Red-Hot Summer
The Millionaire’s Proposition
Avril Tremayne
The Tycoon’s Stowaway
Stefanie London
The Spy who Tamed Me
Kelly Hunter
Avril Tremayne
For Peter Alati - best brother ever.
SCOTT KNIGHT TOOK one look at the redhead standing over at the punchbowl and almost swallowed his tongue.
Tall, confident, beautiful…and dyspeptically cynical, judging by the look on her face. He liked every single thing in that package.
So…exactly what was the pick-up etiquette associated with divorce parties? Were they like funerals—no hitting on attendees unless you wanted to look like a slimeball?
He pondered that while he took another look at the redhead.
Strictly speaking, of course, this was a little more than a divorce party; it was a celebratory segue to Willa’s new committed relationship with Rob. Scott wouldn’t normally have advocated a jump from one hot pan right into another—even when the guy in the second pan was Rob, who was several thousand light years ahead of Willa’s ex, Wayne-the-Pain—but he was suddenly cool with it if it lifted the party out of the funereal stakes and opened the way…
The redhead turned to the punchbowl for another dip. Scott noted that her body was divine. And he stopped worrying about anything other than getting his hands on it.
He headed over to the punchbowl with great purpose, grabbing a beer on the way—punch being way too girly for him. ‘What’s that quote about divorce…?’ he asked, tilting his head towards her—but it was a rhetorical question.
She turned before the words had finished leaving his mouth and a slap of undiluted lust walloped him. She was even better close-up. A scorching mix of opulent looks, with slanted grey eyes, wickedly arched dark auburn brows, regal cheekbones…and a top-lip-heavy mouth painted blistering red.
She didn’t bother answering. Clearly knew she didn’t have to. Knew he was already caught. He could tell by the way she waited, all self-possessed confidence, for him to continue, with the mere hint of a smile on her insanely sexy lips.
‘Jean Kerr, it was,’ he continued. ‘“A lawyer is never entirely comfortable with a friendly divorce, any more than a good mortician wants to finish his job and then have the patient sit up on the table.”’
The sexy lips parted in surprise…and then the corners tilted up, just a little. She looked fascinated. He took that as a sign—a good sign—that his opening conversational gambit had hit the mark. She was with him. Yes!
She took a slow sip of her punch and examined him. Down, up. ‘Are you in the market?’ she asked, and the smokiness of her voice had his libido purring like a tomcat on the hunt.
Mmm-hmm.