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Harlequin Blaze

To the Limit by Jo Leigh

By Barb Drozdowich Leave a Comment

Welcome to Sugarbeat’s Books – The Home of the Romance Novel!

 

storeitemSubject: Captain Sam “Jaws” Brody

Mission: Test his limits…and push hers!

Air force pilot Sam Brody’s posting at Holloman AFB is  a new start…and a brutal reminder that he’ll never fly again. The bright side? It’s the same town as teacher (and widow) Emma Lockwood—the woman he’s always had a major thing for. The woman who married his best friend….

For years, Emma ignored the spark between her and Sam. Now that he’s in town, the spark has turned into full-on electrical overload! She tells herself to stay grounded. She doesn’t want another hotshot flyboy, no matter how sexy. But with every night of wicked passion with Sam, she finds herself closer to the point of no return….

Uniformly Hot!  The Few. The Proud. The Sexy as Hell.

 To the Limit is available on Amazon

Excerpt:

The motel room looked as tired as Captain Sam Brody felt after his endless flight from Sumter Air Force Base in South Carolina to Alamogordo, New Mexico. Of course, the bachelor party he’d been to last night might have something to do with his exhaustion. Seemed everyone Sam knew was hooking up or getting married.

He tossed his duffel on the garish bedspread and joined it a moment later, glad to be sitting on something relatively soft. The transport plane he’d hitched a ride with had been incredibly uncomfortable with all the turbulence, and the taxi he’d hired at Holloman Air Force Base had evidently been cobbled together with chewing gum and shocks made from empty soup cans. His car, packed with all he owned in the world, was due to arrive in a few days. In the meantime, he’d find an off-base furnished apartment.

He had ten days of leave ahead of him before he started life at the new base, with a new wing, new line of command, new everything. The only thing he knew for sure about moving to this small military town was that someone he used to know lived here. The wife of an old friend.

Sam shut down that line of thought quickly. He was too damn tired to let his memories sidetrack him. What he needed was some food, a beer and a bed. He opened up the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out the phone book. It was about a quarter of the size of the one in Texas. He sure as hell wouldn’t miss the weather, although he’d probably miss the humidity in the middle of a dry-as-dust summer in the desert.

Most of the delivery foods he found were pizza, so he picked a familiar chain. After ordering a large cheese, he wasn’t shocked at the laugh he got when he asked if beer was on the menu. But he’d seen a market a block away, so no worries.

Before he put the phone book away, he went to the white pages but Emma wasn’t listed. It wasn’t surprising. Most likely she didn’t have a landline. Clicking through his cell phone’s contacts he found Emma Lockwood. He hadn’t deleted the listing in the three years since Danny had died. Of course he had her Alamogordo address, but it was a long shot that she still lived in the same town, let alone the same house. She probably didn’t even have the same number. He could always delete everything later if it turned out Emma wasn’t interested in…whatever.

He didn’t have time to shower and make a beer run before his dinner arrived, so he settled for washing his face before walking to the market. The September evening felt good on his skin despite the fact that it was still in the eighties, but he’d have to get used to the smell. Randolph Air Force Base always had a hint of mesquite in the air. Just like the wind had carried the ocean back in his hometown of Seal Beach, California.

He shoved his hands in his pockets as he strolled, checking out the scenery. Nothing much to it. He could have been in any inner-city area littered with billboards and graffiti on brick walls, people walking with purpose from the stores that weren’t boarded up.

There was a lot more to Alamogordo than this neighborhood, but he didn’t mind staying here for a few days. Odds were he wouldn’t run into any other pilots. Any other officers at all. Which was a good thing for the time being.

Transitions were part of air force life, but they never got easier for Sam. At heart, he was a homebody, which made no sense for a man who loved to fly as much as he did. But he’d grown up moving a lot as his mother searched for employment. Retirement after he’d gotten his twenty years would be a welcome relief. He’d find himself a comfortable house, something with enough land around it that he wouldn’t hear the neighbors. He’d have a yard and a couple of rescue dogs, and he’d put down roots there. A real home. Hopefully not on his own.

He wondered if Emma still wore her blond hair in that ponytail. Danny’d sure liked to tug on that, even though it made her cross. He’d always been an overgrown kid. Hell of a fun guy, generous, too. They’d all shared so much laughter: Danny and John Devlin and then Emma Taylor, the waitress at the Rusty Nail bar and diner a couple of blocks away from the Air Force Academy. He’d loved those years. The three guys had bonded quickly, shared a house that wasn’t exactly the Ritz. They’d all wanted to fly F-16s and they’d all worked their asses off to get there.

But sometimes the studying got to be too much and they’d head off to the Rusty Nail. Danny had seen Emma, and she’d seen him right back. It was all over but the paperwork from that night on. They’d gotten married a year later, in Danny’s senior year.

God, she’d been so pretty. Slender and delicate. Little wrists, long fingers. She always looked perfect, even in those terrible T-shirts she wore back then. Crazy stuff, big writing over her chest. Mostly with pictures of heavy metal bands. Which she didn’t actually listen to. She just liked the shirts.

He didn’t realize he was smiling until he saw his reflection in the convenience store’s door. Leave it to Emma to make a horrible day better. He used to think Danny was the luckiest son of a bitch he’d ever met. Until he wasn’t.

