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“Of course, we could skip right to dessert.”
When Dana gave him a shocked look, Chase smiled. “The restaurant has three different kinds of cheesecake.”
“What if cheesecake isn’t what I had in mind?” she asked in her sexiest voice.
His brows went up. “Oh?”
“I may be more in the mood for ice cream,” she said with a straight face.
“That sounds cold. Now, whipped cream—there are a lot of things you can do with whipped cream.”
“You’re naughty.”
“That’s what they say.”
It wasn’t what he’d said, but how he’d said it that threw her off balance. She couldn’t keep going back and forth like this, engaging in foreplay, and not make a decision on how she wanted this night to end.
She tried to focus on the menu’s entrées, but her thoughts immediately went back to the whipped cream. Damn him.
Available in October 2009 from Mills & Boon® Blaze®
BLAZE 2-IN-1
Dead Sexy by Kimberly Raye & Heated Rush by Leslie Kelly
All or Nothing by Debbi Rawlins
Nightcap by Kathleen O’Reilly
Debbi Rawlins lives in central Utah, out in the country, surrounded by woods and deer and wild turkeys. It’s quite a change for a city girl, who didn’t even know where the state of Utah was until several years ago. Of course, unfamiliarity never stopped her. Between her junior and senior years of college she spontaneously left home in Hawaii and bummed around Europe for five weeks by herself. And much to her parents’ delight, returned home with only a quarter in her wallet.
ALL OR NOTHING
BY
DEBBI RAWLINS
MILLS & BOON
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This is for the ladies at Eureka Bingo in Mesquite.
With special thanks to Donna, Wilma,
Betty and Lin-duh.
Thanks for always entertaining me and helping me
wind down between books. You guys are terrific.
1
IGNORING the annoying catcalls from one of the hard hats inspecting a pothole on Fifth Avenue, Dana McGuire stopped at the intersection and stretched out her calf muscles while she waited for the light to change. In true Manhattan tradition, the other pedestrians, dressed mostly in business suits, swirled around her, crossing against the light and prompting some angry horn-honking in spite of the police cruiser that swung onto Fifty-seventh Street.
Five years now she’d lived in the city, and it hadn’t changed one tiny bit. She had. No choice there. Survival of the fittest. She straightened. Hmm. Not a bad name for her new fitness club. Go figure. She’d spent weeks trying to come up with a name before she applied for a license, and there it was. Not that she had all of the start-up money yet. But she was almost there. Six months and she’d be ordering equipment and signing the lease.
The walk signal flashed and she jogged across the street to the mailbox in front of the St. Martine Hotel, where she had a client this morning, and deposited her bimonthly letter to her parents. E-mail would be so much easier, but they didn’t own a computer and she doubted they ever would. Third-generation farmers, who’d only recently splurged on a satellite dish for their ten-year-old television, neither of her parents had ridden on an airplane or seen the ocean. In fact, they hadn’t stepped foot out of Indiana.
Lucky for her, since she didn’t have to worry about any surprise visits from them. Not that she didn’t love them both to pieces, but they thought she was someone she wasn’t and she didn’t have the heart to set them straight.
“Morning, Dana.” St. Martine’s veteran doorman with his watery blue eyes and pleasant round face held open the lobby door for her.
“Thanks, George. Looks like it’s gonna be another scorcher,” she said, pulling her ponytail tighter so that the hair stayed off the back of her neck. Her hair was too long and totally impractical, especially for running every day. If she had an ounce of sense she’d whack it all off. But vanity won out every time she tried to talk herself into it, which really ticked her off.
She wasn’t Borden County’s reigning Miss Teen Dairy anymore, nor had she participated in a beauty pageant for the past six years. Or ever would again. But the long blond mane had earned her at least one commercial hawking shampoo, and even then, she’d shared the spotlight with a brunette and a redhead. A far cry from taking Broadway by storm.
“You think it’s hot out here,” George whispered, and nodded his head toward the lobby. “Heard there was another one last night.”
“Oh, no. What did they get?”
“No one’s saying. We’ve all been warned to keep mum. Junior’s threatening to write up any employee caught discussing the theft.” George’s ruddy face lit with a grin. “You didn’t hear a peep from me,” he said, winking and stepping back to let her into the lobby.
“Not a word,” Dana agreed, smiling.
Everyone knew George referred to the new assistant manager as Junior. A recent Cornell graduate, Kyle Williams would rid the hotel of any employee over forty if he had his way, but the unions were too strong and George wasn’t about to give up his six-figure job opening doors for the hotel’s wealthy guests.
Heck, Dana wouldn’t mind getting in on that kind of action herself, but there were literally
