Some Like it Hotter
Harlequin Blaze
ISBN-13:   0373798202
October 2014

Nothing to Hide Cover
Nothing to Hide
Harlequin Blaze
ISBN-13:   978-0373797967
April 2014

back in service and half-hitched covers

Back in Service
Uniformly Hot
Harlequin Blaze
ISBN-13:  978-0373797752
November 2013


Wrong Bed
Harlequin Blaze
ISBN-13:  978-0373797653
August 2013


Light Me Up Feels So Right

Light Me Up
Friends With Benefits
Harlequin Blaze
ISBN-13:  9780373797080
August 2012

Feels So Right
Friends With Benefits
Harlequin Blaze
ISBN-13:  978-0373797189
October 2012

Just One Kiss/Hot to the Touch

Just One Kiss
Friends with Benefits
Harlequin Blaze
ISBN-13:  9780373796809
April 2012

Hot To The Touch
Checking E-Males
Harlequin Blaze
ISBN-13: 9780373796236
June 2011

Turn up the Heat, Long Slow Burn covers

Long, Slow Burn
Checking E-Males
Harlequin Blaze
ISBN-13: 9780373796106
April 2011

Turn up the Heat
Checking E-Males
Harlequin Blaze
ISBN-13: 9780373796106
February 2011

Knit in Comfort cover

Knit in Comfort
ISBN 9780061765490
June 2010 

While She Was Sleeping and Surprise Me. . . covers

While She Was Sleeping
Harlequin Blaze
ISBN-13: 978-0-373-79537
April 2010

Surprise Me . . .
Harlequin Blaze
ISBN-13:  978-0-373-795437 April 2010

A Mother's Heart and No Holding Back covers

A Mother's Heart
ISBN 978-0373837311
May 2009

No Holding Back
Harlequin Blaze
ISBN 9780373794485
January 2009

As Good As It Got Cover

As Good As It Got
ISBN 9780061140563
February 2007

Indulge Me, My Wildest Ride Covers
 Indulge Me
Harlequin Blaze
ISBN 0373793979
May 2008

Martini Dares:  My Wildest Ride
Harlequin Blaze
ISBN 037379380
February 2008

women on the edge of a nervous breakthrough cover

Women on the Edge of a Nervous Breakthrough
ISBN 9780061140556
February 2007

Secret Santa Cover

Secret Santa: The Nights Before Christmas
Harlequin Blaze
ISBN 0373792484
December 2006


What Have I Done For Me Lately?
Harlequin Blaze
ISBN 0373792484
April 2006

Signature Select Anthology
ISBN 0373836937
February 2006


All I WANT . . .
Harlequin Blaze
ISBN 0373792255
December 2004

Harlequin Blaze
ISBN 0373791909
June 2005


Harlequin Blaze
ISBN 0373791666
December 2004


Always a Bridesmaid Anthology
ISBN 0373836120
May 2004



Harlequin Blaze
ISBN 0373791305
March 2004


2-in-1 with JoAnn Ross
ISBN 0373835841
February 2003


Harlequin Blaze
ISBN 0373790805
February 2003


Harlequin Temptation
ISBN 0373259735
April 2002

Harlequin Duets
ISBN 037344141X
May 2002

Harlequin Duets
ISBN 037344110X
January 2001


Harlequin Blaze
ISBN 0373790155
October 2001



Harlequin Duets
ISBN 0373440839 - ISBN 0373440928 - ISBN 0373440987
December 1999 - April 2000 - July 2000

Thrilled to be back at NYEspresso, her sister Chris’s Manhattan coffee shop, which Eva would be managing for the next month, Eva swung around.  A large bouquet of flowers was walking toward her on male legs. 

The flowers lowered.  Eva’s heart stopped. 

Okay, not really, that would be ridiculous, because she’d collapse, but it sure felt as if everything inside her and in the whole world had paused to note this auspicious occasion.

