Be My Baby: Konigsburg, Texas, Book 3 Read online

  Olive sat beneath a lawn chair watching him, her head canted to one side. After a minute, she got up and trotted to his side, then jumped away quickly as his feet brushed against her. Pete ground to an immediate halt.

  “Shit,” he muttered. “Sorry, girl.” He bent down and rubbed her ears.

  Janie cleared her throat.

  Pete stood straight, his back rigid. After a quick glance at her, he fastened his gaze on the back fence. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that you didn’t see anything.” His voice sounded oddly choked.

  Janie opened the gate and stepped into the backyard. “You didn’t look as if you were enjoying yourself.”

  “That, as they say, would be an understatement.” Pete sighed and finally looked her way. “I’m a total non-dancer, but you and I are supposed to dance at the reception. I’m trying to remember enough about waltzing not to cripple you for life.”

  Janie grinned. “I’m pretty agile. I think I can deal with a dance.”

  She wasn’t sure what was wrong with what she’d said, but judging from Pete’s expression, she’d just made the whole thing worse. “I’m hoping agility won’t be needed,” he said stiffly.

  The music on the radio changed to Lyle Lovett and “If I Needed You”. Janie extended her hands. “Come on, it’s not that bad.”

  “Yeah, it is.” Pete sighed, but he moved toward her, taking her hands. “This isn’t a waltz.”

  “No, it’s not.” Janie smiled. “It’s just beautiful.” She swayed back and forth lightly, letting the music move into her bones.

  After a moment, Pete began to move with her in a sort of tentative way.

  Janie shuffled lightly to the left and back again, taking the rhythm from the music and pulling Pete gently in her wake.

  He stumbled, half-catching himself, but Janie kept hold of his hands, sliding back and forth easily, humming along with Lyle. The tension began to fade in his arms.

  On the radio, Emmylou Harris started singing “Cattle Call”. Pete stopped in his tracks. “What the hell?”

  Janie laughed. “C’mon, it’s a waltz. Dance with me.” She extended her arms.

  Pete pulled her closer, one hand at her waist, the other holding her hand out rigidly. After a moment, he began leading. Emmylou’s sweet soprano yodeling followed them around the yard. Janie found herself emphasizing each downbeat, enjoying herself immensely as Pete’s arms began to loosen slightly.

  The music slowed and shifted to another slow one. Without thinking, Janie moved closer, letting Pete slide his feet alongside hers. She could feel the hard muscles of his shoulders beneath her fingers, flexing slightly as he moved her in careful circles. She let him push her along, keeping her spine straight but moving steadily closer until their bodies finally touched.

  She hadn’t meant it to happen, really. Pete came to an abrupt halt, his shoulders stiff again. Janie started to move, but his hand at the small of her back held her in place. Then he began to dance again, more slowly this time. Another waltz began to play. Apparently, the DJ was psychic.

  Janie could feel the smooth plane of his body pressing against her breasts. An ache had started low in her body that had nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with Pete Toleffson. She closed her eyes and let her cheek rest against his chest for a moment, feeling warm skin and smelling faint hints of sweat and aftershave, letting herself relax against the hard muscles of his chest and thighs.

  One muscle was very hard indeed.

  What the hell was she doing? Janie’s head popped up abruptly. Pete Toleffson was staring down at her, his eyes obscured in the dim light. “Something wrong, Ms. Dupree?” he murmured.

  Janie shook her head, feeling a weird bubble of panic rise in her chest. This was just a dance, after all. She danced all the time.

  Pete’s fingers spread against the small of her back, nudging her closer as their bodies moved slowly back and forth. Her hips brushed against him, and she was aware again of the hard shape of his erection.

  Okay, she wasn’t imagining it—something was definitely going on beyond a quick turn around the backyard.

  The music faded and changed to a muted commercial. Pete stopped moving.

  Janie felt as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice, looking down. She could step back. Or she could leap over the edge and fly.

