Alison Kent

Since I mentioned the husband leaving me here all alone every day going back to work in his field (field, heh), here’s a link with a couple of pictures of one of them.

I have two more links to share to reviews of Nancy Warren’s THE ONE I WANT. Stephanie posted her thoughts here and here, so go check those out.

Laurie Damron at Laurie’s Laudanum is giving away a copy of AT RISK at this link. Go visit for a chance to win, and watch for more chances here next week.

For more linkage, I wanted to let you know that not only is MAXIMUM EXPOSURE available for pre-order, so is KISS & TELL, whoo-hoo!

I guess that means I should post a teaser of KISS & TELL, which will forever be known as the book I wrote twice, and I hope that means it’s extra nice. ;)

Heading back to his room to wait for Candy hadn’t been the best idea after all. Caleb swore he paced a trough to China during the hour of her set. At the end of the hour following, when the knock on his door finally came, he twitched hard enough to snap his spine.

He’d given her a key; was it somebody else outside? Had she come to return it instead of use it? Could he be any more relieved that he hadn’t been a jerk and included a condom with the key and the note?

He glanced around the room, made sure nothing of Max had been left out, then went to answer. He didn’t even bother with the peephole. If it wasn’t Candy whoever she was, well, he wanted the surprise either way.

He pulled open the door to find her standing there wearing her sheepskin boots, his blazer from last night, her wig and the long slinky gown she’d obviously performed in. She had her parka draped over one arm. In her other hand, she clutched the handles of the same red gym bag she’d been carrying when he’d followed her through the kitchen.

He didn’t want to try to interpret the expression on her face. She wasn’t smiling or frowning. He couldn’t tell if she was calm, or scared stiff. All he knew was that if she stayed out in the hallway, he wasn’t going to find out any of what she was thinking.

Holding open the door, he stepped back to give her room to enter. She took a deep breath, and did. He moved aside to let the door close, and saw her jump when the latch caught and clicked like a gunshot.

She was nervous. He was nervous.

Whether they slept together or not, they needed to get nervous out of the way.

He walked up behind her, cleared his throat so she’d know he was there, took her parka and her bag from her hands. He tossed the small duffel to the floor of the closet, hung up the coat next to his.

She turned then, shrugged out of the blazer he’d left her wearing last night, and held it out in offering.

He waited, staring, knowing they had to break this ice or the night – whether they had sex or stuck to conversation – was going to be a disaster. When he saw the corner of her mouth quirk and one brow begin to lift, he moved.

His chest tight, he took the jacket, tossed it to the floor, held her face between his hands and kissed her.

She clutched his biceps and whimpered, leaning into him and parting her lips. His heart beat like a hammer as he slanted his mouth over hers and groaned, breathing her in, tasting her, wanting so much more of her than he could get with the two of them still fully clothed.

It was Candy and what she wanted that kept him from pushing things further. He was ready for anything, ready for it now, but he sensed that for her it was too soon. That she had things she needed to settle, things she needed to say.

He was right.

She eased her grip on his arms, pulling her mouth from his and backing away. A shy smile crossed her face. “You know I can’t think when you do that.”

“Guess that means I’m doing it right.”

“Oh, you’re doing it right,” she said, laughing softly. Then she took another step away and wrapped her arms around herself. “Aren’t you wondering why I didn’t use the key?”

He moved his hands to his hips. “I am, but I figured if you wanted me to know, you’d tell me.”

“Honestly? I’m not sure me being here is a good idea.”

Right now, he couldn’t think of a better one unless it was the two of them getting naked. “And you thought if I didn’t answer you’d be off the hook?”

“No. Nothing like that.”

“Then why did you come?” he asked, confused.

“Because I want to be here.”

“You want to be here. You’re just not sure it’s a good idea. Got it.” Yeah, this was going well.

“I had the best time with you last night. The intimacy. Sneaking into the kitchen. Your goodnight kiss. And condom or not, if you had pushed, I wouldn’t have said no,” she said, and he saw color bloom on her cheeks.