Thick short hair that looked as if he’d tried hard to style it but the strands refused to lie flat.  Deep brown eyes under dark brows.  High cheekbones, a lean jaw.  Full mouth, with a faint groove on either side.  The shadow of masculine stubble.  A small gold stud in one ear.  Expensive dark suit, subtly patterned silk tie in blue, burgundy and beige.  Gold watch.  Perfectly shined shoes.

That was him.  Her soulmate.  Her man, her One Great Love Eternal, acronym OGLE.

Or at least he was her next hot fling.

“Chris here?”  Her soulmate put the flowers on the counter, glancing at Eva before he addressed the barista, Jimx.  She was used to making no impression on a guy like this.  But that wouldn’t last long,

“Chris is not.”  Jinx beckoned another customer over.

“I was—”  Her Perfect Man yanked an iPhone from his pocket and poked at it irritably.

“Hi.”  Eva stepped forward, her hand out.  “I’m Chris’s sister, Eva.”

“Uh-huh.”  He continued to peer at his phone, reading intently.

“The woman you’re going to marry.  We’ll have beautiful children.  I’m thinking five or six.  We should get started on that soon, since I’m already twenty-eight.”

He lifted his head suddenly.  Their eyes locked.  Well hers locked.  He kind of glanced at her, then did a double-take, like, what are you looking at?  “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“Nothing important.”  She smiled sweetly, held out her hand again.  Just concerning the rest of our lives together.  Or, more likely the rest of the month.  “You were busy. What’s your name?” 

“Ames Cooke.  You visiting?”  Ames was looking around, undoubtedly still hoping Chris would emerge from the back of the shop. 

Ames Cooke.  She thought so.  He was very mistakenly trying to date her sister when of course she was the one for him.  “I’m taking over for Chris for a month.”

His attention zoomed back to her.  “Chris?  What’s wrong?  Where is she?”

Look how nice of him to be concerned.  A thoughtful guy.  “She’s at my place in California.  We switched lives for a month.”

“You switched—”  Ames was clearly having trouble processing that one.  But maybe the fact that his supposed beloved had left town without letting him know would help him understand that he and Chris were not destined to be together forever.  Whereas he and Eva . . .

At least for a month.  “So what are you doing tonight, Ames?”

As she expected, he looked startled, glanced at his watch, face reddening slightly.  “I’m due at . . .  I’m . . . I have . . .”

“Wow.  That sounds fabulous.”

He laughed in surprise.

“I just arrived today from California, so I’m going to take it easy tonight.”  She put the vase on the counter over the pastry.  “Maybe order take-out, because I hear you can get anything delivered in this city.”


She threw him a flirty look over her shoulder.  “Even you?”

Ames blinked.  “Even me what?”

Eva beamed.  This was going to be so fun.  “If I was home bored and wanted company, could I pick up a phone and order you?”


Lightning flashed.

Huh?  In Jonas’s peripheral vision, he could have sworn . . .

It flashed again. 

What the—


Good God.  Had he conjured her up?  Hallucinated her?  Why didn’t he notice her before when lightning lit the room?  Did she know he’d crawled into bed with her?

He stared at the blackness, frozen in surprise, heart pounding. 

What now?

Maybe she didn’t know he was here.  Maybe she’d been in the bathroom when he came upstairs?  Crazy coincidence.

“Allie.”  He called softly.

No answer.

The storm renewed itself, rain that had been tapering off hammered again, thunder rumbled louder.

Back asleep already?  She couldn’t be.  Sleepwalking, then?

“Allie?”  He tried louder, worried he’d terrify her.  His heart had nearly stopped when he saw her, but at least he knew she and Erik were on the property.  She thought he was still in Boston.

Maybe he should just sneak out.  If she caught him, okay, at least he’d be an intruder in her bedroom, not in her bed.

Small problem:  He was naked.  Should he get out of the bed and risk fumbling for his clothes on the floor?  Better just to go downstairs and get more from his bag.

