Going All Out

Going All Out
Jeanie London

Touching this woman was nothing short of torture

Lucas cleansed the cut on Bree’s leg, an innocent touch that inspired some not-so-innocent thoughts. Her thigh was supple and soft. He wanted to run his fingers up her leg and feel her muscles tense beneath his touch. He wanted to lean over and press his mouth to her thigh and watch her react.

He couldn’t ever remember being so attracted to a woman.

But he’d never met a woman like Bree before, either. No woman had ever dropped into his garden in the middle of the night.

Forcing himself to focus on his task of mending her injuries—incurred in that drop into his shrubbery—Lucas stood between her spread knees and tried not to be affected by the sight of her. But the way Bree braced herself on her hands gave him an incredible view…and the pulse beating quickly at the base of her throat made him hope she’d noticed his nearness, too.

Suddenly she shifted, her hand coming to rest on his where it dabbed at the corner of the cut. “You know, Lucas, you’re very good with your hands.”

Dear Reader,

One of the things I love about writing romance is creating worlds. I love masterminding the intricacies of a situation and forcing my characters to rise to challenges. I want them to overcome their struggles while finding the way to love and happily ever after.

To date, I’ve created my worlds alone, but with the RED LETTER NIGHTS miniseries, I shared the job with Harlequin Blaze authors Alison Kent and Karen Anders. We brainstormed. We dreamed. We had fun!

There’s another descendant of Captain Dampier living in Court du Chaud and, like him, she’s tackling a past mistake. But Bree rises to the challenge, because until the past is in the past, she won’t have a future. And a future with Lucas Russell is worth fighting for. Enjoy!

Drop me a line in care of Harlequin Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada, or visit my Web site at www.jeanielondon.com.

Very truly yours,

Jeanie London

Going all Out

Jeanie London

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

To my cousin, Marietta Cesarini.

You have the biggest heart of anyone I know, and I’ve always found you such an inspiration ;-)

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

Epilogue

1

LIFE MIGHT NOT HAVE dealt Bree Addison a royal flush in wealth or circumstance, but it had dealt her enough high cards to play toward a winning hand. Intelligence. Decent looks. Ambition. Lately she’d been playing every one.

And while walking home tonight after her shift at Toujacques—New Orleans’s premier casino—Bree could feel she was on the verge of pulling an ace from the deck.

Life had also dealt her stellar instincts. She had an internal alarm that could sense trouble from across Lake Pontchartrain.

The trick was paying attention.

So when she realized a car was following her, Bree took the alarm shrieking inside her head very seriously.

As if emphasizing her sudden awareness of danger, the moon slipped behind a cloud, throwing the street into shadow along the lengthy stretch between street lamps. She caught a heel on the uneven sidewalk and stumbled.

Grabbing the hem of her cocktail dress, she managed to catch herself and regain her balance before going down, but the effort left her pulse spiking hard.

The car drove along barely in her periphery, and she wondered how she could have missed it. How long had she been waltzing down these streets, so filled with good fortune at being named one of the two women under consideration for the promotion to Toujacques’ head VIP hostess job that she hadn’t noticed what was happening around her?

Bree didn’t know, and she didn’t like not knowing. It meant she’d been ignoring her instincts, never a smart thing in the best of circumstances.

Three in the morning in New Orleans’s French Quarter didn’t qualify as the best of circumstances.

Glancing around at the familiar surroundings that seemed strangely unfamiliar in the dark, she gauged the distance to the entrance of the court where she lived, relieved to see the brick wall that separated Court du Chaud from the rest of the French Quarter. If she could just make it around the corner and down the block to the alley…

Did she want that driver to see where she lived?

Taking a calculated risk, she stopped suddenly and leaned over as if to adjust the slingback strap on her sandal. Beneath the fall of her long hair, she peered at the car—a generic sedan, probably a rental. It kept moving toward her, achingly slow, but her instincts told her the driver worked hard not to tip his hand by noticeably decelerating.