scroll down for excerpt
A lot of women have tried to seduce sweet, sexy Sam Willow.
Even his absent-mindedness hasn’t put them off. The only woman who
doesn’t seem interested in a relationship with him is the voluptuous Carly
Miller. So why can’t he get her off his mind?
Is seduction in the air, and if so, who is seducing whom?
“Bugger me dead!” Dropping the box onto the veranda with a loud clatter,
Carly clasped her hand in the other and squeezed it between her thighs in
a vain attempt to stop the pain.
A natural instinct that actually didn’t work, though almost everyone did it.
She knew she had to check the damage, but it hurt so damned much that
she didn’t want to look. At the very least, it was a deep cut. At the most,
half of her hand was going to fall off. Neither was something she wanted
“Shit shit shit!” Biting her lip, she leaned back against the wall. Looking
down, she could see blood staining her pale blue pedal pushers. In fact, a
slip of blood was dripping from between her clenched hands. “Uh-oh.”
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. She had to look, had to see what
the damage was, and after she finished picking up her half a hand off the
veranda – for sure half was going to fall off as soon as she unclenched her
thighs from around them – she would phone Ed, make him return right now,
and kill him.
Steeling herself for the worst, she took another deep breath and-
“Are you all right, honey?” The deep voice came from above her.
Surely it couldn’t be…
“You’ve cut yourself.” A big hand came to rest on her back.
Big feet clad only in a pair of thongs appeared to her gaze. Oh great.
Lifting her head, she looked up a pair of long, muscular legs to find herself
on level with the half fastened fly on a baggy pair of cargo shorts. Craning
her head, she looked higher. Yep, there was that incredible six pack and further
up a pair of impressive pecs. Big, broad shoulders. She couldn’t straighten
much further without unclenching her thighs, but there was no doubting the
identity of the man.
The imbecile from across the road, Sam Willow. Big, dumb, Sam Willow.
Built like a wet dream and as thick as two bricks.
In the short time she’d been intermittently here unpacking, she’d seen him
searching for his shovel, his glasses, his hat, his water bottle, and his cat,
who’d been sitting on the swing chair on the veranda. Beside his probably
Ed had come in chortling the night before to tell her that Sam had, apparently,
forgotten his date, too. She’d been knocking on his door and he’d appeared
wearing a pair of boxers and nothing else, a totally befuddled look on his
Great body, handsome face, empty head. Shame, but there you have it.
It figured that her luck would go like this. Just when she needed someone
who knew what they were doing, when her hand was going to probably fall
off, she had the dumb ox of the neighbourhood telling her the obvious. He’d
probably sticky tape it up for her, if he didn’t faint first.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“You don’t say.”
A sudden move and then he was crouched in front of her, startling her when
his face appeared right in her line of vision.
Dumb he might be, but she had to admit that up close he was one fine
looking bloke. Shoulder length, sun-streaked, sandy hair fastened at his nape,
thick-lashed, hazel eyes that up close were almost startling, especially when
she saw the emerald flecks within the grey, the sudden intensity in those
eyes. A straight nose and a mouth that was pure masculine beauty – full
yet firm. Throw in the cleft in his chin and a square jaw that added
strong character, and he was incredibly handsome in a fresh, sunny, surfie
It was the first time she’d seen him up close and her breath caught. Damn,
those rugged looks and that even more rugged body was a sin, so wasted
on an airhead. Such a crying shame.
One big hand came out, the muscles in his arm flexing, his fingers long and
firm as he took hold of her wrist. “Show me.”
Blinking back her dazed awe, she came back to reality. “I’m fine.”
“I won’t hurt you.”
Oh, those words were like honey. No, wait, his voice was like honey, all
warm and soothing. His grip, however, while gentle, she couldn’t help but
notice was sure, those long fingers wrapping around her wrist as though he
wasn’t going to tolerate any resistance.
The hell if she was going to allow this big, yummy, dumb ox to try and
control her. “I said, I’m fine.” Straightening, Carly unclenched her thighs
and jerked her hand away, only to blink and gape at her hand. Holy Hannah,
how much blood was there? “Freakin’ heck, my hand is going to fall off!”
Now two big hands had hold of hers, one around her wrist, the other cupping
the back of her hand as Sam studied her throbbing and bloodied palm as
though he knew what he was doing. “You might need stitches.”
“What?” She jerked at her hand. “No!”
“I’ll take you to the hospital and-”
“No. No way.” She tried to wrench her hand away, only to gasp at the pain.
Those thick lashes lifted and Sam looked her squarely in the eyes. “Honey, it’s
going to be all right.”
“I am not going to the hospital and that’s final.” She set her jaw. “I can fix
Looking on the bright side, at least half her hand wasn’t falling off. That had
to be a bonus. On this whole miserable day it had to be the one thing that
Sam didn’t waste time. One smooth motion and he pushed upright, but instead
of releasing her hand, he kept it cradled in his and placed his other hand at
her back, turning her with what she could swear was a practiced move, and
proceeded to use his body to usher her ahead of him into the house.
“What the-” she began.
She tried to dig in her heels. “Look, I-”
“Honey, where is the kitchen?”
When she looked up at him – and she had to tip her head back to do so, hell,
he was tall – it was to find him looking down at her with quiet determination.
Okay, that was unexpected.
Copyright 2013 Angela Verdenius