Blue Blooded (27 page)

SHELLY BELL
writes sensual romance and erotic thrillers with high emotional stakes for her alpha heroes and kick-ass heroines. She began writing upon the insistence of her husband, who dragged her to the store and bought her a laptop. When she's not practicing corporate law, taking care of her family, or writing, you'll find her reading the latest smutty romance.

Shelly is a member of Romance Writers of America and International Thriller Writers.

Visit her website at
ShellyBellBooks.com
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BENEDICTION NOVELS

Blue Blooded

Red Handed

White Collared

Part One: Mercy

Part Two: Greed

Part Three: Revenge

Part Four: Passion

Amelia Crockett's life was going exactly the way she had always planned—until one day, it wasn't.

When Mia's career plans are shattered, the always-in-control surgeon has no choice but to head home to Paradise Ranch and her five younger sisters, cowboy boots in tow, to figure out how to get her life back on track. The appearance of a frustrating, but oh-so-sexy, former soldier, however, turns into exactly the kind of distraction she can't afford.

 

H
e studied her as if assessing how blunt he could be. With a wry little lift of his lip, he closed his eyes and lay all the way back onto the blanket, hands behind his head. “Honestly? You were just so much fun to get a rise out of. You'd turn all hot under the collar, like you couldn't figure out how anyone could dare counter you—the big-city doc coming to Hicksville with the answers.”

The teasing tone of his voice was clear, but the words stung nonetheless. Funny. They wouldn't have bothered her at all a week ago, she thought. Now it hurt that he would ever think of her that way. She hadn't been that awful—she'd only wanted to put order to the chaos and bring a little rationality to the haywire emotions after her mother and sister's awful accident.

“Hey.” She turned at the sound of his voice to find him sitting upright beside her again. “Amelia, I know better now. I know you. I'm not judging you—then or now.”

Pricks of miniscule teardrops stung her eyes, the result of extreme embarrassment—and profound relief. She had no idea what to make of the reaction. It was neither logical nor something she ever remembered experiencing.

“I know.”

To her horror, the roughness of her emotions shone through her voice, and Gabriel peered at her, his face a study in surprise. “Are you crying? Amelia, I'm sorry—I was just giving you grief, I wasn't—”

“I'm not crying.” Her insistence held no power even though it wasn't a lie. No water fell from her eyes; it just welled behind the lids. “I'm not upset. I'm . . . relieved. I . . . it was nice, what you . . . said.” She clamped her mouth closed before something truly stupid emerged and looked down at the blanket, picking at a pill in the wool's plaid pile.

A touch beneath her chin drew her gaze back up. Gabriel's eyes were mere inches from hers, shining with that beautiful caramel brown that suddenly looked like it could liquefy into pure sweetness and sex. Every masculine pore of his skin caught her attention and made her fingers itch to stroke the texture of his cheek. The scent of wind-blown skin and chocolate tantalized her.

“Don't be anything but what and who you are, Amelia Crockett.”

His kiss brushed her mouth with the weightlessness of a Monarch on a flower petal. Soft, ethereal, tender, it promised nothing but a taste of pleasure and asked for nothing in return. Yet, as subtle as it was, it drove a punch of desire deep into Mia's core and then set her stomach fluttering with anticipation.

He pulled back but his fingers remained on her chin. “I'm sorry. That was probably uncalled for.”

When his fingers, too, began to slide from her skin, she reacted without thinking and grabbed his hand. “No. It's . . . It was . . . Gah—” Frustrated by her constant, unfamiliar loss for words, she leaned forward rather than let mortification set in and pressed a kiss against his lips this time, foregoing light and airy for the chance to taste him fully. Beneath the pressure, his lips curved into a smile. She couldn't help it then, her mouth mimicked his and they clashed in a gentle tangle of lips, teeth, and soft, surprised chuckles.

“Crazy,” he said in a whisper, as he encircled her shoulders and pulled her closer.

“Yeah,” she agreed and opened her mouth to invite his tongue to meet hers.

