For lovers only...
When she jets down to the Caribbean, Dakota Merrick doesn’t expect to spend the night with Trent Walker at his luxurious island hideaway. The bad blood between the music columnist and the ultra-charming jazz producer vanishes with their first kiss. Dakota’s enchanted by the erotic atmosphere of the world-class resort and the passionate music she and Trent are making together.
Trent knows he shouldn’t trust the ambitious reporter. But living out his most sensual fantasies with Dakota is a temptation no man can refuse. Until a breaking scandal threatens their tropical idyll. Will Dakota choose ambition over a future with him? Or can Trent find the right notes to play a love riff straight into her heart?
“Magic,” he murmured.
“Huh?”
“Those bottles and chimes. Charms. You see them in different parts of the world. Some for the evil eye, some for good luck…”
“Love charms?”
He laughed softly. “Considering where we are, I’m betting on it.”
She lifted her eyes to the jangling chimes, wary but curious. He wondered if she believed in them. He knew that luck was what you made it. And so was love. Dammit, he thought. It’s now or never. Her face, still tilted toward the chimes, was open to him. He knew exactly what she would taste like seconds before his lips landed on hers. Red wine and mangoes. A warm sweetness all her own.
Immediately, her lips parted and softened, opening for him. When the tips of their tongues touched, he felt as if someone had tossed a transistor radio into his bathtub. The jolt was so sharp it almost singed his hair. He felt her sigh softly into his mouth.
He let one hand rise to cup her pointed chin, but was reminded of her injury by the roughness of the bandage.
“Sorry,” he murmured, taking his hand away.
She grasped it and rested it lightly against her cheek, nestling into it.
SIMONA TAYLOR
lives on her native Caribbean island of Trinidad—a fertile place for dreaming up scorching, sun-drenched romance novels. She balances a career in public relations with a family of two small children and one very patient man, while feeding her obsession with writing.
She has also published three works of women’s literary fiction under her real name, Roslyn Carrington, but it is her passion for romance that most consumes her. When not dreaming up drool-worthy heroes, she updates her website, www.scribble-scribble.com.
Everything to Me
Simona Taylor
MILLS & BOON
Before you start reading, why not sign up?
Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!
Or simply visit
Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.
Dear Sister in Romance,
I hope you enjoy Everything to Me. This is the second novel I’ve set in Tobago, where my grandmother was born. We vacationed there every year, and I have many memories of my childhood there: sailing from Trinidad on a rickety overnight ferry—and once on my grandfather’s tiny, open fishing boat, and watching crab and goat races on the beach. I’m always glad to share my pride and delight with you. Better yet, why not come see for yourself? I’ll take you to this great place I know where we can eat right on the beach...
Even if you can’t hop on a plane, pass by my website, www.scribble-scribble.com. There’s always a breath of fresh Caribbean air waiting there for you. You can also reach me at [email protected], or on Facebook, Shelfari, or on my author pages at Harlequin.com or Amazon.
Keep reading!
Simona
Contents
Chapter 1
Trent Walker. On her plane.
Shoot me now.
Dakota Merrick sank a little deeper into the plush upholstery of her seat and watched as Walker sauntered up the aisle of the first class cabin. He held a leather laptop case in one hand, and a long, camel-colored coat was slung over his arm. He was casually dressed in a deep green polo and dark jeans and oh, yes, they both fit him quite nicely. The rich fabric clinging to him allowed her to make out the imprint of toned pecs and biceps.
Not that she was admiring them or anything.
As he drew closer, Dakota became aware of an itch rising somewhere in her midsection and creeping upward, like an invasion of teeny baby spiders. Up, up, over her chest and throat, up into her hair, and…oh, ugh. Spider metaphors were so uncool. She was a better writer than that.
He was even closer now. Damn.
It was a six-hour flight from the small eastern seaboard city of Santa Amata. If she’d been granted three wishes by a genie, she was pretty sure that being trapped for so long in a flying potato-chip can with the great Trent Walker wouldn’t be one of them.
Especially since the last