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Midnight Cravings: An Anthology (Harlequin Nocturne) - Softcover

Hauf, Michele; Whiddon, Karen; Devoti, Lori; Leonard, Anna; Anna, Vivi; Vanak, Bonnie

 
9780373250936: Midnight Cravings: An Anthology (Harlequin Nocturne)
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0373250932 ISBN 13: 9780373250936
Verlag: Silhouette, 2009

Inhaltsangabe

Midnight Cravings by Michele Hauf\Karen Whiddon\Lori Devoti\Anna Leonard\Vivi Anna\Bonnie Vanak released on Mar 31, 2009 is available now for purchase.

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Über die Autorinnen und Autoren

Michele Hauf, who also writes as Michele Renae, lives in Minneapolis and has been writing since the 1990s.  A variety of genres keep her happily busy at the keyboard, including historical romance, paranormal romance, action/adventure and fantasy. Pinterest at: toastfaeryInstagram: MicheleHaufVisit her website: michelehauf.com
Email Michele at:  toastfaery@gmail.com

Karen Whiddon started weaving fanciful tales for her younger brothers at the age of eleven. Amidst the Catskill Mountains of New York, then the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, she fueled her imagination with the natural beauty that surrounded her. Karen lives in north Texas, where she shares her life with her very own hero of a husband and five rescued Boxer dogs. She is now a full-time writer! Check out her website, www.karenwhiddon.com.

LORI DEVOTI grew up in southern Missouri and attended the University of Missouri-Columbia, earning a B.A. in journalism. Though she once worked for the dark side—advertising—she’s proud to now declare herself a writer and visits her dark side by writing paranormals for Harlequin Nocturne. Lori lives in Wisconsin with her husband, daughter, son, and two dogs.. To learn more about what Lori, visit her at www.loridevoti.com.

Anna Leonard is the nom d’paranormal for fantasy/horror writer Laura Anne Gilman, who grew up wondering why none of the characters in her favorite Gothic novels ever seemed to know a damn thing about ghosts, vampires, or how to run in high heels.  “Anna” lives in New York City, where either nothing or everything is paranormal….

Both can be reached via www.sff.net/people/lauraanne.gilman or http://cosanostradamus.blogspot.com.

Vivi Anna is an award-winning, multi-published Canadian author. She's written paranormal romance, urban fantasy, scifi, and young adult under the name Tawny Stokes.  Since 2003, she’s published close to 23 books for New York publishers such as Harlequin. She’s also independently published several projects on her own.Vivi is also a screenwriter and TV writer and is one of the co-founders of #TVwriterchat.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.



"Now that is one fine view."

Pulling her tow truck onto the gravel shoulder of Highway 94 behind the stalled Dodge stirred up a whirl of dust. Sunday did a check in the rearview mirror. No lipstick—not her style. At least there were no grease smears on her face.

She hopped out into the evening air thick with the promise of rain and sidled up alongside the stalled truck. The radio blasted an old tune by Honeymoon Suite, and the volume was probably why the fine backside bent over the engine didn't immediately notice her.

Sunday licked her lips as she strolled her gaze over to the tight-fit blue jeans that covered a touch-me-if-you-dare ass. Long legs, slightly bowed, ended at well-scuffed cowboy boots. Standard redneck gear. But there was something different about the guy.

Not like most, her conscience whispered. Ignoring the strange sensation of intuition, she tapped him on the arm.

"Whoa! Didn't see you there. Radio's too loud."

Tall, buff and handsome shot upright from under the hood and flashed a dimpled smile that blinded her. A slight chin cleft and barely there five-o'clock shadow emphasized his square jaw. Short brown hair tufted haphazardly upon his head. Waning sunlight glinted in his gold eyes, and he had a thick lower lip marked with a tiny scar along the bottom right.

Sunday exhaled. Talk about a libido tease.

"Let me turn it down." The music was subdued, and he spun around the front of the hood, dimples intact.

"You figure out the problem?" She bent over the growling engine. Smelled like burned syrup; the engine could be running hot.

"Not yet." He leaned in, brushing her long, bleached hair with a tight, muscled bicep that the black T-shirt strained to encompass. "Engine's still running, but the gas pedal up and gave out."

"Might be the throttle cable."

"Think you can give me a tow to the next town?"

"Steele? That's twelve miles off. My place is just up the road. I can tow it and check it out in the shop."

"You have a shop? Well, this is my lucky day. Gorgeous woman drives up to rescue me, and knows a thing or two about cars."

Sunday shrugged and crossed her arms over her chest. The thermometer had hit ninety before ten this morning. Humidity measured on a tropical scale necessitated a tank top, and she never wore a bra. Assuming a shoulder-straight stance, she followed his straying gaze.

He could look all he wanted. She'd reciprocate. It wasn't often fine USDA prime showed up on her stretch of the prairie. The rednecks inhabiting this area were definitely off her radar—as she was off theirs.

