after the way we parted after the hospital fundraiser? All you wanted from me then was . . .”

Realization dawned and her blood turned cold.

“Oh, my God,” she breathed, oxygen rushing from her lungs as shock coursed through her body. “You did this on purpose. You lured me here under false pretenses so that I would sleep with you.”

“Not exactly,” he replied, standing straight as a sword with his hands clasped behind his back. “Glendovia is very much in need of someone to organize its charitable foundations, and after seeing you in action, I decided you would be the perfect person for the job.”

“And you’ve changed your mind about wanting me in your bed?” she challenged.

His lip curled in what could only be described as a dangerous, predatory grin as he replied, “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

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INHERITING HIS SECRET CHRISTMAS BABY by Heidi Betts

INHERITING HIS SECRET CHRISTMAS BABY by Heidi Betts

(Dynasties: The Jarrods - Book 6)

Holiday husband...and father?

This wasn't the type of Christmas present he'd been expecting. Trevor Jarrod - a daddy? Yet the enticing woman seated in his office claimed the Aspen businessman was the father of her baby nephew. Quick as he could say paternity test, Trevor discovered she was telling the truth. But just what did this revelation mean? The confirmed bachelor knew nothing about being a parent. And Haylie Smith wasn't about to hand off the precious infant to a complete stranger.

If Trevor really wanted to claim his unexpected heir, he had an important choice - head to court...or head to the altar!

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Excerpt

“Any messages?” Trevor Jarrod asked his assistant, running his fingers through his dark hair to brush away any excess moisture.

Getting to her feet, she handed him a stack of pink papers. More than he was in the mood to deal with at the moment.

“Before you go into your office . . .” she began, only to let her words drift off, her bottom lip disappearing between her teeth as she worried it nervously.

“Yes?”

She took a breath and met his gaze. “There’s a young woman waiting for you. She’s been calling, and insisted on seeing you in person. I started to turn her away, but didn’t have the heart, and . . . well, I just thought she was someone you should deal with personally.”

He frowned. Diana might be pixie-petite, but he’d seen her in protective, full linebacker mode. The woman in his office must indeed be brave to have gotten past her. Brave, or very convincing.

“Who is she?” he asked.

Diana shrugged. “You’ll have to ask her yourself. She didn’t say, she was just . . . very determined.”

With a sigh, Trevor folded the stack of messages and stuffed them in his pants pocket. “Fine. I’ll take care of it.”

Pulling open both of the heavy oak doors that separated his office from the reception area, he paused to take in the sweep of his office. The thick Gulistan carpeting. The unlit fireplace built of smooth river stones lining the back wall. And in the center of the room, his heavy, ornately carved desk with its lamp at one corner, computer monitor at the other, and stacks of paper at the center.

But no woman in either of the guest chairs waiting to see him.

Closing the doors behind him with a click, he stepped farther inside. As the sound echoed through the room, his espresso-dark leather desk chair tipped slightly before swiveling around to reveal a lovely woman with honey-blonde hair and blue eyes. On her lap, leaning back against her chest, was an infant busily chewing on his own hand.

Trevor frowned. Well. The woman was no surprise; Diana had warned him one was waiting to see him. His so-called assistant had failed to mention, however, that said woman had a child with her.

What kind of woman came to a business meeting with a baby in tow? he wondered. Even an impromptu meeting that—judging by the way this one was starting—might not last long.

“My secretary said you needed to speak with me,” he said, rounding the desk with every intention of taking her place and relegating her to one of the guest chairs.

If he’d expected her to hop up and bashfully bustle around to the other side of the desk, though, he was doomed to disappointment. She held her ground, remaining seated in his executive chair—the one he had special ordered and waited nearly a month for it arrive, the one that had taken another month to break in and now cushioned his body like a glove during each of the many long hours he put in here at Jarrod Manor—while she bounced the child up and down on her knees.

“I’m Trevor Jarrod,” he offered when she didn’t seem eager to fill the chilly silence.

“I know who you are. I’ve been trying to reach you for the past two months.”

Her tone was flat with a trace of annoyance threading through, but also light and extremely feminine. Lifting a hand, she swept a chunk of her straight blond hair behind one ear, revealing a single ruby red stud that matched the knit vee-neck sweater she was wearing with a pair of sleek black slacks.

The baby on her lap was dressed in a pair of blue denim overalls with an embroidered train engine on the front pocket and a shirt underneath with dozens more trains covering the white cotton. A boy, Trevor assumed, otherwise he would be looking at a little denim jumper covered in pink butterflies or some such.