Other problem:  she’d been able to get into bed with him, and he’d registered her only peripherally, but he was considerably larger.  If he moved, she’d notice.


This was a bad situation.  He’d just have to choose one of the equally bad options.

As carefully as he could, Jonas lifted the covers . . .


Allie’s eyes shot open in the dark.  What the hell was that?  The mattress had moved.  She swore it had. 

It moved again.


She was going to kill him.

No, torture him, then kill him.

Of all the sleazy . . . .

She tore out her earplugs, unaware the storm had gotten quite so bad.  Why hadn’t she brought a flashlight?

Lightning provided what she needed:  a view of Erik, in bed next to her!  The jerk!

She didn’t think twice, turned and shoved him with her feet as hard as he could.  He shot off the bed and landed with a thud on the floor.


Served him right.  “What the hell do you think you’re trying to pull?”


“For God’s sake, Erik,” she shouted.  Honestly.  The only thing stupider than a horny guy was . . . an amoeba. 

“I’m not Erik,” he bellowed.  A flash of lightning showed that he’d stood up.  He was not wearing anything. 

And he was not Erik.


Jameson Cartwright had barely gotten his shirt off before the knock came, brisk and no-nonsense, four rapid taps.  Someone from the Air Force, surprising him on leave, with him unshowered and the place a mess.

Hurry.  He yanked the new shirt over his head, part of his physical training uniform, and hobbled back to the door as fast as he could.  Bad sign, this continued pain in his knee.  He tried not to think about it or what that could mean about the success—or not—of the ACL surgery.  Not to mention his chances of staying in the Air Force.  Maybe he’d just gone overboard on his home exercises that morning.

“Coming.”  He reached the door and opened it.

Holy moly, Kendra Lonergan.

No, this couldn’t be the same woman from high school.

“Hi Jameson.”

He blinked.  The voice was the same.  It was her.  “What happened to ‘Lieutenant?’”

“Doesn’t suit you.”  She stared unapologetically with green eyes he didn’t remember being so big or so beautiful.  She was also taller.  Or at least thinner.  And without glasses.  Instead of the short ginger hair that looked like her mother cut it, she’d pulled back a long mass of auburn waves into a casual pony tail.  In place of the drab succession of stretch-pants and long shirts, she wore a flowery short skirt under layered tops in bright colors.

Kendra Lonergan was a knockout.  And definitely not in any branch of the military.

“You look . . . different.”  He hid a wince.  Could he say anything more inane?

“Huh.”  She looked him up and down.  “So do you.”

Yeah, well tough.  It was unfamiliar and extremely unpleasant to be ambushed like this.  He’d been raised to be ready for anything at any time.  “What are you doing here?  How did you know where I was?”

“Your surgeon, Doctor Kornish sent me.  I told you.”

He narrowed his eyes.  “What for?  What’s your connection to him?”

“May I come in?”


“So I can look around.  See how you live, how you’re doing.”  With a flourish she produced a clipboard and a pen from an immense purse that seemed to be made of patches of brightly dyed leathers.  “So I can report back.”

“To my doctor. . .”

“Kornish, yes.”  She answered patiently, peering past him.  He moved back as she stepped in, to avoid her getting too close.  He was not at his best-smelling.

“Why doesn’t he ask me how I’m doing?”

“Because he’d rather hear it from me.”  She walked through the dining area to the center of the living room, turning in a slow circle, taking in the TV, the rumpled couch, and the state of the coffee table, which made it clear he’d been camped out in this room for quite some time.  “Nice place.  You own it?”

“I’m house-sitting for a friend.  Why does he trust you?”

“I’m a professional.”  She made some notes on her clipboard and moved toward the kitchen. 

“Professional what?”  He hobbled after her, trying not to stare at the way the flimsy material of her skirt clung to her very fine rear end.

