Recipe for Love (13 page)

Give in to your impulses . . .

Read on for a sneak peek at five brand-­new

e-­book original tales of romance from Avon Books.

Available now wherever e-­books are sold.

STEALING HOME

A
D
IAMONDS AND
D
UGO
UTS
N
OVEL

By Jennifer Seasons

LUCKY LIKE US

B
OOK
T
WO:
T
HE
H
UNTED
S
ERIES

By Jennifer Ryan

STUCK ON YOU

By Cheryl Harper

THE RIGHT BRIDE

B
OOK
T
HREE:
T
HE
H
UNT
ED
S
ERIES

By Jennifer Ryan

LACHLAN’S BRIDE

H
IGHLAND
L
AIRDS
T
RILOGY

By Kathleen Harrington

An Excerpt from

A
D
I
AMONDS AND
D
UGOUTS
N
OVEL

by Jennifer Seasons

When Lorelei Littleton steals Mark Cutter’s good luck charm, all the pro ball player
can think is how good she looked . . . and how bad she’ll pay. Thrust into a contest
of wills, they’ll both discover that while revenge may be a dish best served cold,
when it comes to passion, the hotter the better!

R
aising his glass, Mark smiled and said, “To the rodeo. May you ride your bronc well.”

Color tinged Lorelei’s cheeks as they tapped their glasses. But her eyes remained
on his while he took a long pull of smooth aged whiskey.

Then she spoke, her voice low. “I’ll make your head spin, cowboy. That I promise.”

That surprised a laugh out of him, even as heat began to pool heavy in his groin.
“I’ll drink to that.” And he did. He lifted the glass and drained it, suddenly anxious
to get on to the next stage. A drop of liquid shimmered on her full bottom lip, and
it beckoned him. Reaching an arm out, Mark pulled her close and leaned down. With
his eyes on hers, he slowly licked the drop off, his tongue teasing her pouty mouth
until she released a soft moan.

Arousal coursed through him at the provocative sound. Pulling her more fully against
him, Mark deepened the kiss. Her lush little body fit perfectly against him, and her
lips melted under the heat of his. He slid a hand up her back and fisted the dark,
thick mass of her long hair. He loved the feel of the cool, silky strands against
his skin.

He wanted more.

Tugging gently, Mark encouraged her mouth to open for him. When it did, his tongue
slid inside and tasted, explored the exotic flavor of her. Hunger spiked inside him,
and he took the kiss deeper. Hotter. She whimpered into his mouth and dug her fingers
into his hair, pulled. Her body began pushing against his, restless and searching.

Mark felt like he’d been tossed into an incinerator when he pushed a thigh between
her long, shapely legs and discovered the heat there. He groaned and rubbed his thigh
against her, feeling her tremble in response.

Suddenly she broke the kiss and pushed out of his arms. Her breathing was ragged,
her lips red and swollen from his kiss. Confusion and desire mixed like a heady concoction
in his blood, but before he could say anything, she turned and began walking toward
the hallway to his bedroom.

At the entrance she stopped and beckoned to him. “Come and get me, catcher.”

So she wanted to play, did she? Hell yeah. Games were his life.

Mark toed off his shoes as he yanked his sweater over his head and tossed it on the
floor. He began working the button of his fly and strode after her. He was a little
unsteady on his feet, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to catch her. When he entered
his room, he found her by the bed. She’d turned on the bedside lamp, and the light
illuminated every gorgeous inch of her curvaceous body.

He started toward her, but she shook her head. “I want you to sit on the bed.”

Mark walked to her anyway and gave her a deep, hungry kiss before he sat on the edge
of the bed. He wondered what she had in store for him and felt his gut tighten in
anticipation. “Are you going to put on a show for me?”
God, it’d be so hot if she did.

All she said was “mmm hmm.” Then she turned her back to him. Mark let his eyes wander
over her body and decided her tight, round ass in denim was just about the sexiest
thing he’d ever seen.

When his gaze rose back up, he found her smiling over her shoulder at him. “Are you
ready for the ride of your life, cowboy?”