The little market not only carried his favorite beer, but a cooler and ice, so he bought himself a six-pack, some beef jerky and a box of Pop-Tarts for the morning. Nothing he could do about coffee except get himself to a diner as quickly as possible, because, screw it, he was not drinking microwaved instant. Not for anything.

The pizza arrived twelve minutes after he got back to the motel, and it was hot enough to burn the roof of his mouth. The TV wasn’t as much of a success. There weren’t many channels that worked, but one of them was ESPN, so that was okay, even if half the picture was snow.

He woke up the next morning to the sound of the TV, still dressed, his second beer half-empty on the nightstand. The day ahead would look better after a shower and a decent breakfast. At least, he hoped so.

With five minutes left of Emma Lockwood’s creative writing class, all fourteen of her students had their heads bent, the sound of clicking laptop keys a staccato symphony she knew by heart. She’d given them a writing assignment when they’d come into class, a simple mood piece, but she’d asked them to write it in a genre that wasn’t their own. So Mrs. Dealy, who was taking the class for the third time because she loved to write but didn’t have the discipline to do it without deadlines, was tackling science fiction, even though she wrote love stories. Jared, one of her freshmen straight from Holloman High School, was extremely brave, writing his piece in the style of Raymond Chandler, a real hard-boiled mystery.

Emma wished all of her students were as enthusiastic as the ones in this class. But so many of her courses were merely stepping stones to an associate degree. Most of the students would go on to get their bachelor degrees at New Mexico State, but for some, this would be the end of the education line.

She sat on the edge of her desk with two minutes on the clock. “Okay, everyone,” she said. “Please continue working on the assignments throughout the week, and we’ll hear them during Friday’s class.”

Reggie Porter, one of the several veterans who’d come back from the war and was using the G.I. Bill to help him get a better job, raised his hand, although he didn’t wait for her to acknowledge it. “How long are these supposed to be?”

“Between four and nine thousand words.”

“So there goes football night.”

“It’ll be exciting,” Emma said and smiled at his deadpan expression. “Just think of how much you learned during the first-person exercise. Broadening your horizons is never a waste of time unless you let it be. Give it your best shot. Ingenuity counts. Make the genre clear in the story itself.”

The bell went off and the post-class shuffle of laptop cases and backpacks began. They were in their second month of the fall semester, so there was conversation among them, mostly about the work, but sometimes about other things. She was glad. She wanted her classes to be enlivened by dialogue off the page as well as on.

After cleaning the blackboards and making sure everything in the room was tidy, she got her purse and her books and walked the semiquiet halls to the faculty lounge in the Lower Campus Classroom building at Holloman Air Force Base. The sound ofjets taking off and landing had become background noise after living close to them for so long, not just here, but in Colorado and Utah. They’d never stopped reminding her of Danny, but at least now the thrum of the engines didn’t feel like a punishment.

Sharon Keeler was at the coffee machine, staring at the sludge at the bottom of the stained pot. Sharon was part of the arts faculty staff, but she was mostly concerned with her drama department. They were doing As You Like It this fall, and she was in a tizzy about costumes and lighting and the lack of much discernible talent among the students.

“You in for a late night?” Emma asked.

Sharon nodded, her long dark hair looking worse for wear since this morning. On the plus side, she’d worn her favorite cow-themed earrings, a sure sign she’d been in a good mood this morning. “Campus-planning committee meeting. You want to come?”

Emma held back a laugh because she didn’t want to be cruel. “Sorry, I have lesson plans, grading book reports and laundry. I know, scintillating.”

“What’s scintillating?”

Emma and Sharon turned when Gary Lyden walked in. Gary wasn’t particularly great-looking, but he was a runner and a health enthusiast and he put himself together really well. Somewhat new—it was his second year in the math department—he was an Idaho transplant. Mostly, he was nice. A solid guy who was good with his students and easy to be around. Emma and he were becoming better and better friends, as it turned out.

“Are you coming tonight?” Sharon asked. “I know it’s Tuesday and you have that Habitat meeting later, but none of the teachers RSVP’d and besides, it wasn’t my fault. It was the only night the parents could come, and I’m desperate.”

“Really?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “How desperate?”

“Fine, I’ll bake you an entire batch of granola fruit bars all for yourself. Well, not this week, but soon. Good enough?”

Gary rubbed his hands together. “Those are damn good snacks. So yes, I’m in. But don’t think you can talk me into helping with your scenery. I’m into theory, not practice.” He looked to Emma. “You can’t make it?”

“Not tonight. In fact, I’m going to actually leave the base before 7:00 p.m. I think it might be the first time that’s happened since the semester started.”

“They do keep chipping away at us,” Sharon said as she went to the sink to wash out the coffeepot. “I should quit. Get myself a career that pays better money.”

“Or at least one where the out-of-pocket expenses aren’t so high,” Gary said. He came closer to Emma and touched the back of her arm, but only for a second. “You want to run tomorrow?”

“Hmm…” She should. The exercise was helping with her energy dips. They’d been heading out for a couple months now, going to the high school track before school started on Mondays and Thursdays, but she wasn’t sure yet if she wanted it to become anything more regular. “To be honest, I could use a decent morning’s sleep since I have a later class. Sorry.”