First kisses in Mia's experience were usually fraught with uncertainty and awkwardness about what should come next, but not this one. Kissing Gabriel seemed as natural and pleasurable as walking along a stunning stream full of rapids and eddies and satisfying things to explore. She explored them all and let him taste and enjoy right back. When at last they let each other go, her head continued to spin with surprise, and every nerve ending sparkled with desire.

Army Ranger Garrett Harding is new in town—but not necessarily welcome. The only thing Rachel Maguire wants is to send this muscled military man packing. But when the stalker who destroyed her life ten years ago reappears, Rachel hits the road hoping to lure danger away from those she loves. Garrett won't let this sexy spitfire face trouble alone. He'll do anything to protect her. Even if it means risking his life—and his heart.

 

P
ressed tight to the wall, Garrett waited. As she burst from cover, looking over her right shoulder and away from him, he stepped toward her. Catching her around the middle, he swung her off her feet and up against his body, holding her tightly with both arms. “It's me, Rach. Take it easy. I just want to talk.”

She stopped struggling, so he loosened his hold as he set her back on her feet. Mistake number one. She dug her fingernails into his forearm, scratching until she drew blood. As soon as he leaned over her shoulder to grab her hand, she whacked his jaw with the back of her head, hard enough to send him stumbling back a step. He shook his head to clear the stars in time to see her swing that black bag.

“Wait a minute, Rachel!” Garrett tried to duck, but her shorter height gave her the advantage. She caught him across the side of the head, and there was apparently something heavy and damn hard in her bag. He staggered, lost his balance, and went down.

She looked surprised for a second before determination steeled her expression. “I told you not to look for me. What didn't you understand about that?” Shifting her bag onto her shoulder, she turned, and started running down the alley.

“Well, shit.” Garrett glanced at Cowboy and damned if it didn't look like he was laughing. “Okay, already. You were right. Saddle up, Cowboy.”

The dog took off, his long strides closing the distance to Rachel's retreating back easily. Garrett stood, brushing the dirt off and taking a moment to stretch the ache from the wound in his back. Then he jogged after the girl and the dog. He'd seriously underestimated Rachel today. Cowboy had his instructions to stop her, but keeping her there would require a whole different set of commands—ones that Garrett would never utter where Rachel was concerned.

Ahead of him, the dog ran circles around her, making the circle smaller each time. When she finally stopped, keeping a wary eye on the animal, Cowboy dropped to a walk, his tail wagging as he angled toward her. Though she didn't move, her body, tense and ready, said she was on high alert. Garrett picked up his pace to reach them.

Rachel looked over her shoulder, obviously noted the diminishing distance between them, and grabbed for her satchel. The next thing he knew, the damn hard object she'd hit him with—a small revolver—was in her hand and she was pointing it at Cowboy.

“You need to stay where you are, Garrett, and call your dog or . . . I'll shoot him.”

“Cowboy, chill.” The dog dropped to the ground, watching Garrett carefully. “This is what it's come to then? You want to get away from me so bad you're willing to shoot my dog?”

She shook her head dejectedly. “That's not what I want, but I will if I have to.”

“I don't believe you, Rach. That dog's just following orders. My orders. Shoot me if you want to hurt somebody.” Garrett moved a few steps closer.

Rachel laughed scornfully. “Did you miss the part where I tried to leave without anybody getting hurt?”

“No. I get that you're worried about Peg, Jonathan, and the rest of the people at the lodge, but damn it, Rachel, they love you. They want to understand. They want to help if they can, because that's what people do when they love someone. They don't sneak off in the night, leaving their
family
to wonder what happened.”

“I can't—” She lowered the weapon until her hand hung at her side. Her eyes closed for a second, then she sat abruptly amidst the grass that bordered the alley.

Garrett walked up to her and knelt down. Prying the gun from her fingers, he placed it back in her bag and zipped it up. “Yes, you can. I'll help you.” He tilted her chin up so he could see the sheen of her expressive green eyes. “Give me a chance, Rachel. What have you got to lose?”

When a desperate Jessamin Wright bursts into an aristocratic party and shocks the entire ton, she believes it's the only way to save her failing bookstore. The challenge sounded easy when issued, but the one thing she never expected was to enjoy the outrageous embrace she shares with a serious viscount.