“I help people recover.”  She peered into the sink at the pile of dirty dishes.  Okay, he wasn’t at his best.  It was none of her business.

“If you’re not a doctor . . .”

Kendra turned back toward him.  “I’m not here for your physical recovery.”

“No?”  He was immediately hit with an image of her helping him with his sexual recovery, which irritated him even more.  “What then, spiritual recovery?”

“Something like that.”  She moved past him, toward his bedroom.  He followed, hoping she didn’t do more than glance at the bathroom.  It was not pretty.

“My spiritual views are private.”

“Nothing to do with religion.”  She stopped at the bedroom door, flicked him a glance, and went inside.  Jameson hadn’t open the blinds yet.  Or made his bed.  Or picked up his dirty underwear.  Well she’d invited herself in.  He owed her nothing.  Though he wasn’t wild about a description of this mess going into some report.

This was so effed up.  “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I called.  You didn’t answer the phone.”  She left his bedroom to glance in master bedroom, still gleamingly neat because Jameson hadn’t set foot in it. 

“I didn’t want to talk to anybody.”  He followed her back into the living room, feeling like a damn puppy now, more and more annoyed.

“Hmm.”  She planted herself on the black leather chair next to the sofa, looking as if she was going to stay a while.  “That’s a problem.”


She smiled too sweetly, green eyes sparkling.  It occurred to him he’d never seen her smile at him before.  Not that this was a real smile.  But damn, it lit up the room even so.  “Because, Jameson, you have to talk to me.”


“Hello, Addie.”

She started at the sound of Derek’s voice, luckily not standing close enough to the edge of the island cliff to pitch over.  She immediately had to put the brakes on a fantasy of Derek saving her from certain death by hauling her back into his arms.

Honestly.  Addie pulled herself together.  “Hey, there, Derek.”

Then she made a fatal error.  She turned to look at him.

He was breathtaking.  A touch more sun on his cheeks made the contrast even sexier today between golden skin and his white shirt, and made his vivid eyes practically jump out of his face.

No, no, Kevin was coming soon.  Any minute now he’d arrive.  Once glance and everything she’d felt for him over so many years would come rushing back again, and this Derek guy would be forgotten.

“Enjoying the view?”

“I am.”  She put on a casual smile—ho-hum, nice to see you—and concentrated on the view, which she’d just been pretending to look at before.  Yes, it was lovely.  A sailboat was cruising in toward the bay, sails crisp white in the sunshine.  A lobsterman was hauling traps just beyond the next island, his white and green boat bobbing gently in the waves.  Breezes ruffled her hair, the air was sweet enough to drink.  Why hadn’t she been enjoying this all along?  “I don’t think I’d ever get tired of this view.  The sea is always changing, the light, the birds the boats . . .”

Derek chuckled.  “Well, Ms. Manhattan Actuary.  You’re describing the view I see pretty much every day from my boat.  Maybe you need to give that life a try.”

She snorted, having to suppress yet another picture, this one of herself sunbathing on the deck of his yacht.  “Do they pay full-time salary and benefits for someone to project the odds of running aground or sinking?”

“Ummm . . .”   He tapped a finger on his very sexy lips as if trying to remember.  “Not really, no.  But I have an onboard bookkeeping position opening up in a few weeks.  Are you interested?”

“Don’t think so, but thanks.”  Addie made another serious mistake.  She smiled at him.  Then he smiled at her, and it was as if the scene around them wrapped itself up neatly and disappeared, the way backgrounds did sometimes in cartoons, leaving the two of them alone in nothingness.
Worse than how she’d felt the night before when she’d had to force herself to watch one of the most magnificent sunsets she’d ever seen.  All she’d wanted to do was gaze into those cinnamon-brown eyes and drool.

Okay, Addie.  Engage rational superpowers immediately.  Like this:  Fine to look, fine to appreciate, but no touching.

An upswell of voices by the house made her turn to see what was happening.

Kevin had arrived.

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