“No problem. Thursday then?”

“Good. Yes. Thursday.” She went to her mail cubby, which was conveniently placed at the bottom of the stack, and got her notices and flyers and a couple of letters from the school district. She’d look at them later.

Behind her, the door swung open again, only this time there were several teachers coming in, seemingly in the middle of a fierce discussion about the merits of soccer over football.

She waited until the doorway was clear, then waved her goodbyes. Her phone rang just as she reached the exit to the parking lot. The name on the caller ID stole her breath and her grace. She stumbled, but thankfully didn’t fall.

Sam Brody. She hadn’t seen him since shortly after Danny died. But she’d thought of him. More often than she should have, considering. But not so much lately.

She almost let the call go to voice mail, but it was so out of the blue that she couldn’t stand it. She pressed the key. “Hello?”

“Emma,” he said, and his voice sent a shiver skittering down her back.

“Sam. It’s been a while.”

“I know. Too long.”

She nodded, but held her tongue.

“Hey, I’m just calling to let you know that we’re neighbors.”

“What?” Emma looked around, conscious of how loud she’d been. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been assigned to Holloman.”

“Starting when?”

“Now. I’m on leave, though, for the next ten days. Enough time to find an apartment. Get my bearings.”

“So you’re here now?”

“Yeah. I’m here.”

“Oh. That’s great. That’s…great.”

“We’ll see, but then, you know how it is, being transferred. A real crapshoot.”

“I can give you some pointers if you need them,” she said, wincing the moment the words were out of her mouth. It had been a reflex. They’d been friends once. Certainly Sam had been one of Danny’s closest. They’d gone through a lot together, but after the crash, both Sam and John had stopped calling. Not their fault. She’d made it clear she wanted some space. Especially from Sam.

“That’d be great,” he said. “I was thinking maybe you’d like to go out, have some dinner with me?”

“Tonight?”

“Not necessarily,” he said, although he spoke so quickly it was clear that was just what he’d meant. “I’m sure you’re busy. With a…your life. Here. You teaching?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow. Great.”

She thought about telling him dinner wasn’t such a good idea, but the words wouldn’t come. She was walking now, nowhere in particular, down some stairs, past rows of cars. “How about tomorrow night?”

He sighed. “Tomorrow night would be perfect. You’ll have to say where, though. I’ve got no idea what’s around here.”

“Are you staying at the base?”

“Nope. But I’m close to it. So how about you text me the name and location of your favorite restaurant. I’ll meet you there. Tomorrow. Seven okay?”

“Yeah. Seven’s fine.” Her heels clicked on the concrete during a lull in jet traffic as she slowed to a standstill. “It’ll be good to see you again.”

“It will. Don’t forget to save the number, now.”

“I won’t.”

“Okay. Have a good one.”

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The Bridesmaid’s Best Man by Susanna Carr

By Barb Drozdowich Leave a Comment

Welcome to Sugarbeat’s Books – The Home of the Romance Novel!

 

storeitem-1Every bachelorette party has a surprise…

Angie Lawson is in Bridesmaid Hell—if Hell was a strip club filled with screaming women in stilettos. But her night’s about to get a whole lot worse. Now her ex-boyfriend is standing right in front of her—every sexy, delicious inch of him—and Cole Foster isn’t the kind of guy that any woman can just ignore….

Cole’s working undercover, but he certainly wasn’t expecting the intimate reminder of the wicked heat that he and Angie always shared. But when the maid of honor—silver stilettos and all—is knocked unconscious, Cole realizes he needs Angie’s help to get into the bridal party. And if getting there means getting her in bed, too, then he’s definitely the best man for the job!

 

Why do you need to read this book? You need to read this book for Angie – the heroine of this story and Col, the hero who saw the real her and knew how precious she was!

The Bridesmaid’s Best Man is available from Amazon

Excerpt:

The dance music pulsed through the floor and the lights flashed across the shadowy room. As the bare-chested men danced for the screaming women, Angie Lawson glanced at her cell phone to check the time. How much longer was she required to be at this bachelorette party?

She jumped when she felt someone tap her on the shoulder. Angie whirled around and saw the bride-to-be behind her. Brittany was dressed to attract attention from her fireengine-red bandage dress to the rhinestone tiara and veil perched on top of her long, coppery hair.

“Angie, you are supposed to be having fun.” Brittany’s whine seemed to pierce through the music. Her hands were on her hips and she tapped her foot impatiently. “You’re my bridesmaid. It’s practically required!”

Angie stared at her and then looked at the women standing on the table and chairs as they screamed for the wellendowed Tiger to take it all off. She returned her attention to Brittany. “This is what you notice?”

“And what are you wearing?” She gestured to Angie and gave a look of disgust. “It’s a bachelorette party.”

“There are half-naked men everywhere,” she reminded the bride-to-be. “I didn’t realize there would be a dress code.”

“Absolutely, it is my party.” Brittany flattened her manicured hand to her chest. “I am a personal shopper for an exclusive clientele and they’re here.”

