Summer Fire: Love When It's Hot

 

Summer Fire: Love When It’s Hot

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Publisher: dba 7th House Publishing, Imprint of Andromeda LLC

Date of Publication: May 26, 2015

ISBN: 9781507060469

ASIN: B00U1DZH7C

Number of pages: 1,610

Word Count: 483,000

Cover Artist: Victoria Danann

 20 ALL NEW summer romances by New York Times, USA Today, and National Bestselling authors.
Available at Amazon   Apple   BN   Kobo
Love when it’s hot? So do we. Especially when we’re writing about gritty alphas, angsty bad boys, sizzling attraction, and unrequited passion. Military, cowboy, biker, humor, second chance love, and more.

SO LOOSEN YOUR BUTTONS, TURN THE FAN TO OSCILLATE, AND JOIN US FOR THIS STEAMY, GROUNDBREAKING BUNDLE OF SUMMER TALES THAT ARE HOT HOT HOT.

1. Gennita Low Sizzle Spies, Lola and Jake, fall hard for each other. Is their love strong enough for one assignment that would risk everything?

2. R.J. Lewis Sinful Two different people from two different worlds find their lives colliding in the most sinful way.

3. L. Wilder Summer Storm VP Guardrail’s life has always been his MC club. It’s up to him to fix a wrong, but he wasn’t expecting Allie to take him by storm.

4. Victoria Danann A Season in Gemini The first time sexy biker, Brant Fornight, saw Garland St. Germaine, he knew she was going to turn him inside out. And she did.

5. Kym Grosso Solstice Burn Love and temptation flare in a tropical paradise. When Chase rescues Penny, she learns to embrace her inner fantasies.

6. Cat Miller Sun Burnt Kesslyn inherits a ranch, but the city girl is unsure she’s up for the challenge. Can her sexy foreman rope her into staying forever?

7. Mimi Barbour Big Girls Don’t Cry He’s everything she’s ever wanted in a man. And she’s nothing like the girl she wants to be. Something’s gotta change…

8. Clarissa Wild Killer Secrets could kill you. He murdered her husband. She’s the prime suspect seeking justice. Only one of them can win.

9. Teresa Gabelman Rodeo Romance Jake McCabe had one rule. Never date a client. Trisha Summers had a new rule. Never date a man again. Rules were meant to be broken.

10. Helen Scott Taylor Irish Kisses Ten years ago he said he loved her, then he left and broke her heart. Now he’s back, and he wants her again, but can she trust him?

11. Victoria James Sweet Surrender Cade showing up on her doorstep is not what Julia wants-but this bad-boy is back and ready to convince her that this time is forever…

12. Mona Risk Husband for a Week A Sicilian vendetta, a fake husband, and a matchmaking grandmother complicate Jonathan and Isabella’s lives. Can love conquer all?

13. Patrice Wilton A Man for Hire Jordon’s ex-boyfriend is bringing home a bride. To save face she hires a hot guy for the weekend. Sparks fly–can this be love?

14. Linda Barlow My Mile-High Mistake Six years ago, she yearned for her sexy, forbidden high school teacher. Now she can’t resist his temptation at 35,000 feet.

15. Joan Reeves Heat Lightning Her husband found her, claimed her, rescued her. His touch makes her throb. Her body knows him, but she remembers nothing about him.

16. Danielle Jamie Tan Lines and Salty Kisses Becca and Parker have a second chance at summer romance. The spark is hotter than a Georgia July. Can it withstand news of his secret?

17. Terri Marie Someone Exactly Like You Cameron Barron’s plan was solid. A few lies, a disguise, and an apology to Chastity Newberry… What could possibly go wrong?

18. Lorhainne Eckhart His Promise A love they thought would last forever. A promise forgotten. Until one summer night.

19. Brandy L Rivers Summer Rhythm Doug never could resist Chloe. She always runs. Will this time be different or is their summer rhythm destined to repeat.

20. Nicole Blanchard Anchor I thought it was a weekend from hell, until he showed me a little piece of heaven.

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 A SEASON IN GEMINI
Intro to the Sons of Sanctuary MC  By Victoria Danann
7th House Publishing, Imprint of Andromeda LLC © 2015
All rights reserved. Reprint is prohibited except where specific permission has been given.

