Various States of Undress (29 page)

Brett turned around and gave her a devastating grin. She sighed.

Suddenly, Carolina gripped Georgia's arm. “Holy shit.”

“What?”

“Oh. My. God.” Virginia surged forward and leaned out of the tunnel.

“What?” Georgia repeated, following her gaze. And then she saw.

Justin Timberlake stood near home plate in front of a microphone stand. He held up his arms and waved at the crowd. Then he turned and pointed toward the tunnel.

The sisters sucked in a collective breath and let it out in a shriek.

Justin turned around with a grin as the first strains of the “Star Spangled Banner” began to play. And then he sang.

Cameras flashed. People cheered.

“Being a First Daughter doesn't suck,” Georgia commented. ‘Especially when you find the love of your life along the way.” She paused. “I'm not talking about JT.”

Carolina grinned. “I know.”

Virginia winked.

And then the three of them, hands over their hearts, stepped forward to face the crowd.

Acknowledgments

I
N ORDER TO
create the world of Georgia's internship, I conducted a lot of research and asked many questions. Thanks to the generosity of TV news professionals in my area, I was able to watch a live morning news broadcast, chat with anchors, and sit in the control booth while the magic happened. The perspective of smart young women who have been through internships was an added benefit. I thank Laura Levitt, television news producer, and Victoria Cook, television news producer.

And to Brian Slocum, television broadcast meteorologist, many thanks for not laughing at me when I asked, “So what is that earpiece thingy you wear?” Any inaccuracies in the novel can be pinned on me, although they might have been on purpose. . . .

Special appreciation goes to Trinitee Mitchell-Dunn, the winner of the “Suggest a Secret Service Code Name for Georgia” contest. There were many great entries, but you hit it out of the park with “Cherry Blossom”! Thanks, Trinitee.

About the Author

After spending years in professional theater as a costume designer,
LAURA SIMCOX
eased out of the hectic whirlwind of opening nights and settled in a comfy desk chair to write romance. She believes that life is too short not to appreciate heartwarming, quirky humor and her novels are lighthearted journeys into the happily-ever-after. She lives in North Carolina with her true love and adorable little son.

Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at
hc.com
.

By Laura Simcox

Various States of Undress: Georgia

Various States of Undress: Virginia

Various States of Undress: Carolina

 

Give in to your impulses . . .

Read on for a sneak peek at seven brand-new

e-book original tales of romance from Avon Impulse.

Available now wherever e-books are sold.

 

HOLDING HOLLY

A L
OVE AND
F
OOTBA
LL
N
OVELLA

By Julie Brannagh

IT'S A WONDERFUL FIREMAN

A B
ACHE
LOR
F
IREMEN
N
OVELLA

By Jennifer Bernard

ONCE UPON A HIGHLAND CHRISTMAS

By Lecia Cornwall

RUNNING HOT

A B
AD
B
OYS
U
NDER
COVER
N
OVELLA

By HelenKay Dimon

SINFUL REWARDS 1

A B
I
LLIONAIRES AND
B
IKER
S
N
OVELLA

By Cynthia Sax

RETURN TO CLAN SINCLAIR

A C
LAN
S
INCLAIR
N
OVELLA

By Karen Ranney

RETURN OF THE BAD GIRL

By Codi Gary

 

An Excerpt from

HOLDING HOLLY

A Love and Football Novella

by Julie Brannagh

Holly Reynolds has a secret. Make that two. The first involves upholding her grandmother's hobby of answering Dear Santa letters from dozens of local schoolchildren. The second . . . well, he just came strolling in the door.

Derrick has never met a woman he wanted to bring home to meet his family, mostly because he keeps picking the wrong ones—until he runs into sweet, shy Holly Reynolds. Different from anyone he's ever known, Derrick realizes she might just be everything he needs.

 

“D
o you need anything else right now?”

“I'm good,” he said. “Then again, there's something I forgot.”

