She’s got a reputation for being bad…

Tessa Dalton used to be a celebrated author of erotic fairytales…until her ex-husband used them against her in a highly-publicized divorce case. He said she had an insatiable appetite for men—any men. But in truth, Tessa’s erotica was inspired by her personal fantasies, fantasies her ex-husband never came close to fulfilling…and fantasies that are suddenly fueled when she meets journalist Colt Granger…

The attraction is instantaneous, the chemistry, smoldering. And before long, Tessa is ready to write again. Only this time, she’s got company. She and Colt burn up the phone lines, collaborating on a sensual story all of their own--a story that is recorded on paper…and reenacted in her bed. Tessa has never been so satisfied, so fulfilled. And she intends to enjoy it while it lasts. Because she’s learned the hard way that there’s no such thing as a fairytale ending…or is there?

Excerpt

COLTON READ TESSA’S REQUEST one more time, just to make sure he’d understood. Chuckling, he hit the reply key, but hesitated before drafting a response. The woman never ceased to intrigue him. He still remembered that moment four months ago when she’d sent him the first chapter of her new book and asked him what happened next.

He hadn’t told her, of course--he’d shown her.

Colton still couldn’t believe he’d taken such a chance, writing the next scene of her book. He was a respected, award-winning journalist. He’d crafted a spotless reputation as a harbinger of truth in the two-faced world of local and national politics. Columnists of his caliber, who appeared periodically on the Sunday morning news shows and received personal invitations on press junkets hosted by dignitaries ranging from the mayor to the president, did not dabble in erotica.

But he had. He’d written the next scene of Tessa’s book from the perspective of the hero, Reides. He’d stretched creative writing muscles he hadn’t tested since college, crafting a scene from her outline as hot as it was brimming with action. At the time, he’d told himself his response was a joke, a lark. Up until then, Tessa had had too much fun at his expense with her cheeky emails and outlandish lifestyle. His foray into fiction had only given her a taste of her own brazen medicine.

But the whim had turned into a pet project and the story had burgeoned into something allegorical, mystical--and steamy. The more he read and wrote of their creation, the more he learned about Tessa. And about himself. Their occasional emails turned into a steady stream of communication, through the chapters and over the phone. When they hit the half-way mark of the book, Colton knew he’d involved himself in a full-fledged obsession with a woman who likely had no idea how much he wanted her.

Her--not the book.

Unfortunately, her priorities were flipped. She not only seemed committed to their unlikely friendship mainly because of the story they’d created together, but now she wanted her agent to market the novel to the biggest New York publishers. Though she acknowledged the sexual attraction sparking between them, running like a sizzling conduit beneath the surface of every word they wrote together, she did so with humor. As if their sensual connection was nothing more than a joke.

Only, he was no longer joking. Since she’d written the book with a partner, she needed his permission before a proposal could make the rounds, even if she had promised to use her pseudonym, Charlene Perrault.

But pen name or not, she needed him.

Interesting.

He considered his response to her email request for a few minutes, then settled on two words.

No way.

He signed his name, hit Send, and waited. After months of back and forth communication, he knew Tessa hadn’t sent her email query and then left the computer. She was waiting for his response. Anxious. Impatient. And no wasn’t an answer she’d accept. Just how would she attack next? Phone? Fax? Another, more persuasive email? If Lady Luck smiled his way, Tessa would hop the next flight from Key West to Chicago and proceed to convince him in person.

If that happened, he’d put his next paycheck into lottery tickets.

The trill of his cell phone sounded from within his briefcase. He glanced at his watch. Less than a minute. He loved high-speed connections. Yet after communicating exclusively with Tessa Dalton via the Internet and occasionally by phone, he looked forward to a little face-to-face.

Ultra, close-up face-to-face. Preferably something along the lines of lips-to-lips. But first, he’d have to get her real riled up, break down her interminable wall of defiance. Spark her flames of indignation. He unzipped his briefcase and pulled out the phone, comfortable with his plan. To achieve his goal, he’d take a clue from Morpheus. He’d manipulate her, plain and simple, in the best way he knew how.

You want a woman with a bad reputation, strong ideas and limitless powers of persuasion to do what you want? One strategy had the best chance at success--tell her no.

So he had.

Now his phone was beeping and her private number glowed on the caller ID.

“What do you mean ‘no way?’” she snapped into the phone before he’d finished the second syllable of “hello.”

Colton grinned. She was riled, all right. Score one point for him.

“Having trouble interpreting two words, Tessa? You’ve been on that island too long.”

“You haven’t even thought about it,” she insisted, and Colton imagined her stamping her foot.