CHAPTER 1

God bless the child that’s got her own. - Billie Holiday

David St. Germaine had sent a van and two guys to move his daughter out of her primo room at her Dartmouth sorority house. He was extremely proud of the fact that she’d been voted Panhellenic Rep by her sorority sisters. In fact, he’d told her that it was a more impressive accomplishment than any other office because she was the embodied statement that her sorority sisters wanted to make about their chapter when sororities and fraternities had a joint meeting. Garland liked having her father’s approval when getting it didn’t interfere with what she wanted to do.
Every day for the ten days between finals and graduation she’d packed up a few things in preparation for a final move-out. She was torn between having loved university life and wanting to get on to whatever came next. She wasn’t clear about what that was. Certainly she’d never planned to be actually employed with a B.A. in Classical Studies. She could read and write Greek and Latin, sketch an example of a Corinthian column on demand, explain Socratic Method, and accurately recount the exploits of even the most obscure demigod.
A quarter million dollars of education and education-related expenses later, that degree and a few dollars would get her a Starbucks. But she wasn’t worried. Livelihood wasn’t an issue. She was the only child of a rich widower who rarely denied her anything.
She showed the movers to her room and pointed out what should go. After one last look, she plugged her phone into the console of her wine-colored Masserati, selected the music playlist she’d titled ROAD TRIP, and pointed the car toward New York south thinking that, since it was Sunday, the traffic wouldn’t be bad. At least not as bad as usual. She could probably do the trip in four and a half hours with a potty stop enroute. After four years, she knew the route’s good, bad, and ugly restroom tour.

The New York Times still printed society pages on Sundays, only these days it was called “About Town” and included celebrity doings and sightings along with traditional news about members of the Social Registry, particularly charity galas and Arts League balls. The concession to modernity was that in recent years there had been sensationalism-creep. The news had begun to treat members of the Social Registry more like celebrities in the sense that scandals were printed right alongside who was seen with whom at balls, galas, VIP museum exhibits, and art show openings. It had turned into a gossip column thinly disguised as the time-honored newspaper tradition of setting aside valuable print space for flattering the moneyed elite.