 

F
or the hundredth time, Jess called herself a fool for agreeing to Kitty Adderly's ridiculous plan for revenge against Viscount Grimsby. Kissing a viscount for one hundred pounds sounded questionable at the time Kitty had suggested it. Now Jess thought perhaps the jilted heiress had put something in her tea.

Initially she made her way into the crowded art gallery unnoticed, but then a woman dripping in diamonds and green silk had questioned her. When the lady's round husband stepped in, it all turned to chaos before she'd even done what she'd come to do. The deed itself shouldn't take long. A quick peck on the mouth—Kitty had insisted that she kiss the man on the lips—and it would all be over. She'd already handed the money over to Mr. Briggs at the bank. Turning back now simply wasn't an option.

She recognized Lord Grimsby from the gossip rag Kitty had shown her. The newspaper etching hadn't done him justice. In it, he'd been portrayed as dark and forbidding, his mouth a sharp slash, his black brows so large they overtook his eyes, and his long Roman nose dominating an altogether unappealing face. But in the flesh every part of his appearance harmonized into a striking whole. He was the sort of man she would have noticed in a crowd, even if she hadn't been seeking him, intent on causing him scandal and taking unimaginable liberties with his person.

He was there at the end of the gallery, as far from the entrance as he could possibly be. Jess continued through the gamut and a man snatched at her arm. Unthinking, she stepped on his foot, and he spluttered and cursed but released her.

Lord Grimsby saw her now. She noticed his dark head—and far too many others—turned her way. He was tall and broad shouldered, towering over the man and woman beside him. And he did look grim, as cold and disagreeable as Kitty had described.

Jessamin turned her eyes down, avoiding his gaze. Helpfully, the crowd parted before her, as if the respectable ladies and gentleman were unwilling to remain near a woman behaving so unpredictably. Every time she raised her eyes, she glimpsed eyes gone wide, mouths agape, and women furiously fanning themselves.

Just a few more steps and Jess stood before him, only inches between them. She met his gaze and found him glaring down at her with shockingly clear blue eyes. Furrowed lines formed a vee between his brows as he frowned at her like a troublesome insect had just spoiled his meal.

She opened her mouth to speak, but what explanation could she offer?

Every thought scattered as she studied her objective—or more accurately, his lips. They were wide and well-shaped but firmly set. Not as firm as stone, as Kitty claimed, but unyielding. Unwelcoming. Not at all the sort of lips one dreamed of kissing. But Jess had given up on dreams. Her choices now were about money, the funds she needed to keep the bookshop afloat for as long as she could.

Taking a breath and praying for courage, Jess reached up and removed her spectacles, folded them carefully, and hooked them inside the high neckline of her gown.

His eyes followed the movement of her hands, and the lines between his brows deepened.

Behind her, a woman shouted, “How dare you!” A hand grasped her from behind, the force of the tug pulling Jessamin backward, nearly off her feet. Then a deep, angry male voice rang out and stopped all movement.

“Unhand the woman. Now, if you please.” He'd spoken. The stone giant. Lord Grim. He glared past her, over her head. Whoever gripped her arm released their hold. Then Lord Grim's gaze drilled into hers, his eyes discerning, not cold and lifeless as she'd expected.

For several heartbeats he simply watched her, pinning her with his gaze, studying her. Jess reminded herself to breathe.

“Are we acquainted, madam?”

The rumble of his voice, even amid the din of chatter around them, echoed through her.

She moved closer, and his eyebrows shot up. Oh, she'd crossed the line now. Bursting uninvited into a room filled with the wealthy and titled was one thing. Ignoring a viscount's question could be forgiven. Pressing one's bosom into a strange man's chest was something else entirely.

A surge of surprise and gratitude gripped her when he didn't move away.

Assessing his height, Jess realized she'd have to lift onto her toes if the kiss was to be accomplished. She took a step toward him, stretched up tall, and swayed unsteadily. He reached an arm out, and she feared he'd push her away. Instead he gripped her arm just above her elbow and held her steady.

A woman said his name, a tone of chastisement lacing the word. “Lucius.”

Then she did it. Placing one hand on his hard chest to balance herself, Jess eased up on the tips of her boots and touched her lips to his.