“What’s to think about? The book has been fun. An interesting way to pass some time, simmer off creative juices.”

He paused after his last word, letting it linger, intending to spark that sensual awareness they shared whether she liked it or not. She’d likely fight her natural response with sarcasm, distance. Bravado. Lord, she intrigued him. And Colton took that as a very good sign.

“I never intended to make a career out of writing erotica with you,” he added.

Now a lifetime of living erotica, that he might consider--had considered--since he’d first met Tessa. Only she had sworn off men, at least those who wanted more than a hot and heavy fling. With his thirty-sixth birthday looming, he didn’t have the energy for one-night stands and meaningless liaisons anymore. The dating game no longer interested him, particularly since he hadn’t had an interesting date in months. How could he when his pool of contenders consisted of sweet, educated, ready-to-please-at-any-cost-so-long-as-there-is-a-ring-involved women?

His mother and father would have loved each and every one of them. The heir to the Granger estate in tony Richmond, Virginia had been raised to keep an eye toward finding the perfect wife. Gracious, charitable, pretty. Worthy of the centuries-old name. For a while, Colton actually had hoped he might find a woman who possessed all those qualities, and who would fire his passions and inspire his fantasies at the same time.

And so far, he’d come up empty in the perfect woman department--until Tessa. Sassy, smart, seductive Tessa Dalton had occupied his private thoughts since he’d first read her collection of erotic fairytales just before the trial. A raw earthiness simmered beneath the romanticized sexuality, piquing Colton’s male curiosity. Then, after meeting her in person and being on the receiving end of her sharp wit and sensual stare, he’d been enthralled.

Tessa’s less-than-virtuous reputation wouldn’t go over well with his parents, but as much as Colton loved his family, he was too old to waylay his passions in some fallacious bid for their approval. They’d adjust.

He wanted Tessa. And to get her, he’d have to play rough.

Starting right now.

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Every day, women across North America reach out and change lives in their communities. Five have been selected as this year's recipients of Harlequin's More Than Words award--and five New York Times and USA Today bestselling authors have generously given their creative energy, writing original stories inspired by these real-life heroines.

In "Into the Groove" by Julie Elizabeth Leto, Georgia Rae Evans, a volunteer dance teacher for the project Groove With Me, faces hard choices when one of the little girls in her class is discovered to be the stolen child of Diego Paz, a sexy ex-MP willing to do anything to recover his child. But will he give up love...or will he find it?

No excerpt available.

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Sisters Serena and Samantha Deveaux love the sensual, magical mystery of their hometown, but New Orleans can be a very dangerous place--especially when falling in love is the last thing on either woman's agenda.

Excerpt

Nick watched Samantha’s eyes. He’d wrangled enough tough negotiations to know that her initial reaction would map how he proceeded. Yet he almost felt like a novice going one-on-one with Samantha. She was tough, confident and sassy. And sexy. Oh, yeah. Sexy as sweet, silky lobster served with the finest Italian wine. Yet an elusive vulnerability lingered, teasing him like a secret. He didn’t fool himself into thinking that recognizing her allure would counteract the mind-numbing effects. Women like her always had a trick up their sleeve.

Her thick-lashed lids narrowed. The irises he’d considered exotic, blue like a tropical liqueur, darkened to a fascinating, faceted sapphire, clear of any anger or insult from his purposefully bold, charged-by-design suggestion. In fact, he couldn’t read her reaction at all. But just in case, he held her hand tightly, prepared to deflect a slap.

When she glanced down, he realized that Samantha Deveaux didn’t have to use her hands to punish his presumptuous proposition. She shifted her knee ever so casually.

Fortunately for his family jewels, she had a sense of humor to go with her proclaimed black belt. Her expression turned from cool to bemused, forcing him to replay the words in his head one more time. He’d been trying to disarm her with an outrageous idea, but his words rang a little too cocky and arrogant, even for him.

She obviously didn’t seem to mind. By the time he released her hands with a groan, she was laughing out loud. Which knocked his naturally-bred arrogance down a substantial peg.

“I didn’t mean that exactly the way it sounded,” he said, grumbling.

“I should hope not. I mean, do I look like Julia Roberts in this get-up?” She took a deep breath to tamp down her laughter. “Cause you, pal,” she pointed for emphasis, “ain’t Richard Gere.”

Nick met her smirk with a reluctant, albeit agreeing grin. No, he wasn’t Richard Gere. He never wanted to be Richard Gere or any other celebrity for that matter. He just wanted to run the family business and turn their healthy profits into steady millions. He wanted to expand the product line. Make “LaRocca” a household word for pasta sauce like “Kleenex” was for facial tissues. Ensure that everyone who shared his blood had a chance at a prosperous future.