“What do you need? Maybe I can help.”

He moved closer to her, and she tipped her head back to look up at him. He reached out to cup one of her cheeks in his big hand. “I had a great time tonight. Thanks for having pizza with me.”

“I had a nice time too. Th-thank you for inviting me,” she stammered. There was so much more she'd like to say, but she was tongue-tied again. He was moving closer to her, and he reached out to put his drinking glass down on the counter.

“Maybe we could try this again when we're not in the middle of a snowstorm,” he said. “I'd like a second date.”

She started nodding like one of those bobbleheads, and forced herself to stop before he thought she was even more of a dork.

“Yes. I . . . Yes, I would too. I . . . that would be fun.”

He took another half-step toward her. She did her best to pull in a breath.

“Normally, I would have kissed you good night at your front door, but getting us inside before we froze to death seemed like the best thing to do right then,” he said.

“Oh, yes. Absolutely. I—”

He reached out, slid his arms around her waist, and pulled her close. “I don't want to disrespect your grandma's wishes,” he softly said. “She said I needed to treat you like a lady.”

Holly almost let out a groan. She loved Grandma, but they needed to have a little chat later. “Sorry,” she whispered.

He grinned at her. “I promise I'll behave myself, unless you don't want me to.” She couldn't help it; she laughed. “Plus,” he continued, “she said you have to be up very early in the morning to go to work, so we'll have to say good night.”

Maybe she didn't need sleep. One thing's for sure, she had no interest in stepping away from him right now. He surrounded her, and she wanted to stay in his arms. Her heart was beating double-time, the blood was effervescent in her veins, and she summoned the nerve to move a little closer to him as she let out a happy sigh.

He kissed her cheek, and laid his scratchier one against hers. A few seconds later, she slid her arms around his neck too. “Good night, sweet Holly. Thanks for saving me from the snowstorm.”

She had to laugh a little. “I think you saved
me
.”

“We'll figure out who saved who later,” he said. She felt his deep voice vibrating through her. She wished he'd kiss her again. Maybe she should kiss
him
.

He must have read her mind. He took her face in both of his hands. “Don't tell your grandma,” he whispered. His breath was warm on her cheek.

“Tell her what?”

“I'm going to kiss you.”

Her head was bobbing around as she frantically nodded yes. She probably looked ridiculous, but he didn't seem to care. Her eyelids fluttered closed as his mouth touched hers, sweet and soft. It wasn't a long kiss, but she knew she'd never forget it. She felt the zing at his tender touch from the top of her head to her toes.

“A little more?” he asked.

“Oh, yes.”

His arms wrapped around her again, and he slowly traced her lips with his tongue. It slid into her mouth. He tasted like the peppermints Noel Pizza kept in a jar on the front counter. They explored each other for a while as quietly as possible, but maybe not quietly enough.

“Holly, honey,” her grandma called out from the family room. Holly was
absolutely
going to have a conversation with Grandma when Derrick was out of earshot, and she stifled a groan. All they were doing was a little kissing. He rested one big hand on her butt, which she enjoyed. “Would you please bring me some salad?”

Derrick let out a snort. “I'll get it for you, Miss Ruth,” he said loudly enough for her grandma to hear.

“She's onto us,” Holly said softly.

“Damn right.” He grinned at her. “I'll see you tomorrow morning.” His voice dropped. “We're
definitely
kissing on the second date.”

“I'll look forward to that.” She tried to pull in a breath. Her head was spinning. She couldn't have stopped smiling if her life depended on it. “Are you sure you don't want to stay in my room instead? You need a good night's sleep. Don't you have to go to practice?”

“I'm sure your room is very comfortable, but I'll be fine out here. Sweet dreams,” he said.

She felt him kiss the top of her head as he held her. She took a deep breath of his scent: clean skin, a whiff of expensive cologne, and freshly pressed clothes. “You, too,” she whispered. She reached up to kiss his cheek. “Good night.”

