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Dear Reader,
Okay, I admit it. I have control issues. I like to be in charge whenever possible. I can’t help it. So I felt for Liza when she realized she had to make a change, and that change might have to start with herself. Giving up control (on occasion, let’s not get radical here!) might sound easy, but when you do that, especially with a man in, say, an intimate situation…well, then elements like trust start to come into play and things can get pretty scary.
I knew I’d have to put Liza in good hands (among other interesting and capable body parts), so I put her directly in the path of Sheriff Dylan Jackson—he of the shiny handcuffs and imaginative ways of incorporating them into his personal life. Because sometimes the person learning to trust and give over control needs a little nudge. Or restraint, as the case may be. I hope you enjoy Liza and Dylan’s adventure!
Happy reading,
Donna Kauffman
P.S. And don’t forget to check out tryblaze.com!
His Private Pleasure
Donna Kauffman
MILLS & BOON
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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
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
1
THE MOMENT SHE SPIED that nicely formed male derriere sticking out of the tree, Liza Sanguinetti realized that giving up her career was going to be a whole lot easier than giving up men.
She slowed her shiny blue roadster convertible to a crawl. Which was only slightly slower than the speed limit posted next to the sign welcoming her to Canyon Springs, New Mexico. Population… “A hell of lot less than L.A.,” she murmured. But definitely bigger than some of the one-horse towns she’d driven through. Canyon Springs looked like a festive place, with rows of quaint storefronts lining the main thoroughfare and banners streaming from the light poles, announcing some upcoming celebration.
The town was nestled in the foothills of the rugged Black Range Mountains, which, according to the brochure she’d picked up at breakfast in Santa Fe, were the source of the natural springs that fed down into the deep canyons and rincóns. Whatever the hell a rincón was.
All she knew was that she’d been drawn toward the dark shadowy mountains as if some guiding hand was pointing the way. The vistas here were downright awe-inspiring and pulled at something deep inside her. Which struck her as odd, considering she was a born and bred city girl. Her idea of a wild country weekend meant going horseback riding in a Palm Springs resort spa.
All she wanted at the moment was a bite to eat and the chance to wander around the antique stores she’d seen advertised on her meandering drive. Sounded like the perfect way to spend the afternoon. She was hoping the perfect housewarming present for Natalie and Jake would sit up and grab her attention. She smiled, picturing Natalie’s face when she told her she’d been antiquing in the mountains of New Mexico. Not exactly on the list of Liza’s normal haunts. But then, that was the point of this trip. Expanding personal horizons.
At the moment, however, the only thing grabbing her attention was the man perched in the towering corner oak.
“I could think of another way to spend a perfectly nice afternoon in Canyon Springs,” she murmured appreciatively, staring openly at the fine masculine scenery as she tooled beneath the outstretched branches of the tree. An amazingly loud screech erupted a second later, causing her to swerve around the corner and pull to the side of the road. One hand clutching her racing heart, she climbed out of the low-slung car and shaded her eyes with her free hand. Just past the beautiful specimen of man was an even more exotic specimen of bird perched just out of his reach.
“Come on, Mango. Step up,” the man beckoned, reaching his hand alarmingly close to that intimidating black beak.
The enormous bird was mostly white, with a vibrant orange plume that erupted all about its head as it spread its huge wings and shrieked once again. Liza covered her ears at the skull-splitting sound and wondered how the man managed to keep his perch a mere foot away without so much as flinching.
“Mango is a pretty bird,” he cajoled, though now Liza could see the muscles flexing along his jaw and neck. Perhaps the bird sensed the tension as well, since it lunged for the fingers being offered, as if they were a snack to be gobbled down rather than a lift to safety.
“Pretty, pretty Mango,” he said, repeating the words over and over in a smooth, singsongy voice. A nice deep singsongy voice, Liza found herself thinking. What sort of things could that voice cajole her into?
“Come on, pretty boy, pretty bird.”
Another piercing shriek split the air, making her jump.
“Pretty loud bird,” Liza muttered, testing one ear, then the other. The bird flapped and ducked, bobbed and pranced in quite an ornate show of birdy fervor, but didn’t move one speck closer to the outstretched hand of its brave savior.
“I
