“How about making a little noise?” Boone whispered to the woman on the bed. “You know, so the real bad guys will think you’re enjoying yourself?”
“I will not!” she said indignantly.
He grabbed her wrist, and she squealed. Then he dragged her closer, and she squealed again. “That’s good.”
But it wasn’t good. She was breathing hard, as if they were really making love. Her green eyes were fiery and latched to his. And he couldn’t stop wishing for what he was only pretending to do. “One more time, sugar.”
“Don’t call me—”
He hauled her off the bed so that she came to her feet and ran smack-dab into his bare chest. This time she screamed, and Boone let go of her.
She glanced up at him suspiciously.
He couldn’t resist. “Was it good for you, too?” he whispered.
Dear Reader,
The warm weather is upon us, and things are heating up to match here at Silhouette Intimate Moments. Candace Camp returns to A LITTLE TOWN IN TEXAS with Smooth-Talking Texan, featuring another of her fabulous Western heroes. Town sheriff Quinn Sutton is one irresistible guy—as attorney Lisa Mendoza is about to learn.
We’re now halfway through ROMANCING THE CROWN, our suspenseful royal continuity. In Valerie Parv’s Royal Spy, a courtship of convenience quickly becomes the real thing—but is either the commoner or the princess what they seem? Marie Ferrarella begins THE BACHELORS OF BLAIR MEMORIAL with In Graywolf’s Hands, featuring a Native American doctor and the FBI agent who ends up falling for him. Linda Winstead Jones is back with In Bed With Boone, a thrillingly romantic kidnapping story—of course with a happy ending. Then go Beneath the Silk with author Wendy Rosnau, whose newest is sensuous and suspenseful, and completely enthralling. Finally, welcome brand-new author Catherine Mann. Wedding at White Sands is her first book, but we’ve already got more—including an exciting trilogy—lined up from this talented newcomer.
Enjoy all six of this month’s offerings, then come back next month for even more excitement as Intimate Moments continues to present some of the best romance reading you’ll find anywhere.
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Senior Editor
In Bed with Boone
Linda Winstead Jones
LINDA WINSTEAD JONES
would rather write than do anything else. Since she cannot cook, gave up ironing many years ago and finds cleaning the house a complete waste of time, she has plenty of time to devote to her obsession with writing. Occasionally she’s tried to expand her horizons by taking classes. In the past she’s taken instruction on yoga, French (a dismal failure), Chinese cooking, cake decorating (food-related classes are always a good choice, even for someone who can’t cook), belly dancing (trust me, this was a long time ago) and, of course, creative writing.
She lives in Huntsville, Alabama, with her husband of more years than she’s willing to admit and the youngest of their three sons.
She can be reached via www.eHarlequin.com or her own Web site www.lindawinsteadjones.com.
This book is dedicated, with much love, to my New York friends. You’ve all been very much on my mind as I finish this story, and I continue to be amazed by your heart and courage.
For Matrice and Diane, Leslie and Lynda.
For Chris and Brooke and Tim.
For Joanna, Amy and Richard.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Chapter 1
A blind date was a sure sign of a life gone wrong. Jayne Barrington stared out the passenger-side window of the speeding Mercedes and wondered where her life had gone wrong. The Arizona landscape, so different from her Mississippi home, provided no answers. Giving in to the only sign of nervousness she ever allowed herself, Jayne fingered the pearls that hung at her throat.
She expected too much, she imagined. The kind of man she dreamed about was long gone. A gentleman. A gallant. A knight in shining armor. Those men didn’t exist anymore.
“I must’ve taken a wrong turn,” Jim said nervously. “Surely there’s a road that cuts through to the south. We’ll be at the party in no time at all.” The false note of cheer he tried to put into his voice didn’t quite work.
They hadn’t passed a house or a streetlight for miles. Jim had driven by the last gas station twenty minutes ago. When Jayne had suggested that he stop and ask for directions, he’d uttered a valiant rejection of her sensible idea. Men.
The car jerked as the narrow asphalt road ended and without warning they found themselves on what was little more than a dirt trail.
“Turn the car around,” Jayne insisted in her frostiest voice. “This road can’t possibly go anywhere.”
Jim leaned forward and craned his long scrawny neck to see over the steering wheel, peering at the small section of the road his headlights illuminated. “There’s a ditch on this side. I’m afraid if I try to turn around here, we’ll get stuck. Keep your eye out for a nice flat place to turn around.”
For the past half hour, everything had been flat! Jayne took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly. Pamela would pay dearly for setting up this disastrous date. Jim might be relatively handsome—but for that long and skinny neck—and he definitely ran in the correct social circles; but the man was dumb. Beneath that pretty face and the expensive dental work, he had fewer working brain cells than the average twelve-year-old. Jayne could abide many faults in a man, but stupidity wasn’t one of them.
They’d left Flagstaff two hours ago, eventually leaving behind the pine forests for stretches of flat land broken here and there by magnificent red rock formations and scruffy plants that fought to survive in the harsh dirt. They should have reached their destination more than half an hour ago, but she hadn’t seen any of the landmarks she’d been told to look for.
For goodness’ sake, they were completely lost!
“I think I see lights,” Jim said, a twinge of hopeful optimism in his voice.
Jayne looked ahead, and sure enough a soft glow broke the complete darkness of the night in the distance. Not enough to be the headlights of an approaching car or a house situated here in the middle of nowhere, but more illumination than a flashlight would give off. A distinct uneasiness settled in her stomach. Who knew what might be ahead?
“Perhaps you should just put the car in reverse and back up until we hit the asphalt, and then you can turn around,” Jayne said sensibly. “To be honest, I’ve developed a headache. Let’s forget the party. I just want to go back to the hotel.” Her father would be disappointed, but there was just so much a dutiful daughter could do to further a promising political career. Jim had been looking forward to the party at Hollywood producer Corbin Marsh’s secluded Arizona home. He had a notion that if Marsh got a good look at his pretty face, he’d soon be a star.
“Drive backward all that way?” Jim shot her an astonished glance. “It’ll be easier to just find a wide place to turn around. If we don’t come across a good spot by the time we get to whatever that light ahead is, I’ll try to back up.” He tried for a reassuring smile. “I was really looking forward to meeting Marsh, but if you insist, we can forget the party and go back to your hotel. I’m sure he’ll want to meet with you at another time, and I’ll just tag along then.”