 

An Excerpt from

IT'S A WONDERFUL FIREMAN

A Bachelor Firemen Novella

by Jennifer Bernard

Hard-edged fireman Dean Mulligan has never been a big fan of Christmas. Twinkly lights and sparkly tinsel can't brighten the memories of too many years spent in ramshackle foster homes. When he's trapped in the burning wreckage of a holiday store, a Christmas angel arrives to open his eyes. But is it too late? This Christmas, it'll take an angel, a determined woman in love, and the entire Bachelor Firemen crew to make him believe . . . it is indeed a wonderful life.

 

H
e'd fallen. Memory returned like water seeping into a basement. He'd been on the roof, and then he'd fallen through, and now he was . . . here. His PASS device was sounding in a high-decibel shriek, and its strobe light flashed, giving him quick, garish glimpses of his surroundings.

Mulligan looked around cautiously. The collapse must have put out much of the fire, because he saw only a few remnants of flames flickering listlessly on the far end of the space. Every surface was blackened and charred except for one corner, in which he spotted blurry flashes of gold and red and green.

He squinted and blinked his stinging eyes, trying to get them to focus. Finally the glimpse of gold formed itself into a display of dangling ball-shaped ornaments. He gawked at them. What were those things made from? How had they managed to survive the fire? He sought out the red and squinted at it through his face mask. A Santa suit, that's what it was, with great, blackened holes in the sleeves. It was propped on a rocking chair, which looked quite scorched. Mulligan wondered if a mannequin or something had been wearing the suit. If so, it was long gone. Next to the chair stood half of a plastic Christmas tree. One side had melted into black goo, while the other side looked pretty good.

Where am I?
He formed the words with his mouth, though no sound came out. And it came back to him. Under the Mistletoe. He'd been about to die inside a Christmas store. But he hadn't. So far.

He tried to sit up, but something was pinning him down. Taking careful inventory, he realized that he lay on his left side, his tank pressing uncomfortably against his back, his left arm immobilized beneath him. What was on top of him? He craned his neck, feeling his face mask press against his chest. A tree. A freaking Christmas tree. Fully decorated and only slightly charred. It was enormous, at least ten feet high, its trunk a good foot in diameter. At its tip, an angel in a gold pleated skirt dangled precariously, as if she wanted to leap to the floor but couldn't summon the nerve. Steel brackets hung from the tree's trunk; it must have been mounted somewhere, maybe on a balcony or something. A few twisted ironwork bars confirmed that theory.

How the hell had a Christmas tree survived the inferno in here? It was wood! Granted, it was still a live tree, and its trunk and needles held plenty of sap. And fires were always unpredictable. The one thing you could be sure of was that they'd surprise you. Maybe the balcony had been protected somehow.

He moved his body, trying to shift the tree, but it was extremely heavy and he was pinned so flat he had no leverage. He spotted his radio a few feet away. It must have been knocked out of his pouch. Underneath the horrible, insistent whine of his PASS device, he heard the murmuring chatter of communication on the radio. If he could get a finger on it, he could hit his emergency trigger and switch to Channel 6, the May Day channel. His left arm was useless, but he could try with his right. But when he moved it, pain ripped through his shoulder.

Hell. Well, he could at least shut off the freaking PASS device. If a rapid intervention team made it in here, he'd yell for them. But no way could he stand listening to that sound for the next whatever-amount-of-time it took. Gritting his teeth against the agony, he reached for the device at the front of his turnout, then hit the button. The strobe light stopped and sudden silence descended, though his ears still rang. While he was at it, he checked the gauge that indicated how much air he had left in his tank. Ten minutes. He must have been in here for some time, sucking up air, since it was a thirty-minute tank.

A croak issued from his throat. “I'm in hell. No surprise.”

Water.
He needed water.

“I can't give you any water,” a bright female voice said. For some reason, he had the impression that the angel on the tip of the Christmas tree had spoken. So he answered her back.