Since his appointment as CEO, he’d schemed and planned and jockeyed to put his company, relatively small and still privately operated, into the leagues where only conglomerates dared to tread. Big dreams, but he was so close to achieving them. The livelihood of his entire family depended on him. He just needed more time--more single, unattached, undistracted-by-a-wife time.

Samantha could buy him his needed reprieve. And maybe a little excitement, too. Excitement that had been sorely lacking in his life for way too long, a reality this sexy security guard effortlessly proved.

“If I’m going to get any business done, I need a bodyguard,” he said, determined to clarify his point. “You’ve convinced me of that. If we lead everyone to believe that we are an item, that would give you a reason to be with me all the time. Which would...”

She nodded as she took over his sentence, her laughter dying as business encroached. “...save your big male ego from admitting you need protection.”

“Yes, well,” he admitted, wondering how this stranger knew him so well in less than an hour’s time. “My big male ego does sometimes need saving, but I have a higher payoff in mind. If the general public believes that I’m no longer available...that half of my net worth will soon be spoken for...”

Sam applauded. “Nice twist. You convince all those single women that you’ve made your choice, and they set their sights on the next rich bachelor.” After a moment, she wrinkled her nose. “But you know, if I’m going to play your bimbo for the whole world to see, I think I’ll rescind the discount offer. We’ll call it danger pay. I do have a reputation to protect.”

Nick grinned. He’d had no idea that Samantha would be so easy to convince. She either needed the money or she didn’t want to wait to become a bodyguard. Either reason, he respected her lack of self-doubt.

They were two peas in a pod. Which added a layer of protection to his plan. Nick might no longer be entirely clear on the kind of woman he really wanted to marry someday, but he was quite certain he didn’t want a woman who operated exactly like he did. Career first, money second, reputation third--and in a succession that ran so close, the distinction between each goal was acutely hard to decipher.

“Samantha Deveaux has a reputation?” He hummed his interest, wiggling his eyebrows to make sure he needled her sufficiently. “It’s been a long time since I hung out with a girl who had a rep. One of the DiCarlo sisters, if I remember correctly.” Now wasn’t the time to point out that he never had and still did not date “bimbos.” Even the DiCarlo sisters back in high school had just been looking for a little harmless fun. But he didn’t want Samantha to think that he rarely dated anymore, true or not. And he’d expect such an assumption. Why else would his grandmothers have stirred the wild, single masses in the first place. Unfortunately, Nick couldn’t remember his last date. He’d broken off his engagement to Sophia over two years ago, and hadn’t seen anyone else since, first out of respect for Sophia and then because he didn’t have the time. Dating required way more effort than he was willing to spend...especially since he no longer knew what he wanted.

He’d dated a lot during college, but as soon as his company went public four years ago, he’d met Blair, the sophisticated daughter of a Chicago entrepreneur who should have understood his devotion to business pursuits, but didn’t. She was too cool, too calculated and required way more attention than he had time to give. Sophia, a friend from the old neighborhood, should have been perfect. She embraced all the traditional values he thought he treasured. She ended up driving him crazy and he doubted he was any picnic for her either.

He suspected Samantha Deveaux would drive him crazy, too, but in an entirely different, entirely desirable way.

“So tell me about this reputation of yours,” he said. “I’m utterly intrigued.”

Samantha stood, her lips pressed tight but her eyes smiling. “I’ll bet you are. But,” she said with a sigh, “this is the unfair part of the protection game. I get to know everything about you and my life is off-limits.”

Nick had no idea if she realized that she’d just issued a delicious challenge, but he guarded his expression. He nodded as if he agreed to her terms.

One quick call to his attorneys, who would in turn contact their private investigation division, could garner him each and every detail of Samantha Deveaux’s life within an hour or two. If he gave them a whole day, the high-priced sharks he kept on retainer could write her biography, complete with photographs of her twelfth birthday and an interview with her third-grade boyfriend.

But damn, it would be so much more fun to discover her secrets himself.

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Louisville Slammers team owner Donovan Ross knows when to take a pitch and when to swing away, but he's beaned by the fact that he might lose his team in a secret deal gone bad--and worse, lose his ex-wife, sensual Callie Andrews, as well.  Now, if he's reading the signals right, Donovan can score a homerun with Callie--and maybe even win back her heart.

Excerpt

Callie scurried into her bedroom, shut the door as quietly as she could, then leaned against the cool wood and tried to make sense of what she was doing. She closed her eyes tightly, but when she opened them, she caught sight of her reflection in the full-length mirror across the room. Even in the dim glow from the skylight, she recognized the emotions vibrating off her body. Fear. Arousal. Determination. Lust. She wanted him. She had for a long time--longer than she’d ever admit to anyone. Now, she had a chance to once again experience that fabulous, bone-melting sexual pleasure that only Donovan could give her.