Hell yes he was. “Bring it, baby. Show me what you’ve got.”

Her smile grew sultry with unspoken promise as she reached for the hem of her t-­shirt.
She pulled it up leisurely while she kept eye contact with him. All he could hear
was the soft sound of fabric rustling, but it fueled him—­this seductively slow striptease
she was giving him.

He wanted to see more of her. “Turn around.”

As she turned, she continued to pull her shirt up until she was facing him with the
yellow cotton dangling loosely from her fingertips. A black, lacy bra barely covered
the most voluptuous, gorgeous pair of breasts he’d ever laid eyes on. He couldn’t
stop staring.

“Do you like what you see?”

Good God, yes.
The woman was a goddess. He nodded, a little harder than he meant to because he almost
fell forward. He was starting to tell her how sexy she was when suddenly a full-­blown
wave of dizziness hit him. He shook his head to clear it.
What the hell?

“Is everything all right, Mark?”

The room started spinning, and he tried to stand but couldn’t. It felt like the world
had been tipped sideways and his body was sliding onto the floor. He tried to stand
again but fell backward onto the bed instead. He stared up at her as he tried to right
himself and couldn’t.

Fonda stood there like a siren, dark hair tousled around her head, breasts barely
contained—­guilt plastered across her stunning face.

Before he fell unconscious on the bed, he knew. Knew it with gut certainty. He tried
to tell her, but his mouth wouldn’t move. Son of a bitch.

Fonda Peters had drugged him.

An Excerpt from

B
OOK
T
WO:
T
HE
H
UNTED
S
ERI
ES

by Jennifer Ryan

The second installment in The Hunted Series by Jennifer Ryan . . .

1

A
wisp of smoke rose from the barrel of his gun. The smell of gunpowder filled the
air. Face raised to the night sky, eyes closed, he sucked in a deep breath and let
it out slowly, enjoying the moment. Adrenaline coursed through his veins with a thrill
that left a tingle in his skin. His heart pounded, and he felt more alive than he
remembered feeling ever in his normal life.

Slowly, he lowered his head to the bloody body lying sprawled on the dirty pavement
at his feet. The Silver Fox strikes again. The smile spread across his face. He loved
the nickname the press had given him after the police spoke of the elusive killer
who’d caused at least eight deaths—­who knew how many more? He did. He remembered
every one of them in minute detail.

He kicked the dead guy in the ribs. Sonofabitch almost ruined everything, but you
didn’t get to be in his position by leaving the details in a partnership to chance.
They’d had a deal, but the idiot had gotten greedy, making him sloppy. He’d set up
a meeting for tonight with a new hit but hadn’t done the proper background investigation.
His death was a direct result of his stupidity.

“You set me up with a cop!” he yelled at the corpse.

He dragged the body by the foot into the steel container, heedless of the man’s face
scraping across the rough road. He dropped the guy’s leg. The loud thud echoed through
the cavernous interior. He locked the door and walked through the deserted shipyard,
indifferent.

Maybe he’d let his fury get the best of him, but anything, or anyone, who threatened
to expose him or end his most enjoyable hobby needed to be eliminated. He had too
much to lose, and he never lost.

Only one more loose end to tie up.

2

San Francisco

Thursday, 9:11 p.m.

L
ittle devils stomped up Sam’s spine, telling him trouble was on the way. He rolled
his shoulders to erase the eerie feeling, but it didn’t work, never did. He sensed
something was wrong, and he’d learned to trust his instincts. They’d saved his hide
more than once.

Sam and his FBI partner, Special Agent Tyler Reed, sat in their dark car watching
the entrance to Ray’s Rock House. Every time someone opened the front door, the blare
of music poured out into the otherwise quiet street. Sam’s contact hadn’t arrived
yet, but that was what happened when you relied on the less reputable members of society.

“I’ve got a weird vibe about this,” Sam said, breaking the silence. “Watch the front
and alley entrances after I go in.”