Exclusive? Angie wanted to snort at the word. She had worked with some of the most accomplished and talented women in the Seattle area. The women here at Brittany’s invitation were sloppy drunk and out of control. She was pretty sure one of them had tried to bite a stripper.

“Not only do I have to look good,” Brittany said, “but so do my bridesmaids.”

Angie glanced down at her clothes. She wore a glittery black tank, dark skinny jeans and—with great reluctance but her mother had insisted—strappy heels. There was nothing strange or offensive about her outfit.

She scanned the room, taking note of the other women in the upscale strip club that had been reserved for Brittany’s bachelorette party. The guests were not like the flannel-shirt, thick-framed-eyeglasses and designer-boots crowd she knew. They weren’t even the yoga-pants and organic-coffee group from the suburbs. The women wore flirty dresses and skintight miniskirts. The outfits were wild and sexy.

Oh. Those were two words that wouldn’t describe her. Ever. Angie sighed and fought the urge to hunch her shoulders. Once again, she had dressed all wrong. She thought what she had worn was sophisticated and trendy enough that she would blend in. Instead she looked like a dark giant among the sugarplum fairies.

“I mean, really, Angie.” She tossed her hands up with frustration. “What’s wrong with showing a little cleavage?”

Now Brittany was really beginning to sound just like her mother. “Nothing.” Angie shrugged. And it was a good thing she felt that way, since she was going to flash the whole world when she wore her bridesmaid dress. It was tight, shiny and barely covered the essentials.

“I give up. Just try to look like you’re enjoying yourself,” Brittany said as she marched off.

Angie froze at those parting words. She had made a valiant effort to get into a party mood but she was bored. And that was cause for worry. Actually, she hadn’t been interested in any man since Cole walked out of her life. That was months ago and yet, watching these gorgeous men had left her cold. Why couldn’t she enjoy watching a man dance? It didn’t make sense. She was young and healthy. What was wrong with her?

“Don’t listen to Britt.”

Angie peered down and saw Brittany’s assistant at her side. Cheryl, a petite and curvy blonde who usually wore jeans and animal-print tops, was dressed in a leopard-print tube dress and skyscraper heels.

“She gives unsolicited fashion advice all the time,” Cheryl said with a weary smile. “She doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“It’s okay. It doesn’t bother me,” Angie assured Cheryl, but the woman was already trailing her boss.

And it didn’t bother her that much. She heard the complaint so many times that it had become white noise. Boyfriends had always wanted her to wear revealing clothes and well-intentioned friends kept trying to give her a makeover. No matter how much they insisted, she wouldn’t give in. She knew she would never meet their expectations. What would be the point of trying?

She had learned to resist this type of help from a young age. Her mother used to make her go on shopping expeditions that felt more like death marches. Despite her mother’s perseverance to create a girly look for Angie, it never stuck. Angie preferred the hand-me-downs from her brothers rather than the ruffled dresses and makeup.

But maybe she had gone too far. Her mother thought Cole had lost interest because Angie didn’t work hard enough on her appearance. Her friends weren’t quick to shoot down the idea, either.

She didn’t want to believe it. When they had first met at a gym, Angie hadn’t been dressed to impress. She had been sweaty and in desperate need of a shower after an intense workout. And yet Cole couldn’t stop flirting with her.

Even after that Cole never asked her to dress up and he didn’t make any complaints about her customary ponytail or lack of pretty lingerie. He didn’t suggest that she needed to wear tight clothes to reveal the hard work she put in exercising. He thought she was strong and sexy.

But maybe she hadn’t been sexy enough….

“Angie! ”

Angie cringed when she recognized the maid of honor’s voice. She looked for an escape route but she was stuck unless she wanted to get on stage with the strippers. That wasn’t going to happen. Angie sighed with defeat and watched Heidi approach.

Heidi was tall, rail-thin and her short dark hair made the most of her dramatic features. Her blue oneshoulder dress and stiletto heels would have gotten Brittany’s stamp of approval. Just being near Heidi made Angie feel drab and frumpy. The only thing they had in common was the gold bracelet they had received as a bridesmaid gift.

“You need to keep me away from Robin,” Heidi declared.

Angie wondered where it was written in the bridesmaid handbook that she had to be the referee? Heidi and Robin might be Brittany’s sorority sisters but they hated each other. It was as if they were in competition over who was Brittany’s favorite. Why anyone would spend energy on that was beyond Angie’s imagination. And from what Angie could tell, Brittany seemed to genuinely enjoy pitting the two against each other.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t surprised by this side of Brittany and wished for the millionth time that she had found a good excuse to get out of being a bridesmaid. But Patrick was the groom and her best friend since kindergarten. It was important to him that she was part of his wedding.

“I couldn’t stand her in college,” Heidi continued. “And she’s even worse now.”

“I admire your restraint,” Angie deadpanned. “You’re really doing everything you can to keep the drama out of Brittany’s bachelorette party. That’s a true friend.”

“I know, right? I couldn’t believe that Robin said the bridesmaid dresses are tacky. How could she say that? I love Britt’s sense of style. I think the dresses are sexy and colorful.”

Colorful? Angie bit down on her lip. Bile-green was a color, so Heidi was technically correct.

“And you can wear them again,” Heidi informed her.