  Pete’s hand moved from the small of her back to cup her cheek, and Janie stood very still, looking up at him. His eyes were dark in the dim light of the backyard, but she could see the fire behind them as he moved closer. Then his lips touched hers.

  For a moment, she tasted traces of beer and salt before heat blossomed in her belly, burning away the ache of the dance. His tongue moved across the seam of her lips, touching, teasing. She opened for him, winding her arms around his neck so that she could feel the heat of his chest against hers.

  His tongue touched her lightly, rubbing against her teeth, her mouth, her own tongue. Janie rose against him, her legs opening against the warm heat of his arousal, trying to find the right spot as her head swam.

  Trying to find the right spot? She was losing it—she needed to pull away, right now. But she didn’t.

  She moved closer, slipping up onto her toes until the V of her crotch fit across his groin. Pete groaned, his arm fastening tight around her waist, pulling her flat against him.

  And then he raised his head to stare down at her. “Janie Dupree,” he said softly, “you are lightning in a bottle.”

  The world whirled around her for another moment, and then the genes of several generations of Texas ladies yanked her back to reality. “Oh my,” she gasped. “Oh my goodness.” She stepped back from him, staring wide-eyed.

  One corner of Pete’s mouth curved up in a dry smile. “I take that to mean the dance lesson is over for the night.”

  “I…yes, I guess I’d better get on home. I mean, I was on my way when…” Janie stuttered to a halt, swallowing hard.

  “I’ll walk with you,” Pete said, swinging the gate open.

  Janie shook her head. “It’s just one block over. You don’t need to.”

  “Yes.” Pete’s voice was firm. “I do.”

  They started up the darkened street, a warm night breeze shivering through the live oaks in the yard next door. Janie hadn’t the faintest idea what to say to him. At least she managed to keep quiet rather than babbling.

  Pete walked beside her with easy grace. Why couldn’t he dance like that?

  “Why don’t you like dancing?” Janie blurted.

  She saw his grin in the streetlight. “Because I’m a lummox. Lummoxes don’t dance.”

  What to say to that? Janie saw the porch light her mother had left burning ahead to her right. She turned in front of Pete and extended her hands.

  After a moment, he took them. Janie looked up into his warm brown eyes, feeling the soft night air envelop her. “You’re not a lummox, Pete Toleffson. Your inner dancer is longing to get out, believe me. Just give him a chance.”

  Without pausing to think, Janie reached up and brushed her lips lightly across his. “Thank you for dancing with me. We’ll do it again some time.” She turned and started toward the front porch.

  “Have I ever told you what a knock-out you are, Janie Dupree?” Janie glanced back at him. He was grinning. “Night, ma’am.”

  Janie smiled, then slipped through her front door.

  What if everything you knew about your past turns out to be…wrong?

  Summer’s Song

  © 2009 Allie Boniface

  Ten years after leaving home, the last thing Summer Thompson expects is to inherit her estranged father’s half-renovated mansion. And the last thing she wants is to face the memories of the night her brother died—sketchy as they may be. Now a San Francisco museum curator, she plans to stay east just long enough to settle the estate and get rid of the house. Until she finds it occupied by a hunky handyman who’s strangely reluctant to talk about his past.

  Damian Knight has somethin
g to hide: his mother and sister from a brutal stalker. They’ve found a measure of peace and carefully guarded safety in Pine Point. Yet when the lonely, haunted Summer steals his heart, he finds himself opening up to her in ways he should never risk. Especially to a woman who’s planning to return to the west coast—after selling their refuge out from under them.

  Summer’s mounting flashbacks leave her confused—and more determined than ever to find out the truth behind her brother’s death. But in a small town full of powerful secrets, confronting the past could cost her the man she loves…and even her life.