Tyler never took his eyes off the door and the ­people coming and going. “I’ve got
your back, but I still think we need more agents on this. What’s with you lately?
Ever since your brother got married and had a family, you’ve been on edge, taking
one dangerous case after another.”

Sam remembered the way his brother looked at his wife and the jealousy that had bubbled
up in his gut, taking him by surprise. Jenna was everything to Jack, and since they
were identical twins, it was easy for Sam to put himself in Jack’s shoes. All he had
to do was look at Jack, Jenna, and their two boys to see what it would be like if
he found someone to share his life.

Sam had helped Jenna get rid of her abusive ex-­husband, who’d kidnapped her a ­couple
years before. Until Jack had come into her life, she’d been alone, hiding from her
ex—­simply existing, she’d said. Very much like him.

An Excerpt from

by Cheryl Harper

Love’s in the limelight when big-­shot producer KT Masters accidentally picks a fight
with Laura Charles, a single mother working as a showgirl waitress in a hotel bar.
When he offers her the fling of a lifetime, Laura’s willing to play along . . . just
so long as her heart stays out of it. If she can help it, that is!

L
aura said, “Excuse me, Mr. Masters.” When he held up an impatient hand, she narrowed
her eyes and turned back to the two women. “Maybe you can tell him the drinks are
here? I’ve got other customers to take care of.”

The pink-­haired woman held out a hand. “Sure thing. I’m Mandy, the makeup artist.
This is Shane. She’ll do hair. We’ll both help with costumes and props as needed.”

As Laura shook their hands, she privately thought that might be the best arrangement.
Shane’s hair was perfect, not one strand out of place. Mandy’s pink shag sort of made
it look like she’d been caught in a windstorm. In a convertible. But her makeup and
clothes were very cute.

KT said, “Hold on just a sec, Bob. Let me go ahead and tweet this. Gotta keep the
fans interested, you know.”

Laura glanced over her bare shoulder to see KT bound down the stairs, pause, snap
a picture, and then type something on his phone before shouting about taking down
the electronic display in the corner. Lucky would not be happy about that. As KT waved
his arms dramatically and the director nodded, Laura smiled at the two girls. “Guess
I’m dismissed.”

They laughed, and Laura turned to skirt their table as she reached for the drink tray.
Being unable to move, like her feathers had attached themselves to the floor, was
her first clue that something had gone horribly wrong. And when KT Masters bumped
into her, sending the tray skidding into the sodas she’d just delivered, she knew
exactly who was responsible. She tried to whirl around to give him a piece of her
mind but spun in place and then heard a loud rip just before she bumped into the table
and sent two glasses crashing to the floor. She might have followed them, but KT wrapped
a hand around her arm to steady her. His warm skin was a brand against her chilly
flesh.

The only sound in Viva Las Vegas was the tinny
plink
of electricity through one million bright white bulbs. Every eye was focused on the
drama taking place at the foot of the stage. Before she could really get a firm grip
on the embarrassment, irritation, shock, and downright anger boiling over, Laura shouted,
“You ripped off my feather!”

Even the light bulbs seemed to hold their breath at that point.

KT’s hand slid down her arm, raising goose bumps as it went, before he slammed both
hands on his hips, and Laura shivered. The heat from that one hand made her wonder
what it would be like to be pressed up against him. Instead of the flannel robe, she
should put a KT Masters on her birthday list. She wouldn’t have to worry about being
cold ever again.

“Yeah, I did you a favor. This costume has real potential”—he motioned with one hand
as he looked her over from collar­bone to knee—­“but the feathers get in the way,
so . . . you’re welcome!” The frown looked all wrong on his face, like he didn’t have
a lot of experience with anger or irritation, but the look in his eyes was as warm
as his hand had been. When he rubbed his palms together, she thought maybe she wasn’t
the only one to be surprised by the heat.

They both looked down at the bedraggled pink feather, now swimming in ice cubes and
spilled soda under his left shoe. No matter how much she hated the feathers or how
valid his point about their ridiculousness was, she wasn’t going to let him get away
with this. He should apologize. Any decent person would.