Angie nodded slowly. “Sure.” But why would she want to go somewhere that required her to wear a bustier dress?

“Of course, Robin can’t let anything other than designer touch her skin.” Heidi crossed her arms and looked over her shoulder. “I think she’s just bitter because the dress didn’t come in vanity sizes. Her dress size is in double digits.”

Angie gritted her teeth. This was exactly why she preferred hanging out with the guys. She was tempted to put Heidi in a headlock and tell her to grow up. It always worked on Patrick but she had a feeling it would cause a meltdown for Heidi.

The strip club plunged into darkness and the spotlight zeroed in on Brittany. “Oh,” Heidi squealed as the DJ asked the bride-to-be to go on stage, “the strippers are going to give a special dance for Brittany. Go find a seat.”

Angie watched Heidi run to the edge of the stage, teetering dangerously on her silver stilettos. She took a deep breath. So what if she wore the wrong clothes? Who cared if she was too shy to grope a man? It didn’t mean she was sexually repressed, right? She could smile, clap and make sure everyone was having a good time. She was going to have fun tonight even if it killed her.

“What did she say about me?”

Angie jumped as Robin stood beside her. The woman’s orange beaded halter dress was so short that at first Angie thought it was meant to be a shirt. “Heidi? She said the strippers were going to dance for Brittany.”

“She was talking about me, wasn’t she?” Her sleek black ponytail bobbed as she nodded her head.

“No,” Angie lied.

Robin arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “She’s just mad because Britt loved the bridal party spa and that was my idea. We all needed it, don’t you think?”

Going to the spa had been a new experience for Angie. She had felt awkward in the hushed and ultra-feminine surroundings. The moment she had walked through the ornate doors, she had felt like a clumsy duck next to elegant swans. “You know, that was the first time I’ve been to a spa.”

“No need to tell me that. I’ve seen your cuticles,” Robin said. “But still, that event was designed to help the bride relax. And Britt has been incredibly stressed out.”

Angie wholeheartedly agreed with that. Brittany had a strong vision for the wedding and reception, but there were too many details to keep track of. Even with her highly efficient assistant and three bridesmaids at her beck and call, there had been a series of problems to solve. “Maybe if she started eating.”

“Don’t even say that!” Robin shook her head vigorously. “Not until after the wedding. She has to fit into that dress.”

No solid foods for a week? It sounded like torture to Angie. “The dress fits perfectly. She doesn’t have anything to worry about. But she should stop the liquid diet. It can make a person tired and irritable.”

Robin’s eyes widened. “You think Britt is irritating?”

She really needed to be more careful with her words. Didn’t she know by now that the bridal party was a walking, talking minefield? All the competition, insecurities and petty jealousies. Angie already had a sneaky suspicion that being Brittany’s bridesmaid wasn’t going to strengthen their relationship. She needed to work harder if she wanted to stay friends with Patrick. “No, I said—”

The hot pink stage curtains were ripped back and five strippers stood silently on the dark stage. They wore black neckties and low-slung leather pants. Angie jumped, startled, as the women around her went wild.

Robin raised her arms and whooped with delight as the first few notes of “It’s Raining Men” played. Angie dutifully smiled and clapped as she watched the men start their routine around Brittany. The audacious choreography and frenetic lighting hid the fact that only a few were good dancers.

Angie’s mouth dropped when she saw Brittany eagerly lay on the stage as one of the strippers straddled her. No one could accuse the bride-to-be of being shy. Brittany enjoyed the special attention.

The men had lean, athletic builds. Angie admired the hard abs and strong arms. She knew the work they had to put into getting sculpted bodies. They were attractive. Sexy. But she didn’t feel the need to go crazy at the sight of them.

Perhaps it was because she worked as a personal trainer and was surrounded by muscular men every day. Or it could be that she felt self-conscious having a man gyrate in her face until she stuffed money in his sequined thong.

Or it could be none of those reasons. It could be that she wasn’t acting as assertive and enthusiastic as the other women because she couldn’t let go of her inhibitions. She tried that before. She had felt safe when she was with Cole. She knew she could be as outrageous and as daring as she wanted. She’d played out her deepest, darkest fantasies with him.

And then he dumped her. She was hurt and humiliated. Was she more mild than wild? Was she unable to compete with other women? She was afraid of the answer and had kept the sensual side of herself under wraps ever since.

Angie looked away from the stage as the knot in her stomach tightened and a flush of embarrassment crept up her neck. Not only had she felt safe with Cole, but at the same time, she’d also felt wild. She found it weird. No other man made her feel that way.

But she didn’t want to think about that. She couldn’t. It was better to accept that she didn’t have a sensual side and move on. One day she’d regain her confidence. However, she wasn’t going to lower her guard here, and definitely not with a stranger. It would be with someone she loved and trusted.

“Aren’t these guys hot?” Robin yelled over the music.

“They are.” Angie continued to clap to the beat as Brittany got to her feet and danced with the strippers. Some of her moves were downright dirty.

Robin elbowed her. “The bridesmaids get the next lap dances.”

Angie lurched forward and her stomach twisted violently. “Up there on stage?”

“No, that honor is reserved for the bride. But you better pick one before Heidi grabs them all. Which one do you want?”

