Wanted: A Hot Honey of a Man
Love brought Jennifer D'Amico to Scotland, but it's honey that makes her stay. Her honey farm is all the beautiful widow has left of her brief marriage. All she needs is a master beekeeper to get the flailing business back on track. What she gets is Grayson McGhilly, a boldly sexy stranger who knows his honey--almost as well as he knows how to bring Jennifer to the brink of passion....
From the moment Gray lays eyes on Jennifer, he's hooked, mind and body. But his mission isn't just to savor every succulent inch of her, but to keep her from harm. For Gray isn't just a beekeeper, but an undercover agent investigating criminal activity at her farm. And now he'll do just about anything to keep the sweet and oh-so-satisfying Jennifer safe in his arms....
Through the crowd—and at a distance—he appeared to be of average height and girth—but there was something about his movement, so graceful, confident, and strong. Her insides welled with a sudden need she hadn’t felt in years. Not since Ren.
Jennifer was a mess of indecision and longing, uncertain of how to handle it. She was in Scotland, for God’s sake, and some of their customs confounded her. This masked dance was one of the many things she found herself participating in that she’d have never imagined two years ago when she met the then Detective Renaldo D’Amico. A tradition for generations to welcome the spring and to “make the bees glad,” the ball was the social highlight of the season.
Now, who was this masked man making eye contact with her, sending her heart thumping in her chest? And was it really she he watched or was it an illusion of the candles and the mead?
One more twirl around the circle with her partner, and she needed to break off. Hot, tipsy, and fighting a need to escape.
“Thanks,” she said to her partner. “I need some air. Catch you later.”
“May I escort you?” he asked.
“No.” Maybe it came out too quick and sharp. “That’s not necessary.” She softened her voice. No need to make enemies. More enemies, that is. The locals weren’t too happy about an American woman taking over a much beloved Scottish home and honey business. She smiled at him, polite but cool enough to put out heated ideas.
You’ve got to be kidding, she wanted to say, for she had her suspicions about his identity and she wanted no part of him.
She found her wrap and went outside, where yesterday’s sprinkling of snow sparkled in the new moonlight. Finally, it was dark. Scotland’s long daylight hours were difficult to like. She pulled her wrap tighter and breathed in the fresh cold air.
She didn’t see him approach.
“Would you care for a drink, my lady?” he said to her with a deep and bold voice as he came up alongside her, the man with the leaf mask. His voice reached out and curled inside of her.
“Certainly,” she said, taking the drink he offered. She drank deeply from the goblet. The mead was sweet and strong. It was exactly what she did not need in her current state.
She watched the man’s eyes, noted his strong muscular arms, wide chest, the way he moved like a cat in the forest. He tilted his head in curiosity. Did he know what she had on her mind?
“It’s a nice party,” he said, looking around the garden.
“I need to walk and get some air,” she said to him, grabbing his hand, sturdy and calloused as she stood and slipped a little. She felt dormant parts of her sit up and twitch.
What was wrong with her? She must be drunker than she thought.
“Whoa,” he said, pulling her into him. “You’re a bit drunk, I think.”
She didn’t pull away. As if she could. He held her there and she allowed him.
The music seemed to get louder from inside the large home, and Jennifer dizzied. From the way he looked at her, the way he felt against her, she thought she could feel him hard and hot pressing up against her. She leaned into him.
“Kiss me,” she found herself saying. The words were a bit slurred. Admittedly.
He laughed. “I won’t be taking advantage of a drunken woman.”
Hands to her hips. “I’m not drunk.”
She barely spoke the words when he pulled her closer and kissed her.
His green mask made things a bit awkward, but his mouth found hers and his hand found her breasts. Her nipples tightened as he fingered them, sending shivers of delight through her body.
Oh, it had been way too long.
She should pull away.
But damn. She simply did not want to.
His hands cupped her breasts. His lips pressed on hers, giving her a delicious sinking f***-me feeling. He tasted of the mead—good, sweet, earthy.
“Okay, then,” he said, pulling away from her, “if you’re not drunk.” His voice thickened with lust. A gleam in his blue eyes spoke of his amusement, and he held her even tighter as his hands explored the curve of her back now, down to her rear end, sending a rush of heat through her body.
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The Saffron Nights Series:
Liz Everly writes, plays, and cooks in a tiny house with a big garden. She's also the author of a traditional mystery series, but writes writes sexy romances under a pen name to escape expectations and to embrace all possibilities. She's is the author of e-Kensington's SAFFRON NIGHTS Series—LIKE HONEY is the third book. She love's hearing from readers.
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