If he’d only known that then, he mused with no small amount of sarcasm, before admitting to himself that he had known it. That he’d had to force himself to walk away and leave her at her dressing room door.

He scrubbed a hand down his jaw. “Look, Candy –”

“It’s Miranda.”

“What?” Stunned, he whipped his gaze up to meet hers.

She took a deep breath and rushed out with it again. “My name is Miranda. And that’s why I’m not sure being here is a good idea.”

That didn’t make any sense. “Because your name is Miranda?”

“No,” she said, her voice soft, patient. “Because I can’t be with you as Candy. And being with you as myself is not an easy thing for me to do.”

Once she got out of her clothes, he’d show her how easy it was. But he knew that’s not what she meant.

“Okay . . . Miranda.” He paused, searched for a new tack to take since kissing her hadn’t turned out to be such a brilliant idea. “Are you hungry? Should I order room service? Do you want a drink?” He sure as hell wanted one.

She shook her head. “No. All I want you. To make love with you. But now that I’ve had time to think, I know that I can only do it as myself.”

The drink could wait. “Does that mean you’re going to tell me all of your secrets?”

“I don’t think so,” she said with a laugh. “Only my name, and this.”

As Caleb looked on, she reached up and pulled off her wig. Her hair beneath was the short dark color he’d guessed from the strands caught in the bristles of her brush. Or so he first thought.

When she reached up to fluff it, pinching her bangs into wisps and shaking the rest of the layers, he realized it was more red than brown.

“You really are a redhead.”

“Of a sort,” she said, and blushed.

“Do you have freckles on your nose?” he asked, tickled by this whole discovery process.

“My nose, my cheeks. My forehead. And if you’ll give me five minutes to wash off my makeup, I’ll let you see for yourself.”

He was all over seeing for himself. He didn’t say a word, just gestured toward the bathroom and bowed. She walked by him, shoved his shoulder and knocked him back to the bed.

He laughed, but he didn’t look away, only propped up on his elbows far enough to see her grab his jacket from where he’d tossed it before closing the bathroom door.

He laid there for several moments, listening to the water run, then jumped up and got rid of his shoes, socks, and shirt, keeping his pants on for now. He turned off the light nearest the bed, left on the one nearest the window, then sat down in one of the room’s two wing chairs to wait.

He was still sitting there, leaning forward and staring at the floor, his elbows on his knees, his hands laced and his head hanging, when the water stopped, the bathroom door opened, and Miranda came out.

He didn’t care about her last name. He didn’t care about her secrets. He didn’t care that everything up until now had been awkward, tense, and the bad idea she’d suggested. All he cared about was getting her clothes off and showing her with his body all the things he was feeling and too tongue-tied to say.

She stood there at the edge of the bedroom, the closet and bathroom behind her, seeming almost uncertain, hesitant, as if she needed his approval before taking another step. If he could’ve found his voice in that moment, he would’ve have given it a thousand times over. His voice, his heart, his brain . . . none of it was working.

He was looking at the most amazing creature he’d ever seen in his life. As Candy, she was gorgeous, classy, seductive. As Miranda . . . words failed him – a sad state for someone who made his living using them. But this wasn’t gossip or a story for the hungry hordes. This was the two of them acting on an attraction that had him struggling to make sense of blindsiding emotions.

She was naked except for her panties and his blazer. Her face was scrubbed clean, her hair fluffed in layers and bangs. The lapels of the coat hung open, baring a long strip of skin between her breasts to her sex that was covered by a scrap of white cotton. The look in her eyes was one of longing – and hope.

His hands on the chair arms, he pushed to his feet and walked toward her, slid his hand beneath the jacket where it covered her shoulders and pushed it down her arms. It fell to the floor and left her standing there in a scrap of a thong.

Running his hands down her arms, from her shoulders to her elbows, he tried to drink her all in, her green eyes, her freckles, her hair, still feeling a tug of familiarity but lost in trying to put his finger on the source. And right now? He didn’t care.

She was here. She was beautiful. She was his.