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Authors: Addison Fox

Baby It's Cold Outside

BOOK: Baby It's Cold Outside
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Table of Contents
 
 
 
Praise for the
 
Sons of the Zodiac Series
 
 
Warrior Betrayed
 
“An action-packed and emotionally charged good time.”
—The Romance Dish
 
 
“Will delight paranormal romance lovers . . . Fox weaves mythology and romance into a fun-filled adventure.”

Romantic Times
 
 
 
Warrior Avenged
“Sexy immortal warriors . . . powerful love stories.”
—Risqué Reviews
 
 
Warrior Ascended
“Fox debuts with a strong start to the Sons of the Zodiac series . . . [a] powerful romance.”

Publishers Weekly
 
 
“This new series puts a delightful twist [on] the Greek gods and the myths surrounding them. Each character has [his or her] own depth and talents that will keep you turning the pages and begging for more. A great start to a promising paranormal series!”
—Fresh Fiction
 
 
“This book was a blast to read; combining paranormal romance, enjoyable heroes and heroines, and globe-traveling intrigue kept me turning the pages.”
—Errant Dreams Reviews
 
 
“Promise[s] plenty of action, treachery, and romance!”

Romantic Times
 
Also by Addison Fox
 
THE SONS OF THE ZODIAC SERIES
Warrior Ascended
Warrior Avenged
Warrior Betrayed
SIGNET ECLIPSE
Published by New American Library, a division of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto,
Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2,
Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)
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Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)
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New Delhi - 110 017, India
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New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue,
Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
 
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:
80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
 
First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
 
First Printing, November 2011
 
Copyright © Frances Karkosak, 2011
All rights reserved
 
SIGNET ECLIPSE and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
 
 
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
 
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
 
ISBN : 978-1-101-54549-2
 
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

http://us.penguingroup.com

For Kerry Donovan
 
I only thought I was excited to work on this book—and then I was lucky enough to work on it with you.
Chapter One
 
New York City
The Sunday after Thanksgiving
 
J
ane Austen had it wrong, Sloan McKinley thought miserably as the black Lincoln Town Car drove her ever closer to the bright lights of the George Washington Bridge and the Manhattan streets she called home. A man in possession of a good fortune only wanted to get laid.
Of course, she thought reflectively, that made rich men really no different from the poor ones.
Despite the fact that dear old Jane was being cheeky in her pronouncements on the proclivities of wealthy young bachelors, Sloan knew her point was valid all the same.
What she didn’t know was why her mother thought an endless parade of Scarsdale’s finest was going to be the answer to her daughter’s walk down the aisle.
She’d known these men since birth—had played Little League soccer with them, dissected frogs in science class as lab partners and attended the prom together. She knew who had been a bad loser, who had stuffed frog parts inside the principal’s tote bag and who had puked outside their limo after the prom.
Sadly, she
knew
these guys. None of them had developed any mind-blowing, irresistible qualities as they matured. Sloan hadn’t wanted any of them at fifteen and not much had changed.
Case in point: one Trevor Stuart Kincaid the Fourth—Trent to all who knew and loved him. If the asshole stuck his hand on her knee and allowed his pinky finger to creep up her inner thigh one more time, she was likely to go all Terminator on his Armani-covered ass.
And to think she had actually been looking forward to seeing him.
“I’m glad your mother suggested this. It’s a far more enjoyable drive back to the city with company.”
“She’s full of ideas.” Sloan shifted yet again, firmly pushing his fingers away as his other hand inched closer on the backseat. “So tell me about what you’ve been working on. That hotel you designed in Seattle is absolutely magnificent.”
“The Dahlia?” His bloodshot eyes sparkled for a moment under the reflected lights of the streetlamps and a surge of hope filled her. She’d visited the hotel shortly after it had opened and had been impressed that it was designed by someone she’d known since childhood.
It had been that spark—that innate belief that who you were at fifteen
didn’t
dictate who you were forever—that she’d been desperately searching for since Trent had arrived at her parents’ for dinner.
“It’s a sweet gig. They’re paying me to design a sister hotel in Malaysia, so I can’t complain. Speaking of sweet gigs”—he let the words hang there for a moment before leaning closer—“why haven’t we ever gone out, you and me?”
Perhaps because Mitzi Goodby shared with our entire class at our fifteen-year reunion just how shitty you were in bed, how you enjoy the occasional cocaine bender and that you are a bad tipper.
But Sloan said none of that and instead opted for, “I think we’ve likely just been in different places in our lives.”
“It looks like we’re in the same place now.”
“We’re probably not as close as you think.”
“We can easily fix that.”
Sloan caught the driver’s raised eyebrows in the rear-view mirror and shot him a glare. While she knew she wasn’t in any danger—Trent was a world-class jerk with opportunistic hands, but that was about it—she also knew most people saw only what they wanted to see when they looked at her. Blond hair, all-American blue eyes and a slender five-foot-eight-inch frame had a way of doing that to a person.
The gangly, ugly duckling Trent must remember from high school—which was one of the many reasons they never
had
been in the same place—had been replaced on the surface by a swan.
But it was the duckling that Sloan couldn’t seem to shake loose.
People thought they were so discreet, but Sloan knew how she was discussed in her family’s social circle. The only daughter of Forrest and Winifred McKinley had been
saved
, according to the wealthy matrons of Westchester, by the overpowering influence of genetics. The gawky teenager had long ago been replaced by a grown woman with poise, intelligence and flawless skin, a fact for which her mother would be forever grateful.
BOOK: Baby It's Cold Outside
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