And with him leaving soon, she needed closure. The season officially started in a few weeks, but she was sure with the cloud of eminent migration hanging over Louisville, the season had come to an unofficial close sometime following Donovan’s announcement. No longer the favorite son, she couldn’t even entertain the idea that he’d return for holidays and in the off-season to tend to his other business ventures. His business would no longer be welcome in Kentucky. Once he left, he’d be gone for good.

The time to act was now.

She stripped out of the rest of her clothes, dashed into the bathroom and gave herself a quick wash with a wet cloth, followed by sweet, lavender-scented lotion. She loosened her hair, freshened her make-up, then changed into a negligee she found buried at the bottom of her pajama drawer. It was wrinkled, but it fit. Nicely. Black satin. Peek-a-boo bodice.

Yes, this would do.

On her way out, she dashed back into the bathroom and found the carton of condoms she’d had there for entirely too long. Callie had had a few lovers over the years--very few, but she’d always played things safe. Even tonight, she wasn’t willing to raise all the bars. Some were non-negotiable.

In the kitchen, she found a bottle of wine, two glasses and a corkscrew. Too predictable? She put them away, then opted for two shot glasses, lime and a shaker of salt. The tequila was in the other room. Yes, definitely naughtier.

She found Donovan standing at the window, nude in the moonlight. He had his fingers through the slats in the blinds, so if anyone looked up, they’d see nothing more than his eyes.

Gingerly, she approached from behind, placing her bounty on the bar ride beside him. “See something interesting?”

“The stadium lights are on.”

Perplexed, Callie slipped into the space beside him and parted the blinds herself. She had no idea the lights from the ball field could be seen from her condo. “I’ll be damned,” she muttered.

“For associating with me?” he quipped.

She glanced up at him, a smile teasing the corners of her mouth. There were few naked men she would feel comfortable trading barbs with. In fact, there was only one.

“If that’s the case, my fate was sealed a long time ago.”

“You could always ask for forgiveness,” he offered, turning so that his muscled torso and hard thighs were inches away from her.

“You have to really want forgiveness for that to work, and I don’t regret one minute of what we had together. Do you?”

“Only the minutes we missed because I was too busy working or you were too angry to stick around.”

“I was never angry.”

He arched a brow even as his hands snaked out and encircled her waist. “Don’t start lying now.”

“Then let’s stop talking.”

She grabbed his face and pulled him down, then kissed him with every ounce of longing she had for the freedom she sought. The freedom to do what she wanted tonight, feel what she needed to feel, without a moment of fear, without an instant of regret. She knew this man. She trusted this man. She understood that in the morning, there was no chance they could stay together beyond a bite of breakfast and a cup or two of coffee. Their paths would soon take them on entirely different roads.

But in the meantime, she intended to enjoy this one last pit stop.

Donovan smoothed his hands over the silk of her negligee, groaning as his fingers pressed hard over the cool material. He slipped under the lacy hem that tickled the curve of her bottom, and possessively cupped her. Donovan always was an ass man and the thrill of remembering how she used to flash him surreptitiously to get him hot and bothered made her sex pound with excitement.

“I remember this,” he murmured.

“Me, too,” she whispered, her lips brushing against his chest.

“No, this outfit.”

He toyed with the thin, spaghetti straps on her shoulders. With one yank, they popped away, released from the teeny snaps holding them in place.

“I’ve had this for years,” she said, amazed at how the boning in the bodice held the top in place.

“I bought it for you,” he said with a growl.

Good God, he had. She’d kept it all this time?

“I can’t believe you didn’t toss it.”

Neither could she.

“I haven’t worn it since you bought it for me.”

“I don’t believe you wore it for very long then, either.”

She pushed away from him softly, turning as she slipped over to the bar. “Then maybe this time, I’ll stretch it out.”

“To torture me?”

“Don’t you deserve it?”

He licked his lips. “Most definitely. Is that what you dream about with me? Punishing me?”

She dipped into her private stock and pulled out a bottle of her best tequila. Callie wasn’t a big drinker anymore, though she’d imbibed her share in her wayward youth. But her suppliers loved to stock her liquor cabinet every Christmas. Tonight, she figured a little liquid courage could go a long way.

“Not exactly,” she replied cryptically.

“Then what, exactly?” he asked.

She twisted open the tequila, then grabbed a knife from the drawer. “Sit over on the couch and I’ll show you.”

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