  Warning: This title contains a hunky hero who can do anything with his hands, a heroine desperate to discover the truth, tons of summer heat, and a small town with so much charm you’ll want to move there.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Summer’s Song:

  Summer sat on the top step and stared up into the sky. Damian had disappeared inside, but she didn’t really mind. She needed a few minutes to collect herself and calm her racing pulse. She could still smell his cologne in the air beside her and feel the warmth of his body only inches away. If he hadn’t gotten up, she would have peeled off her clothes just to feel his skin on hers.

  She inhaled, taking in a good long breath of clear Pine Point air. This she would miss. The air and the view of the stars at night. A San Francisco skyline could never take the place of bright white dots skating to eternity in the black above you. She raised one finger and moved it through the growing darkness, tracing the constellations she knew so well. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she peered again toward the street. Nothing but faint streetlights winked back.

  The front door opened and closed. “You’re quiet.”

  “Just thinking about how good this place looks,” she lied. “About how much you and Mac have done this summer.”

  “Well, we had some help. But my mom says the same thing. She’s even talking about buying a place of her own and redoing it.” He paused and then sat beside her. “She loves coming over here.”

  “She’s terrific. She has so many ideas for the house. We were talking about the bedrooms upstairs, and the library…” She didn’t speak for a few seconds. “It’s meant a lot to me, to spend time with your mother and Dinah. To feel…” She paused again. “…like I belong here.”

  “They both think you’re great.”

  Summer reached over and laid a hand on his arm. “And you,” she added. “I like spending time with you.” She left her hand there for a moment, and he laid his own on top of it, gently, as if with too much pressure he might burst the bubble they hovered inside.

  He swallowed. “What about Gabe?”

  “What about him?”

  “You get things sorted out?”

  She nodded, not really sure how to answer. “I think so.”

  “I hope so.” He laced his fingers through hers and didn’t speak again.

  “Think you’ll ever build your own place?” Summer asked after a few moments of silence. “You’re good at it.”

  He smiled. “I don’t think I’ll build from scratch. I’d like to restore one, maybe. Do something like this.” He flushed. Even in the half-light Summer could see it, a darkening of the cheeks, a shine in the center of his eyes. “Well, not exactly like this. Something on a smaller scale.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  Summer thought she heard something scuttling in the shadows behind her—a mouse? a squirrel looking for a spot to bed down?—and she turned to look over her shoulder. A bulky outline in the darkness startled her. It looked almost like a person, and she jumped.

  “Is that—is that a guitar?”

  He followed her gaze. “Oh, yeah. I was playing a little for Dinah, earlier.”

  “I didn’t know you were the musical type.” It seemed like a silly thing to say—after all, what did she know about him? A few puzzle pieces, a story here and there, not enough to put together the whole, complex person Damian Knight seemed to be. “Would you play something for me?” She didn’t know where the request came from and was surprised when it left her lips.

  “Sure.” He moved past her, and the warmth from his sleeve touched her bare arm. She shivered in the hot night air.

  Damian took the instrument from its case and cradled it in careful arms. Tuning, tweaking, he strummed a few chords and began to play “Yesterday” by the Beatles. At first it was only instrumental melody, the strings of the guitar humming the poignant song. But after a minute he began to sing along. His voice was husky but certain, caressing the words as if he’d sung them a hundred times.

  Summer leaned against the railing and watched him. The strong, thick fingers that usually wound themselves around a hammer now danced across the strings. The forehead that frowned all day in concentration smoothed. Damian sang, and when the song was over he played “Take It Easy” by the Eagles and sang again.

  After the final chord he stopped. The music echoed across the grass, to the hills and back, and Summer let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

  “You’re good.” No one had ever sung to her before. Nerves along her spine stretched and splintered. Her heart, over-full with the night and the music and the man beside her, began a jig.

  Damian cleared his throat. “I’m not that good.”

  “Are you kidding? You’re amazing. Do you ever write anything of your own?”

  He turned toward her. The movement pressed his thigh against hers, and she thought for a minute he might kiss her. His gaze moved to her mouth and then to the place where the white skin of her breast met the vee of her sundress.

