“Are You Sure You Want Me To Stop, Katy?” Letter to Reader Title Page ASHLEY SUMMERS Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Copyright
“Are You Sure You Want Me To Stop, Katy?”
He was so close, his breath brushed her mouth. The voice coming from deep in his chest was pure, sensuous persuasion.
“I don’t know, Thomas,” she whispered, meeting his gaze. “I truly don’t know.”
He ran his fingers down her cheek, his blood leaping at the feel of smooth, warm skin. Passion hardened his body, coiling low and deep and demanding. She made a sighing sound. Her lashes fluttered down as she lifted her face to his in soft surrender.
Thomas stilled, his body and mind clashing. The urge to take was maddeningly strong. But there was something else. His hand fell from her cheek.
“I think you should know whether or not you want me to stop. After all, we are adults,” he said matter-of-factly. “I want you very much. I also want the feeling to be mutual. It’s been a long day, so...good night, Katy....”
Dear Reader,
Welcome to a wonderful new year at Silhouette Desire! Let’s start with a delightfully humorous MAN OF THE MONTH by Lass Small—The Coffeepot Inn. Here, a sinfully sexy hero is tempted by a virtuous woman. He’s determined to protect her from becoming the prey of the local men—and he’s determined to win her for himself!
The HOLIDAY HONEYMOONS miniseries continues this month with Resolved To (Re)Marry by Carole Buck. Don’t miss this latest installment of this delightful continuity series!
And the always wonderful Jennifer Greene continues her STANFORD SISTERS series with Bachelor Mom. As many of you know, Jennifer is an award winner, and this book shows why she is so popular with readers and critics alike!
Completing the month are a new love story from the sizzling pen of Beverly Barton, The Tender Trap; a delightful Western from Pamela Macaluso, The Loneliest Cowboy; and something a little bit different from Ashley Summers, On Wings of Love. Enjoy!
Senior Editor
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On Wings Of Love
Ashley Summers
ASHLEY SUMMERS
is an insurable romantic who lives in Texas, in a house that overflows with family and friends. Her busy life revolves around the man she married thirty years ago, her three children and her handsome grandson, Eric. Formerly the owner and operator of a landscaping firm, she also enjoys biking, aerobics, reading and traveling.
To Virginia and John McKinney
and my beloved niece, Terry Hartley
One
Katy Lawrence parked her car in the shade of an ancient apple tree and slowly got out. Oblivious to the gravel under her bare feet, she stared at the place that would be her home for the next five weeks. A chill of wonder went up her spine. The Victorian house, all sparkling white paint and lacy gingerbread trim, drowsed in the mists like a sweet, vague memory from the distant past. It was a most bewitchingly haunting feeling.
Keeping her gaze on the house, Katy found her sandals and slipped them on with only a quick downward glance. The mossy brick walkway leading to the front door was a perfect touch, she thought. She felt another feathery chill.
“For heaven’s sake, it’s just an old house, Katy,” she chided herself. She was not usually given to whimsy.
She quickened her pace and mounted the steps, then crossed the veranda. Above the old-fashioned door knocker hung a hand-written sign that read, “Come on in, I’m around somewhere.”
Hesitantly she opened the door and stepped into the cool, shadowed entryway. “Hello?” she called. “Hello, anyone home?”
No answer. She waited for a moment, then walked on. When she reached the living room, her peculiar sense of déjà vu deepened to tiny shocks of recognition.
Katy nibbled her lip as she gazed around the airy room. She had never seen this house before, yet each object her eyes encountered evoked the same puzzling sense of familiarity. The words Of course! sang through her mind. Of course there were lace curtains at the windows. Of course there were gleaming wooden floors, and the sensuous curves of wicker furniture stained the exact hue of sweet-clover honey. Even the fresh flowers were a given, as was the basket of green apples on the coffee table.
Three perfectly round, black-and-white stones lay beside them, luring her fingers to caress their water-smoothed surfaces. Resisting the urge to touch, she made another appraisal of the room with a travel writer’s critical gaze. Since it was a bed and breakfast, not a hotel, she’d give the place three stars on first impression alone, Katy decided. Whoever lived here had a good eye for the small touches that made a house so welcoming to a traveler.
Who lived here? she wondered. This was a professional establishment, surely accustomed to the arrival of guests at some point during the afternoon. So where were the hosts?
Silence. The soft heat of an island summer drifted through the open windows, fragrant with the enticing scent of new-mown grass and the faint seawater tang of Puget Sound. Catching back the golden strands of hair tickling her cheeks, Katy eyed the tray sitting on a wicker table. It contained a pitcher of iced lemonade. For guests? Deciding it was, she poured a glass and drank it with hearty enjoyment.
Cold lemonade on a hot summer day. With a poignant sense of loss, Katy suddenly realized why this warm, elegantly time-worn room tugged at her heartstrings.