It only took a time or two for word to get around when a woman wasn't quite right in the sack. The locals avoided her like the proverbial plague.

Catching her gaze on the hug of faded blue jeans low on his hips, she admired the dash of skin that revealed sexy, cut muscles. Her favorite part on a man, that hard, angled ridge that swept from hip to groin.

Bet under the black cotton shirt those abs were rock-hard, too.

Sunday dragged her eyes lower to center stage, and the object of most importance. Nice.

"Wow!" His outburst redirected her attention. "Woman, I don't think I've ever been so thoroughly checked out like you just did. You want me to turn around?" He gestured with his fingers behind his hips.

"Nah, I checked your ass as I was driving up. You'll do." She didn't hide a quirky grin. "Come on, let's get your truck rigged up."

One stranded traveler equaled one much-needed blessing. Business had been poor. Sunday couldn't have given him a ride to town if she'd wanted; the tow truck had just enough gas to make it home.

They'd been listening to the same radio station, which the guy noted as he climbed onto the passenger seat and shoved aside empty root beer bottles on the floor with the side of his boot.

The day had grown long and the sky sepia. Sunday navigated the dusty country roads, edged by four-foot-high cornstalks, to her fifty-acre plot. She lived eight miles out of Steele, and liked her privacy, but necessity demanded she cruise the freeway for broken-down and abandoned vehicles. She certainly wasn't getting any jobs from the locals.

"Drier than a wasteland out there," he commented, holding a palm before the air-conditioning vent. Sunglasses concealed his eyes, but only added to his sexy vibe.

"It's going to rain soon. A lot."

"You think?"

"I know. Can feel it in my bones." She downshifted, but kept her palm on the knob. The smooth steel jiggled in her grip. With tall, dark and dimpled spiking the air with his sensual aura, her imagination was running wild.

Sunday mentally cautioned her libido. Bad things happened when she got so hot.

"You live around here?"

"Nope, headed home to Minnesota," he offered. "I was passing through from Montana. Had to survey some land for a client. I buy up abandoned tracts and auctioned land for environmental-preservation efforts."

"Mighty responsible of you. So what's your name?"

"Ah, sorry. Dean Maverick."

"With a name like that, sounds like you should be riding a mustang through a cigarette ad."

"Yeah? Horses don't like me. I'll stick with the Dodge." An easy charm relaxed his lean frame on the seat and he tapped his fingers on a knee to the music. "What's your name?"

"Sunday."

"Really? Just Sunday?" Those sexy white teeth could render a woman undone. "Does that come with a cherry on top?"

"Mister, if I had a nickel for every time a guy used that line on me…"

Well, she'd have a nickel. Guys didn't make passes at girls who were more trouble than a tornado on a chicken farm.

But a nickel would get this one a lot more than a tune-up, if he played his cards right.

Dean kicked the snack machine posted at the front of the huge, three-story Quonset garage. The four-car-wide electric door was rolled open, exposing one side of the building to the weird brown sky.

A green-shingled rambler fronted by a faded wood porch sat a hundred yards off. No flowers or yard decorations. Not a single tree for miles. Nor were there visible employees. The chick must live out here alone. She'd explained she took in custom vehicles and anything the boys in the closest town of Steele couldn't handle.

She seemed to like her privacy. Which struck him as odd, because, damn, he'd never met such a gorgeous mechanic in his life. Long and lithe, with a head full of chunky, white-blond locks

that twisted haphazardly down her back. The thin blue tank top covered in grease smears made him guess she was about a 36C, and her nipples were constantly hard.

One hand pressed to the snack machine, he glanced over his shoulder. Yep, still hard.

Toeing the base of the machine, he shook his head to clear the licentious thoughts. He so didn't need this right now. He was on a schedule, and hoped like hell she could fix the truck and send him on his way before sundown.

Because the werewolf did not like to be kept at bay.

Pressing the selection button again resulted in no candy bar. He gave the machine one last kick, then strode over to the truck.

"Your machine sucks."

She curled a look up at him from over the engine. Blue eyes surrounded by ribbons of white hair. Mysterious and sexy. And those lips. Dean knew exactly where on his body he'd like to feel that mouth.

"So." He scanned the walls, cringing at the birch-tree wallpaper that decorated the garage interior from floor to ceiling. "You like trees."

"That I do."

"Me, too. Wild, free and forested—that's how I like the world. So if you like trees, why are you here, in the middle of hell knows where, far from any forested land I've seen for hundreds of...

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Verlag
Silhouette
Erscheinungsdatum
2009
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0373250932
ISBN 13 
9780373250936
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
304
Kontakt zum Hersteller
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Vorgestellte Ausgabe

ISBN 10:  0373250959 ISBN 13:  9780373250950
Verlag: Silhouette, 2009
Softcover