Kimani Press (338) ♥ July 2013
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“The chemistry between the leads will thrill readers.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
Have you ever met an intriguing stranger on a plane?
Struck up a conversation with your seatmate, maybe, or made fleeting eye contact with a sexy someone in the next aisle over and wondered that delicious thought … what if?
Well, Marcus Davies, the millionaire widower and co-owner of Davies & Sons Auction House, is about to meet his stranger on a plane, and little does he know he’s in for the flight of his life. From her taste in clothes (black only, please), to her interests (rare books and antiques) to her attitude (tart), Claudia Montgomery, a sexy Brit, is Marcus’s match in every conceivable way, even if she doesn’t realize it yet.
Luckily, Marcus can be very persuasive when he wants to be …
Attraction this strong can lead to only one thing…
Co-owner of New York’s most successful auction house, Marcus Davies meets the woman of his dreams on a flight to Wyoming. The attraction is instant and overwhelming. After they narrowly escape a crash landing, Claudia Montgomery disappears at the airport, and Marcus fears he’ll never see the sexy, headstrong Brit again. So he’s stunned when their paths cross at a rock star’s ranch and he discovers that he and Claudia are vying for the same glittering prize.
Ever since their fateful encounter on a storm-tossed plane, Claudia hasn’t been able to get Marcus out of her mind. Now, as fierce rivals, they have no chance of a future together…until fate steps in once more. From a sprawling Western estate to a magnificent Hamptons mansion, Claudia and Marcus soon realize they have no choice but to join forces in business—and in pleasure. But will it lead to lasting passion…and a love worth fighting for?
THE DAVIES LEGACY
POWER. SECRETS. SEDUCTION.
Marcus meets his match while boarding a flight to Jackson Hole…
Someone elbowed him in the kidney from behind, causing him to drop his driver’s license and wince in pain. “Hey!” he said.
“Sorry, buddy.” A huge guy who looked like he had the juice to be a sumo wrestler eased out of his seat and into the aisle, clapping Marcus on the back as he went. “I gotta go before they turn the seatbelt light on, you know?”
Marcus worked up a don’t-worry-about-it smile. “When you gotta go, you gotta go.”
“Ain’t that the truth?”
Chuckling, the guy headed for the restroom, leaving Marcus to try to locate his driver’s license. Stooping, he peered around at the dark floor until he saw a telltale plastic rectangle. The thing was, naturally, halfway under an occupied seat. This, naturally, meant that he had to drop to his knees―so much for his perfectly creased black wool slacks, eh?—and reach for it.
That was when he saw them.
A pair of long and shapely legs stretched out in front of him.
Confronted with a pair of sexy legs at eye level, what else could a man do but stare and thank God for the view?
These particular legs were crossed at the knees and encased in a pair of those sheer black tights with a lacy crisscrossing pattern. Since he was a leg man, this sight alone was enough to empty out his head and make his skin tingle. But there was more. She was wearing a pair of pointy black Christian Louboutin heels―he recognized the red soles―that had probably come directly from some Paris runway and cost a thousand dollars or so.
Yeah, he knew his fashion. Men’s and women’s.
He also knew a world-class set of pins when he saw one.
“I’d better call you back, love,” said the woman, and it came as no surprise that her voice was throaty and amused, as blatantly sexy as her legs. What did surprise Marcus was the cultured and vaguely bored British accent, as though she—and a long line of her ancestors—were regularly invited to Buckingham Palace for tea with the queen and said event was nothing to get worked up about. “Yes,” she said to the other person on the line, “a man’s just dropped to his knees before me, so I assume he’s about to propose. Or perhaps he needs medical assistance. So I’ll ring you back when we land. Love you, too. Goodbye.”
Marcus, who was beginning to experience a dizzying sensation between his ears, as though someone had clanged his head with a pair of cymbals, stood in time to see her click a button on her phone, lower it and glance up at him….
Wow, he thought, swallowing hard and trying to get a grip on himself.
Her eyes were frankly appraising and crinkled at the corners with silent laughter, as though she knew exactly the way his pulse thudded and his blood heated at the sight of her. Her nose was straight, her cheekbones high. Her lush mouth curled with wicked secrets he wished she would whisper in his ear one delicious night as they twined their bodies together on satin sheets.
And her body…
His gaze drifted lower, in a swift once-over as discreet as he could make it.
She seemed to favor black, like he did, and was dressed in a tailored leather jacket and the female version of his starched button-down shirt. All similarities ended there. A perfect hourglass from what he could see, she wore a wide belt that emphasized a tiny waist and thrillingly curvy hips. There was, he now realized, a slit in her black skirt that revealed a long stretch of thigh and—his belly swooped with excitement—the lacy tops of her tights and a garter belt’s black strap.
As he glanced back up the length of her body, his attention snagged on her cleavage and the glittering gold chain that disappeared in the valley between her spectacular breasts. Said breasts were restrained behind her shirt and inside the lacy cups of a black bra but seemed determined to escape. A hazard to be expected, he supposed, when you left the top three or four buttons undone and were built like that.
“Oh, dear,” she murmured in that voice that danced over his skin like the velvet touch of a feather duster.
Remembering himself, he snapped his gaze back to her eyes.
“I thought you were determined to look up my skirt before.” She stared him in the face, unblinking and unabashed.
“But now it seems you’re much more interested in staring at my bosom. Not very gentlemanly, is it?”
He bowed his head. “I’m sorry.”
He kept the slow grin off his face, but only just. He couldn’t remember when he’d been this intrigued. A beautiful woman was one thing, but a beautiful woman who was also smart, direct and had a scathing sense of humor? He felt as though he’d been gifted with a handful of flawless rubies.
“Am I really sorry?” he replied. “Not really. It’s a very fine bosom.”
Several beats passed, during which her color rose, her eyes narrowed and the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed sped up a telltale amount. He couldn’t tell whether she wanted to hit him or screw him, but either option would be fine with him.
Anything that showed he affected her as strongly as she affected him would be perfectly fine with him.
She blinked first. Flicking her manicured hand the way she might shoo a persistent fly, she tried to shuttle him on his way. “Don’t let me keep you. We’ll be departing soon.”
“Oh, you’re not keeping me,” he said, double-checking his boarding pass. “This is my row, too.”
Copyright © 2013 by Sally Moore
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