  “Yes,” Damian said, his breath warm on her cheek. “Sometimes I write my own songs.”

  He repositioned the instrument, curved his fingers into place and began to play. The melody was simple, a sweet tune that rose and fell without lyrics. It reminded Summer of a butterfly in the morning or dawn above the ocean. The notes dropped honey-like into an endless pool of longing. In the middle, it changed, became low and sensual with guttural chords that hovered and hung in the air. Damian’s shoulders hunched, and his arms tightened with intensity as he played on. A pause, and then the first melody returned, sweeter than the start, if that was possible. The sun coming out after a brilliant summer storm. A baby waking with a smile to a brand new day. It faded, grew, then faded again to nothing. With the final chord, the notes vanished into the night.

  “God, that was…” Summer couldn’t find the words. “…beautiful,” she finished, but it wasn’t enough to describe the passion or the complexity of the song.

  He smiled. “Thanks.”

  “Does it have a title?”

  He looked toward her and paused, opened his mouth and closed it again. “Summer’s Song.”

  Damian set down the guitar and moved toward her, and this time Summer saw the kiss coming. She felt it, knew it and wanted it with every part of her. He brushed his lips against hers, reached up with one hand to cup her cheek, and the step fell away beneath her. Sweet lightness flooded her stomach, her chest, her mouth. He pulled away, whispered her name, pressed his cheek to her temple and let her feel the pulse that raced there.

  “Summer.” The name sighed out of him, and he kissed her again.

  Her fingers reached for him, felt the smooth, strong muscles of his chest and drew him close. Kisses moved along her cheek, her chin, down to her collarbone, until she moaned with a pleasure she couldn’t remember ever feeling before. One hand stroked the curve of her breast, and she shivered. Burying her fingers in his hair, she pulled Damian to her. Lips parted and tongues searched, until she could hardly tell where she ended and he began.

  The days flipped backwards. She had come here wanting nothing, expecting nothing. Yet something—everything—had changed. First the house. Then dark memories. Then days of light and laughter, of Dinah and Hannah, of Rachael and Cat, strung together like stones on a string. Summer had never believed she might call Pine Point home again. Yet here she sat, wanting Damian Knight’s touch, hi
s kiss, his songs, more than she remembered wanting anything in her life. Maybe coming home didn’t mean going backwards, after all. Maybe it meant growing up, making new discoveries, learning to forgive the past and finding that the future held myriad possibilities.

  Her heart swelled as she took Damian by the hand and led him inside.

  Rebel meets by-the-book businessman. Love doesn’t stand a ghost of a chance.

  The Ghost Exterminator: A Love Story

  © 2009 Vivi Andrews

  A Karmic Consultants Story

  Jo Banks has been seeing ghosts since she was six, so normal was never really an option. Embracing the weird and shunning normalcy makes her the top Ghost Exterminator in her region. Then she meets Wyatt Haines, the uptight, materialistic and irritatingly sexy owner of a successful resort chain.

  Wyatt’s new Victorian inn is extremely haunted and the Commando Barbie Ghost Exterminator is just the girl for the job. Except Wyatt doesn’t believe in ghosts, or Jo, or anything outside the norm. He’ll have to start believing fast, though, because Jo’s extermination goes awry and accidentally throws two prankster ghosts into Wyatt’s body to haunt him.

  Every time he falls asleep, the mischievous ghosts take over, turning his perfectly ordered life into chaos. His waking hours are no less chaotic, with his thoughts possessed by Jo’s quirky appeal and Playmate physique.

  Unfortunately, Jo’s ghost-exing mojo is on the fritz just when she needs it the most to unhaunt Wyatt and figure out why his inn is swarming with ghosts. Preferably before his spirit is permanently separated from his mouth-watering body.

  And before her heart is permanently attached to the most sexy, frustrating, normal man she’s ever met.

  Warning: This book contains prankster ghosts, PG bondage, and a not-so-PG trip to the mile-high club.