“Oh…it doesn’t matter.” She knew what would happen. The more audacious the dancer, the more uptight she would be. She was going to be laughed at for her discomfort. She wanted to refuse the dance but she had to act like a team player. She studied the men on stage, hoping to find one who understood personal space and boundaries.

“I can’t decide between the guy groping Brittany or the one in the back.”

Angie looked at where Robin pointed. The guy reminded her of Cole, from his short black hair to his solid, muscular build. She felt a surprising flutter of interest as her gaze traveled down his smooth chest, defined abs and lean hips. He had power and grace. He looked a lot like Cole. In fact—

She gasped and dragged her gaze to the man’s face. She recognized the square jaw and full lips. The high cheekbones and strong nose. The short dark hair that felt soft to the touch. “No…way.”

“What?” Robin asked. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

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Back in Service by Isabel Sharpe

By Barb Drozdowich Leave a Comment

Welcome to Sugarbeat’s Books – The Home of the Romance Novel!

storeitemIt was the cat’s fault. Otherwise Jameson Cartwright wouldn’t have tripped and ruined not only his knee, but also his newly minted air force career and the Cartwright family pride. Now he’s lying low and miserable—until the girl he tormented as a kid comes breezing through his door, looking fresh and sexy. This time, it’s his turn to be exquisitely and thoroughly tortured….

Grief counselor Kendra Lonergan isn’t sure she wants to help the (mouthwateringly hot) guy who once put worms in her sandwich. Still—he needs her badly. But it’s not long before “professional” turns into provocative, and the sexual tension is off the charts. And there is only one way to get this scrumptious airman back in service….

Why do you need to read this book? I loved this story line! A Man in Uniform (which is always good) and great characters!

Back in Service is available from Amazon

Excerpt:

“I had a great time today, thanks, Crystal.” Kendra Loner-gan smiled at the attractive middle-aged widow and got a wide smile back. A first! This was good progress. They’d spent the past hour down on Rat Beach tossing balls into the Pacific waves for Byron, the golden retriever Kendra regularly borrowed from a friend for appointments with her dog-loving clients.

“I had fun, too.” Crystal bent and stroked Byron’s reddish fur. “It felt good to be on the beach again. Thanks, Kendra.”

“You are welcome. See you next week!” Kendra tugged Byron’s leash and gave Crystal a quick wave before leading the dog back down the block to the Lexus minivan that had belonged to her parents. For a while now she’d been intending to sell the car and buy something smaller, but she didn’t ever seem to have time, and wasn’t sure what she’d replace it with. In the meantime, it was a nice—if a bit tough—reminder of the family she’d lost. “Up you get, Byron. I’ll take you home now.”

She unhooked his leash; Byron bounded into the car and settled on the towel Kendra kept on the backseat. What an amazing animal—she never had any trouble with him. His owner, Lena, Kendra’s friend since kindergarten, worked typical lawyer hours and was delighted to have Byron out getting exercise whenever Kendra needed him. Kendra had thought about getting a dog herself, but.. she hadn’t done that yet either.

The Lexus swung smoothly out of its parking place on Pullman Lane in Redondo Beach; she turned it south onto Blossom Lane, heading toward the Pacific Coast Highway and her hometown of Palos Verdes Estates, a hilltop oasis overlooking the vast urban sprawl of L.A. She was back living in the house she’d grown up in, a temporary situation that had stretched on as the weeks and months passed. The house was much too big for one person, but it was stuffed with memories Kendra wasn’t yet ready to leave behind.

Climbing the steeply curving roads of Palos Verdes Estates, windows rolled down to enjoy the cool November breeze, she turned up the volume on a Mumford and Sons song she loved, “Little Lion Man,” peeking occasionally at the view of Santa Monica Bay, which became more and more spectacular as she ascended.

She left the view behind and turned onto Via Cataluna, then into the driveway of the house where Lena lived with her husband, Paul. Her cell rang, a private caller.

“This is Kendra.” She switched off the engine.

“Kendra Lonergan? It’s Matty Cartwright.”

Kendra blinked, taking a moment to place the name. Matty Cartwright? From Palos Verdes High School? Whom Kendra had last seen years ago? How typical of a Cartwright to think she’d need no further introduction than her name. “Hi, Matty.”

“I’m calling to— Oh, uh, how are you? It’s been a long time.”

Kendra pushed out of the car, rolling her eyes, not in the mood for friendly small talk. She hadn’t seen Matty since her sophomore year, when Matty was a senior, and didn’t think she’d ever spoken to her. “I’m fine. What a surprise to hear from you.”

“I’m calling about Jameson.”

Jameson. Kendra grimaced, opening the car’s rear door. Matty’s younger brother had been in Kendra’s grade from Montemalaga Elementary School through Palos Verdes High School. Not her favorite classmate.

She followed Byron to Lena’s front entrance, where she fumbled for the borrowed keys in the pocket of her sweatshirt, not really anxious to be having this conversation. “What about Jameson?”

“I wondered if you could work with him.”

Kendra froze. Work with Jameson Cartwright? As in help him? After the way he’d treated her? Byron whimpered impatiently. She unlocked her friend’s door; the dog raced toward the kitchen. “Whoa, back up a second, Matty. Where is he, what happened to him and how did you hear about me and what I do?”

