Summer Temptation (Hot in the Hamptons Book 2)

Random House Loveswept Contemporary Romance:

All I Need Is You
(Loving You #2) Coming October 6, 2015

Loving You Is Easy
(Loving You #1)

COSMOPOLITAN Red-Hot Reads from Harlequin:

The V-Spot

Harlequin Medical Romance:

Tempting Nurse Scarlet

Secrets of a Shy Socialite

Craving Her Soldier’s Touch

A Nurse’s Not So Secret Scandal

Once a Good Girl

When One Night Isn’t Enough

Meet Leigh DeGray...

After graduating college with honors and landing the job of my dreams in New York City, I’m off to The Hamptons to spend the summer with my two best friends. My life seems perfect, right? It’s not. The truth is, I have a secret that may make the future I’d planned so carefully completely fall apart. A hot summer romance is the absolute last thing I’m looking for... Until I meet a man who tempts me like no other and shows me a hot summer romance is exactly what I need.

Meet Nick Kenzy...

After two years of working my ass off as a Wall Street analyst, I’m out of a job, with no warning, no thank you, and no severance. Am I angry? You’re damn right I am. So when I head to the Hamptons for the weekend to spend time with my granddad, I plan to regroup and relax before I return to the city to hit the job search hard. I don’t need any distractions. Then I meet Leigh. Suddenly, a summer temptation makes me question everything I want for my future...

Love burns hotter in the Hamptons. Come play.

Dear Reader,

Come play in the Hamptons sandbox with the Hot in the Hamptons series, a trilogy featuring SUMMER DREAMING (Liz Matis), SUMMER TEMPTATION (Wendy S. Marcus), and SUMMER SINS (Jennifer Probst). Three separate novellas. Three different authors. One summer to remember.

Read them all, or just read one. It’s up to you! But when read together you’ll find extra story scenes to enhance your reading pleasure. No matter which route you choose, these standalone novellas will make you burn.

A special thank you to Liz Matis for suggesting the three of us should do a series together. Another special thank you to Jennifer Probst who offered up her beautiful home and served us lunch when we met up to put the finishing touches on our stories. I couldn’t have asked for better writing partners. Thank you both for your patience in answering all of my questions. The next time we get together, drinks are on me!!!

Leigh DeGray

B
eing fresh out of college, about to start your dream job, and winding up pregnant isn’t the end of the world
, I told myself, again, as I slowed down to avoid rear-ending the car in front of me. I’d survived worse, like losing my mom and older brother in a tragic car accident when I was only twelve years old. Like almost losing Grandpa Carl, who was like a second father to me, after he’d suffered a stroke three months ago and almost losing my dad, the most important person in my world, to a heart attack a few weeks after that.

I could survive being pregnant at the age of twenty-one.

I could raise a child on my own.

If it turned out I was, in fact, pregnant.

Technically, at the moment, I was only late…going on six weeks late, the tardiness of my period unprecedented since my entrance into womanhood. The last few months had been crazy hectic and stressful which surely explained my current…irregularity.

I mean, in addition to dealing with dad’s and grandpa’s health crises, I’d successfully presented final projects and aced final exams to graduate summa cum laude from Penn State. After sending out twenty-nine resumés and attending twenty-seven job interviews in five different states over the past six weeks, I’d landed a coveted position in the NYC office of Hollis and Hamilton, the largest and most prestigious public relations firm in the country.

Anyone’s system would be a little messed up after all that.

I glanced in my side mirror, then over my shoulder, before steering into the left lane to pass a truck, wondering how my employer would react to finding out the one new hire they’d allotted themselves, who they’d chosen from hundreds of applicants, was pregnant. Rather than working long hours and jetting across the country at a moment’s notice, I would soon need time off for doctors’ appointments, maternity leave, and childcare issues. The thought of that conversation sat heavy in my gut – for sure the reason I suddenly felt queasy and in desperate need to escape my car.

Lucky me, I noticed a cute little restaurant coming up on the left, so I slowed down, clicked on my signal, and pulled into the turning lane. Then I sat and watched the oncoming cars, inching along, bumper to bumper. Gotta love summer traffic in the Hamptons. Not!

Finally a nice woman let me go, and I squeezed my dependable Subaru Outback into an opening that I’m not sure was an actual parking spot, but who could tell in a gravel lot? My head resting back, eyes closed, I fumbled for the button to open my window and breathed in the warm summer air tinged with the scent of the ocean. This was exactly what I needed: rest and relaxation, the beach, fun in the sun with my two best friends from college, Storme and Kelsey. Our last hurrah before we embarked on life as responsible adults.

A delicious charbroil smell wafted past my window, and suddenly I was hungrier than I could ever remember being. I glanced at the clock. No wonder! Almost four in the afternoon, and I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I grabbed my phone to text Storme.

Starving. Stopped to eat. Will be there before the pool party. Promise.

Then I threw the phone into my pocketbook and headed inside.

Of course I didn’t have a reservation, so of course there were no tables available on the pretty outdoor terrace or in the crowded indoor dining room. I opted for the last remaining seat at the far end of the bar.

“Just a glass of water with lemon,” I told the bartender, though I really wanted an over-sized wineglass filled to the rim with cabernet. “And a menu.”

He smiled at me, that ‘hey baby, what’s a pretty girl like you doing here all alone?’ kind of smile. I’m used to it. Not to be conceited, but I’ve been blessed with a clear complexion, my dad’s green eyes, and mom’s trim figure, that I don’t really remember but I’ve seen in pictures. I lowered my eyes and gave him my demure half-smile. Move along, buddy. Good girl here. Well, at least most of the time.

Under the guise of checking my phone for messages, I secretly snuck glimpses of my fellow bar patrons, my eyes lingering on an older gentleman, mid-seventies, sitting catty-corner to me on the right, his head down, shoulders slumped, so sad. A rock glass filled with some amber-colored liquid sat on the bar in front of him, untouched. He pulled a white linen handkerchief, same as my grandpa always used to carry, from a pocket in his red-knit sweater vest, lifted it to blot an eye, and I had to ask, “Sir?” I reached out and placed my hand on his white dress shirt covered forearm. “Are you okay?”