Garland pulled up in front of her building, grabbed the rolling suitcase with essential stuff, smiled at Max, the doorman, and gave him the car keys so that he could have the car parked in a two thousand dollars per month garage spot nearby. She might not use it again for weeks, or even months, but it was nice to know she could.
“I’m home!” She took a deep breath and called out to anyone who might be in the flat. Since it was Sunday that would probably be either her father or no one.
She walked the length of the kitchen and beyond to a small, but elegant and sunny breakfast room that overlooked Central Park and was rarely seen by anyone other than the two living St. Germaines and staff.
“I say, ‘I’m home!’”, she repeated as she flopped into a chair opposite where her dad was having coffee and reading the paper.
David St. Germaine looked over the top of the Wall Street Journal. “So I see.”
“Wow. Welcome home.”
He slid a section of the Sunday Times toward where she sat across the glass top table. “I second the ‘wow’.”
Before looking down at whatever he wanted her to see, she could tell that he was the farthest thing from happy. When she’d seen him two days before at graduation, he’d been delighted. He and his date for the day. Garland didn’t remember her name. There was no point. Her father rarely saw women more than once.
On the cusp of fifty, he was still handsome, with a little silver above his ears and a tan that never faded completely because he made a point of sailing twice a month, when weather and business permitted. He’d been referred to as ‘eligible bachelor’ in the, ahem, society pages more than once, but Garland doubted the veracity of that claim. Since her mother’s death, he hadn’t given anyone reason to think he was ‘eligible’.
Garland tore her eyes away from his scowl, not his most attractive expression, to look at the paper in front of her. The front and center color image was none other than herself wearing a short sparkly dress that had ridden far too high as she fell backwards spilling a colorful beverage when she went sprawling into the laps of laughing friends.
The headline read, “Germane Enterprises Princess Out on the Town. Daddy’s little girl lets her hair down and her skirt up.”
As she stared at the page, her father said, “Nice dress,” in a tone dripping with sarcasm.
Without looking up, she said quietly, “We were just having some fun. We just graduated…”
“How many times have I told you that what you do reflects on me? And, by extension, on Germane Enterprises?”
She met his glare. “Thousands.”
“That’s right! Thousands. You would think a girl capable of graduating Dartmouth summa cum laude would get it after mere dozens of times.”
“Everybody else…”
“You’re not everybody else though. Are you?”
She lowered her eyes. “No.”
“With great privilege comes great responsibility.”
She bit back a comment that tried to take possession of her mouth. Something about using condoms and clubbing with a designated driver. But she thought better of it, deciding that sort of retort would make her sound weak and juvenile. So she said nothing. After a few seconds of staring, her father continued.
“Christ, Garland. You and your miscreant friends got thrown out of some cheap dive? That’s pretty hard to do. Places like that host Ladies Nights to attract young women to come in.” She lowered her eyes. There really wasn’t a defense. He let out a frustrated breath. “What are your plans?”
“My plans?”
“Yes, Garland. As in, what do you plan to do when you wake up tomorrow?”
“I just finished school. I was thinking I’d take a couple of weeks to shop and get together with friends before…”
“Before what?”
Truthfully, she hadn’t gotten to the what. Her vision included lunching and shopping. “I haven’t worked that out yet.”
“Good. Then you won’t be inconvenienced to have to cancel anything.”
“What do you …?”
“I’ve made plans for you. I’ll be spending most of the summer at the property we’re renovating in Texas. You’re coming with me.”
“To Texas!?!” She looked as horrified as if she’d just been told she’d be summering inside a tank on a war torn border somewhere between the remnants of Arabia and the remnants of Persia.
He went on as calmly as if she hadn’t spoken. “This,” he glanced down at the tattling paper, “is an indication that you’re not ready to make your own choices. So I’ll make them for you. Austin this summer then Wharton School this Fall. Thank goodness your GPA is high enough. I’ll have to call in some favors and probably contribute a fortune as well, but you will get in.”
“To Business School? I don’t want to study business. I can’t think of anything less fun. And Philadelphia? Really?”
She saw the traces of a smirk appear around his mouth. “This has nothing to do with fun, Garland. It’s about being a productive member of this family and, by extension, a productive member of society. When you have an MBA from Wharton, you’ll be ready to step into Germane Enterprises and do something worthwhile with your life.”
Her eyes flashed. “You can’t make those decisions for me. I’m not a little girl.”
His face softened slightly, but was no less serious. “No. You’re not. And you’re welcome to show me your independence by walking out that door with your clothes and the college degree you just earned. You can start at home plate, instead of on third base. Like I did,” he added.
The range of limited options flew across her vision like a rapid-fire music video. And she didn’t like anything she saw.
Staring at her father across the table, Garland wanted to be the girl who took that option. She wanted to stand up and say, “Okay. I’m out.” But after a lifetime of pampering, she didn’t think she was cut out for pioneering a whole new way of life.
 “I guess you win then. I’m not prepared to be homeless.”
“It’s not a matter of me ‘winning’. It’s about what’s best for you.” He snapped the paper and went back to reading. “We’re leaving in two days. You can shop and play with your friends until then.” He lowered the paper again long enough to say,  “Do you think you can manage to stay out of the news for that long?”
Since the question was rhetorical, she simply rose and left the room. There was nothing more to be said. It was the adult version of being grounded.
Garland didn’t hate her father. She knew he loved her in his own distant, emotionally detached, heavy-handed way. She’d also spent enough time in the homes of friends to know that warmth and affection had been missing in their household since her mother had died when she was thirteen.
Visiting with friends was a great vicarious pleasure for her. She loved observing the dynamics of families where love was shared openly and without agenda. She wanted that for herself someday. Desperately.