A sigh of exasperation came over the line. Kendra gritted her teeth, tempted to tell Matty where to stick her Cart-wright attitude.

“I’m sorry, Kendra.” Matty gave a short, embarrassed laugh. “I’m not making any sense. I’m just so upset.”

Kendra hung Byron’s leash in the foyer closet, feeling an unwelcome twinge of sympathy. “It’s okay. Just start at the beginning.”

The slobbery sound of Byron lapping water came from the kitchen. Kendra wandered into Lena’s airy living room, able to picture Jameson Cartwright as if she’d just seen him the day before. Nordic like his whole family—blond hair, blue eyes, high forehead, strong jaw. Yet she couldn’t describe him as severely handsome, like the rest of them, because of his one fatal flaw: a wide, sensual mouth more suited to lazy smiles and lingering kisses than sneering and barking orders. Totally wasted on him. He must hate that mouth every time he looked in the mirror.

All through elementary and middle school he’d harassed her pretty steadily, mostly egged on by his odious older twin brothers. In high school there had been fewer incidents, since Hayden and Mark had graduated, thank God. Senior year Jameson had whipped Kendra for class president, not because he’d run a brilliant campaign, but because she’d been eccentric, brainy and overweight, and he was a Cartwright. Every Cartwright sibling had been president of his or her class.

“You know how our family is all in the military.” It wasn’t a question.

“Air Force, right?” Pilots going back generations, most attaining high rank or managing to be heroes of one sort or another, at least according to the Palos Verdes Peninsula News, which had done a rather gushy piece on the family some years back that Kendra had skimmed and tossed.

“Jameson did Air Force ROTC at Chicago University. He graduated last June with the Legion of Valor Bronze Cross for Achievement.”

Kendra interrupted her who-cares eye roll. Wait, this past June? Kendra had graduated from UCLA and gone on to complete a two-year master’s program in counseling at California State by then. “He just graduated?”

“It’s a family tradition to take a year off before college and travel in Europe. Jameson settled in Spain and…sort of took two. Anyway, after college, he finished basic officer training at Maxwell Air Force Base, a distinguished graduate for top marks in test scores and leadership drills.”

My, my. How lucky Kendra was that she’d never have to suffer the pain of being so utterly perfect.

She entered Lena’s bright yellow kitchen, where Byron was already lying in his crate, tired out from his frantic exercise at the beach. Such a good dog. “Then?”

“Then he was injured his first day of specialty training at Keesler Air Force Base, in Mississippi. He tore the ACL in his right knee and had to have surgery.” Matty’s voice thickened. “He’s back home in Palos Verdes Estates on thirty days of personal leave while he continues recovering enough to go back and recover some more.”

“Tough break.” Why was Matty telling her this? Jameson needed a Scrabble partner? Someone to read him bedtime stories? Kendra closed Byron in his crate and blew him a kiss. “What do you need me for?”

“He, uh…” Matty mumbled something. It was suddenly difficult to hear her, as if she was speaking through cloth. Kendra pressed the phone harder to her ear. “…accident…with a stray.”

Kendra waited impatiently. Stray what? Bullet? Land mine? Grenade? “Sorry, I didn’t hear. Accident with a stray what?”

“Cat.” She said the word sharply. “Jameson was injured tripping over a cat. On his way to dinner.”

Omigod! Kendra clapped a hand over her mouth to keep Matty from hearing her involuntary giggle. Seriously? Not that she’d wish that miserable an injury on anyone—even Jameson Cartwright—but karma must have had a blast arranging that one.

“What a shame,” she managed weakly, barely stifling more laughter. Latest Cartwright’s Journey to Hero Status Cut Short in Fierce Battle. Victim’s last words: I tawt I taw a puddy tat.

“You can imagine what this means to a Cartwright.” Matty spoke stiffly. “This could end his military career before it even starts.”

But how is the cat? Kendra couldn’t bring herself to be wiseass enough to ask. Though she couldn’t imagine in a million years making a statement like “You can imagine what this means to a Lonergan.” Like they were a rare and special breed of humans the rest of the world could barely comprehend. “I’m sure it’s been hard.”

“It’s been awful.” Her voice broke, making Kendra feel guilty for being. catty—ha-ha. “Jameson is furious and severely depressed. I’ve called several times. He only picked up once and would barely speak to me. He won’t talk to the rest of the family at all. I don’t know if he’s eating or anything. I’ve never seen him like this. Can you help him?”

Kendra’s laughter died in the face of Matty’s anguish. Depression was not a joke, no matter the cause. Kendra had been paralyzed for months after the sudden deaths of her parents mere days after her graduation from college. “How did you hear about me?”

“I was talking to a friend whose friend recommended you. She said you get referrals from doctors and therapists and hospitals, that your work supplements whatever care they’re giving people in various stages of grief. That your methods are unusual but effective. Jameson won’t accept traditional talk therapy.”

“No?” Oh, there was a big surprise. Cartwright men didn’t need some sissy talking out of their feelings. Why would they, when it was so easy to punch or ridicule someone and feel tons better about themselves?

“We…weren’t exactly raised on sensitivity and openness.”