As though he sensed Trevor’s perusal, the baby gave a smiling gurgle and kicked his legs out in front of him.

Dragging his attention back to the woman who’d fought so hard to gain an audience with him, but suddenly seemed at a loss for words, Trevor crossed his arms over his chest and lifted a brow. “And you are?”

That brought her to her feet, shifting the child in her arms until he was perched on one hip.

How did women do that? Were they born knowing how to hold babies, change diapers, and distinguish between eighteen different types of cries?

Of the six Jarrod children, Melissa was his only younger sibling. Which meant he didn’t have a lot of experience with babies. Even being this close to one, with his mother right there, ready, willing, and able to react to his every need, made Trevor more than a bit uncomfortable.

Clearing his throat to cover the fact that he’d nearly taken a step back, away from the woman and her child, he waited. She still owed him a name and an explanation for her presence, and he had work to do.

“My name is Haylie Smith.”

He blinked, waiting for her to elaborate. Instead, after several a long seconds ticked by, she tipped her head and let her eyes go wide, as though she’d just delivered a punch line, but he didn’t get the joke.

“Haylie Smith,” she said again, more firmly this time, careful to enunciate each syllable.

“I heard you,” he murmured, fighting the twitch at the corner of his lips as they threatened to lift in an amused grin.

It wasn’t often that he was treated like the slow kid in school. Very few would dare. Because while he was known to be fairly laid back and fun-loving, even flirty at times when it came to women, he was also a Jarrod. One of the heirs to Donald Jarrod’s vast fortune, and a successful entrepreneur in his own right.

He was rich, and he was powerful. And while it might take a lot to shake him from his easy-going nature, he wasn’t a man other men wanted to risk pissing off.

That this stranger—a woman, no less—seemed to have no compunction about going nose to nose with him was more arousing than it should have been.

Not that she wasn’t an attractive woman. At what he estimated to be about five feet four or five inches to his six-two, she was tall, but not too tall. She was also far from reed-thin, but nowhere near fat, either. She had curves in all the right places, pressing against the front of her sweater and filling out the hips of her slacks. The kind of figure that would feel soft and warm against his hard chest and firm thighs.

Her long, straight hair was like bottled sunshine and framed a heart-shaped face that was a fascinating mix of innocence and sensuality. The rosy bow of her mouth, the sharp, crystal blue of her eyes, the way she held that baby with both confidence and possessiveness . . .

None of it should be turning him on, since he was about three seconds away from booting her out of his office, but damned if he wasn’t starting to feel a tell-tale warmth in his blood and tightening in his gut.

Unfortunately—or maybe fortunately—she didn’t seem to be suffering the same physiological response to him.

“I’ve been calling you for the past two months,” she charged impatiently. “Leaving messages that you apparently couldn’t be bothered to return.”

With a nod, he moved around her and took his rightful place behind his desk. “My secretary mentioned that. Although I can’t understand what’s so pressing if you weren’t willing to leave details about why you wanted to speak with me.”

Just as he’d intended, his near-dismissal of her caused her to move back around to the front of his desk. She didn’t sit, though, instead standing directly in front of him while she bounced her hip and wove back and forth in a calm, gentle motion he assumed was for the baby’s benefit.

“Some things are better said in person. And I didn’t think you would appreciate your secretary being privy to your personal business.”
At that, his brows drew together and he dragged his attention from the folder on the desk in front of him to her glittering gaze.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve never seen or heard of you before. What kind of personal business could you possibly have with me?” he nearly scoffed, wondering if this woman might be slightly unhinged. Maybe she’d convinced herself she was yet another long lost Jarrod heir. Or maybe she’d seen one too many photographs of him in the local and national tabloids, and had convinced herself that she was one of his many feminine conquests.

He was debating the wisdom of getting up to open the double doors again, and possibly even buzzing for hotel security, when she switched the baby from one hip to the other and began to round his desk again—in the opposite direction this time—with slow, determined steps.

“You’re right, you don’t know me. We’ve never met. But a year ago, you met my sister, and from what I’ve heard, the two of you had a heck of a good time.”

She stopped in front of him, towering over him in a manner he definitely didn’t appreciate. He sat back, prepared to launch to his feet and stare her down, if necessary, but her next words glued him in place.

“And maybe if you returned a phone call once in a while, it wouldn’t have taken me two months to track you down and introduce you to your son.”

With that, she plopped the baby unceremoniously on his lap before leaning back to cross her arms beneath her breasts and look down at him with what could only be described as a satisfied smirk.

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