 CHAPTER 2  

Be a simple kind of man. - Lynyrd Skynyrd

Brant Fornight was a third generation Austin native and everything about the town suited him just fine. He wasn’t one of those people who lived in the mountains, but dreamed of a house on the beach. Or vice versus. No, indeed. Dry air, hills, and Live Oak was good enough for him.
He’d made up his mind that he wasn’t interested in the life the motorcycle club could offer him. Since he’d grown up around his dad’s club, he was able to make an informed choice. He didn’t have the kind of angry fire in the belly that motivated a man to choose that path. He wasn’t overly interested in money, especially not if it came with the risk of a prison sentence. And he hadn’t experienced the sort of gross injustice that had caused the original seven members, all Vietnam vets, to band together with a third finger prominently raised and pointed at all aspects of society who didn’t get what they were about.
Brant thought of himself as a simple sort of guy even though he was an avid reader of classic works and secretly pondered some of the great philosophical brain-scramblers while he worked as a mechanic. If there was a time when Brant hadn’t loved mechanics, he couldn’t remember it. He was born with a talent for taking things apart and putting them back together, in better condition than before. The MC, the Sons of Sanctuary, had nurtured that natural born gift by mentoring and letting him work on their vehicles.
After high school, he drifted from one Austin repair shop to the next, accidentally improving his resume with each move to a larger shop that earned a better title and more money. When he was twenty-five, he took a job as Head Mechanic at the Yellow Rose Country Club and Resort. It required skill as a mechanic and as a manager of fuckwads who needed a babysitter more than a supervisor. Even though he was younger than almost all the guys who reported to him, he handled it. One way or another.
He smiled about that. It’s exactly the sort of thing his old man liked to say. Get it done. One way or another.
It never occurred to Brant to wonder if there was more to life, and maybe he never would have, if Garland St. Germaine hadn’t gotten lost on her self-exploration of the resort grounds. Occupied by her own dark thoughts, not looking at much but the pavement in front of her, she’d wandered far afield of guest paths. When she looked up, she was in front of the vehicle maintenance barn. She didn’t know how she got there and wasn’t sure about how to find her way back.
Since she’d been at the Yellow Rose for a week, she’d acquired a golden tan that would be the envy of any lotion ad. Her ash blonde hair had also lightened several shades and taken on some dramatic, but still natural, highlights. Wearing a tank top, knee length shorts, and flip flops, she walked into the open-bayed warehouse and froze when she came face to face with Brant Fornight.
He was wearing jeans and a black tee with the Yellow Rose logo and text that simply read CREW.
He looked her over too quickly to be accused of leering at a guest. And everything about her screamed guest, from the small diamond studs in her ears to the designer sunglasses to the skin that had that look of perfect nutrition and expensive lotion.
“What can I do for you, darlin’?”
The endearment was politically incorrect according to the new standards, but if she complained, he could always say it was just part of the local charm.
Coming face to face with the twin fires in his striking black eyes, she temporarily forgot what she needed. It was hard to tell whether the amusement on his handsome face was a permanent expression or if he was having fun at her expense.
She cleared her throat. “I was having a look at the property and I guess I got turned around.”
“Yeah.” He gave her a slow smile that had all her lady parts perking up and standing at attention. “We don’t get many people who start out looking for the pool and wind up here,” he drawled while wiping his hands on a rag.
She scowled. “I wasn’t looking for the pool. I was just…”
“Havin’ a look at the property.” He smiled. He pointed to a black and green vehicle that also bore the Yellow Rose logo. “Whatever. Hop in this golf cart and I’ll drive you back.”
“I don’t want to put you out.”
He laughed out loud and shook his head. “This is the best thing that’s happened to me this year. Come on. I’ll go fast enough to get the breeze goin’ and cool you off.”
She had gone past attractive glow to out and out sweat some time ago. As if on cue, she felt a trickle of perspiration run between her breasts when he said ‘cool you off’ and blushed for, what she was sure was, the first time in her life.
“Well, it is kind of hot out here,” she said, looking around as if someone might argue. Or intervene.
He looked over at the temperature gauge. “Only 96 in the shade. ‘Course that’s the way they report temps. In the shade. But,” he looked down at her feet,”it’s really about 115 where you’re standin’ on that asphalt in the sun.”