Well. Kendra raised her eyebrows at the unexpected admission, and at the bitterness in Matty’s voice. At least she recognized that much. “I’m not sure I’m the right person to—”

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“You do?” She doubted it.

“That Cartwrights don’t have any whining rights. That I’m being arrogant and overprotective looking for professional help for a guy who isn’t suffering from anything more than wounded pride. That he should get over himself and deal.”

“Uh.. ” Darn. That was exactly what she’d been thinking. Except the last part. Telling a depressed person to get over it was not generally effective.

“If it was one of my other brothers or my dad, I’d agree with you. There’s no way I’d ask you to try to help one of them. But Jameson is different.” Her voice softened. “He’s always struggled to fit in. I think life would have been easier for both of us if we’d been born into a different family.”

Kendra blinked in astonishment. She didn’t know Matty at all, but Jameson? Struggling? He’d always seemed to fit the Cartwright mold to perfection—arrogant, entitled, self-centered…should she go on? “Huh.”

“I know, you don’t believe me. But he’s different from the other guys in the family. And that’s why this is hitting him so hard. It’s worse than just losing out on his planned future. It’s like the final proof that he can’t cut it. You know? I don’t see it that way, and Mom…who knows…but you can bet Dad and my brothers do.”

Kendra stood in Lena’s living room, phone pressed to her ear, having a very hard time processing this information, given that it contradicted everything she’d ever thought about Jameson.

“I just know that I can’t help him right now, and while traditional doctors and therapists might, he won’t go, and he really, really needs help.”

“What makes you think he’d let me help him?”

“He…knows you.”

Kendra gave an incredulous laugh. He knew her? He knew how to typecast her, he knew which buttons to push and he knew how to make her feel loathed and worthless. Thank God her parents had been psychologists and had taken time and care helping her through the pitfalls of childhood with her self-esteem intact. “Not very well. In any case, I’m pretty booked.”

“Please, Kendra. I’ll beg if you want me to. You’re the first ray of hope I’ve had in weeks.” Matty sounded as if she was about to burst into tears. “I haven’t slept all night in so long I forget what it’s like.”

Oh, geez. Kendra closed her eyes, torn between sympathy for Matty and her instinct telling her she wanted less than nothing to do with men like the Cartwrights ever again.

“Just call him, Kendra. Talk to him. If you think I’m overreacting or it doesn’t feel right, then fine, you don’t have to take him on. We’ll go another route. I just don’t know what that would be at this point.”

Kendra forced herself into motion, letting herself out of Lena’s house. Committing to one call was an easy out, not really saying yes or no, which Matty undoubtedly knew and was exploiting. She was a Cartwright, after all.

Maybe Jameson had grown up some. Maybe Kendra had misjudged him all along, typecasting him as he had her. Hard to imagine, but Matty would know her brother better than Kendra did.

“I’ll talk to him.” She climbed into the Lexus, started back down the hill toward her house.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” Matty’s relief was humble and real, no triumph in her tone. “He’s house-sitting at a friend’s condo. I’ll give you the address and his cell. Thank you so much.”

“Sure.” Kendra sighed, feeling both noble and trapped. Lena would have a fit when she told her.

“Um. There is just one more thing.”

Uh-oh. “What’s that?”

“I’d rather you didn’t tell Jameson that I’m behind this. Even though he and I are close, he’s…a little sensitive when it comes to family right now.”

“Meaning he wants all of you out of his face even if you’re trying to help.”

“That would be it exactly.”

Pretty classic depression symptom. Though if Matty’s description of Jameson as the outcast was correct, he could also be protecting himself from the rest of the family’s judgment.

Damn. This was almost intriguing. “Okay. I won’t mention you. But I’m not sure he’ll buy that six years after our graduation I suddenly want to catch up.”

“Tell him you’re part of a new program the Air Force is trying out for soldiers on medical leave. Or that his commanding officer or surgeon heard of you through some doctor you work with here. Something that leaves him no choice.”

Clearly Matty had thought this through. “So I should lie while I try to gain his trust?”

“Oof.” Matty whistled silently. “Do you have to put it that way?”

“Can’t you get your commander or some general to write a fake letter?”

“Not me.” Matty laughed lightly. “I’m not in the Air Force. I’m an actress.”

Kendra brought her car to an abrupt halt at an intersection before she realized there was no stop sign; luckily there was no one behind her. “You’re an actress.”

“Between jobs I sell real estate, but right now I’m in a musical called Backspace at the Pasadena Playhouse. I have a small part, but it’s a job.” The pride in her voice was unmistakable.

“It’s an impressive job.” Well, how about that. Her parents must have nearly dropped dead. A canker on the Cartwright family tree! And now Jameson injured and out of his training program? A regular crumbling dynasty. “I’ll come up with something.”

“Thank you, Kendra. Please stay in touch. And send the bill to me. How much do you charge, by the way?”

Kendra told her.

“What? You’re kidding.”

Kendra was used to surprise and had the explanation for her bargain-basement rates ready. “I want my services available to as many people as possible. I’m not in this to get rich. I like working with people, and I don’t want to be limited by fees so high that my clients are thinking every second has to count triple for me to be worth their while.”

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