Following his eyes down to the tarmac beneath her feet, she realized that she did actually feel as if she was slow cooking.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
His grin was even more heart-stopping. He opened a refrigerator, withdrew a bottle of water, and set it in the cart’s drink holder. After she seated herself on the passenger side of the cart, he handed her the ice cold bottle of water, “All part of the service, ma’am.”
“Thank you.” She took it gratefully, but as badly as she wanted to drink, she wanted to feel the cold bottle against her skin even more. She held it against her chest, closed her eyes and moaned. “You’re an angel in disguise.”
When she opened her eyes and saw the change in his expression, she realized that calling attention to her breasts may not have been the smoothest move.
Brant tore his gaze from the water bottle. It may have elicited a moan that would haunt his fantasies forever, but even he knew that ogling guests was crossing a line. He wasn’t sure whether he should be glad that he’d given her a cold compress, or curse himself for it. The new view was just as interesting. She’d removed her sunglasses and stuck them on top of her head, which left him exactly sixteen inches away from amber-colored irises that were stunning, and so unusual with her blonde locks that she looked almost exotic. At the moment they were also questioning why he wasn’t starting the engine.
He pushed the ignition button and they lurched forward. When they started down the hill, the cart picked up speed and Garland was surprised to realize that he was right. It didn’t take much air movement to cool her wet and heated skin.
She took a big swig of cold water and laughed. “You’re right. This feels good. You could sell rides to the overheated.”
He smiled, steering and stealing glances at the unlikely passenger and the strange, but welcome turn his morning had taken
. “Doesn’t seem to take much to thrill you. That’s a nice quality. So where to?”
 “You know where the hotel is?” He raised one eyebrow. “Well,” she laughed, “of course you do.” They coasted down a hill then laughed when the cart struggled to climb up the next. When they reached the top, the hotel came into view, sitting on a ridge as if presiding over the Yellow Rose’s five championship golf courses, three of which were under renovation.
She pointed to the right of the eighteen-story hotel. “We’re in one of those villas next to the hotel.”
He whistled long and low. “So I’m guessing you’re not using a stay-two-nights-get-the-third-free coupon.”
She laughed because she had no other response, not knowing if there was such a thing or if he’d just made that up. “Oh, you know, my father is here on some business thing. Told me to either be here for the summer or look for a box under a bridge.”
When Brant looked over, he seemed to be studying her. He suspected that she was early twenties. So what she said about being there with her father didn’t really make sense. “You in a box under a bridge. Can’t see that.”
“Hmmm. Well, it could happen. You remember the story about that ex movie star who was living in the bushes in Central Park?”
“No. I guess I missed that.”
“You must not watch “Entertainment Tonight”.”
He chuckled. “Guilty.”
Brant puzzled at his reaction to that. He hadn’t liked getting an image of another guy calling this girl anything.
 “What’s your name?”
“Brant Fornight. What’s yours?”
“Garland St. Germaine.”
His eyes slid sideways. “Pretty name. And unusual. I don’t think I’ve ever run into a Garland before.”
“It was my grandmother’s maiden name. The one good thing about it is that it doesn’t lend itself to cutesy nicknames.” She chuckled. “The closest anybody ever came to making one stick was this guy at school who used to call me Garfield.”
Brant puzzled at his reaction to that. His gut had tightened. Apparently he didn’t like getting an image of another guy calling this girl anything. Once Brant realized that he wanted to prolong the ride as long as he could, that he would probably never see the beautiful girl with the terrible sense of direction again, he slowed the cart down as much as possible without raising suspicion.
When they reached the walk to the door of her villa, she turned toward him. Her hesitation made him wonder if she was just as reluctant to end the unlikely encounter.
She smiled warmly, “Well. I guess this is me.”
“I guess so.”
“Thank you for the ride, Brant.”
“It was my pleasure, Garland. Whenever you get lost anywhere around vehicle maintenance, the chariot will be at your disposal.”
She grinned. “Flowery words for a vehicle maintenancer.”
“Maybe I’m not one-dimensional.”
She stared as if she was trying to read his mind. “Maybe you’re not.”
“At least I know that maintenancer is not a word.”
She was laughing softly as she got out and walked to the door, knowing that he was watching her derriere under the pretention of seeing her safely home. She swiped the card key, opened the door then turned to smile and wave. In return she was rewarded with a macho chin jerk that made her smile even bigger.