Bet You'll Marry Me (18 page)

 

Read on for a special early look

at Darlene Panzera's delicious new series

The Cupcake Diaries

Three tempting tales

Three mouthwatering heroes

Coming from Avon Impulse

in May 2013

 

 

“Forget love . . . I'd rather fall in chocolate!”

Anonymous

A
NDI CAST A GLANCE
over the rowdy karaoke crowd to the man sitting at the front table with the clear plastic bakery box in his possession.

“What am I supposed to say?” she whispered, looking back at her dark-haired sister Kim, and their redheaded friend Rachel as the three of them huddled together. “ ‘Can I have your cupcake?' He'll think I'm a lunatic.”

“Say ‘please,' and tell him about our tradition,” Kim suggested.

“Offer him money.” Rachel dug through her dilapidated Gucci knockoff purse and withdrew a ten-dollar bill. “And let him know we're celebrating your sister's birthday.”

“You did promise me a cupcake for my birthday,” Kim said with an impish grin. “Besides, the guy doesn't look like he plans to eat it. He hasn't even glanced at the cupcake since the old woman came in and delivered the box.”

Andi tucked a loose strand of her dark blonde hair behind her ear and drew in a deep breath. She wasn't used to taking food from anyone. Usually she was on the other end—giving it away. Her fault. She didn't plan ahead.

Why couldn't any of the businesses here be open twenty-four hours, like in Portland? Out of the two dozen eclectic cafés and restaurants along the Astoria waterfront promising to satisfy customers' palates, shouldn't at least one cater to late-night customers like herself? No, they all shut down at 10:30
P.M.
, some earlier, as if they knew she was coming. That's what she got for living in a small town. Anticipation, but no cake.

However, she was determined not to let her younger sister down. She'd promised Kim a cupcake for her twenty-sixth birthday, and she'd try her best to procure one, even if it meant making a fool of herself.

Andi shot her ever-popular friend Rachel a wry look. “You know you're better at this than I am.”

Rachel grinned. “You're going to have to start interacting with the opposite sex again sometime.”

Maybe. But not on the personal level Rachel's tone suggested. Her divorce the previous year had left behind a bitter aftertaste no amount of sweet talk could dissolve.

Pushing back her chair, Andi stood up. “Tonight, all I want is the cupcake.”

Andi had only taken five steps when the man with the bakery box turned his head and smiled.

He probably thought she was coming over, hoping to find a date. Why shouldn't he? The Captain's Port was filled with people looking for a connection. If not for a lifetime, then at least for the few hours they shared within the friendly confines of the restaurant's casual, communal atmosphere.

She hesitated midstep before continuing forward. Heat rushed into her cheeks. Dressed in jeans, and a navy blue tie and sport coat, he was even better-looking than she'd first thought. Thirtyish. Light brown hair, fair skin, sparkling chocolate-brown eyes—
oh, my
. He could have
his
pick of any girl in the place. Any girl in Astoria, Oregon.

“Hi,” he said in greeting.

Andi swallowed the nervous tension gathering at the back of her throat and managed a smile in return. “Hi. I'm sorry to bother you, but it's my sister's birthday and I promised her a cupcake.” She nodded toward the see-through box and waved the ten-dollar bill. “Is there any chance I can persuade you to sell the one you have here?”

The guy's brows shot up. “You want my cupcake?”

“I meant to bake a batch this afternoon,” she gushed, her words stumbling over themselves, “but I ended up packing spring-break lunches for the needy kids in the school district. Have you heard of the Kids Coalition backpack program?”

He nodded. “Yes, I think the
Astoria Sun
featured the free lunch backpack program on the community page of the newspaper a few weeks ago.”

“I'm a volunteer,” she explained. “And after I finished, I tried to buy a cupcake but didn't get to the store in time. I've never let my sister down before, and I feel awful.”

The handsome man leaned back in his chair and pressed his lips together, as if considering her request, then shook his head. “I'd love to help you, but—”

“
Please
.” Andi gasped, appalled she'd stooped to begging. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I understand if you can't, it's just that my friend Rachel, my sister Kim, and I have a tradition.”

“What kind of tradition?”

Andi pointed to their table, and the other two women smiled and waved. “Our birthdays are all spaced exactly four months apart. So we split a celebration cupcake three ways and set new goals for ourselves from one person's birthday to the next. It's easier than trying to set goals for an entire year.”

“I don't suppose you could set your goals without the cupcake?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Andi smiled. “It wouldn't be the same.”

“If the cupcake were mine to give, it would be yours. But this particular cupcake was delivered special, for a research project I have at work.”

“Wish I had your job.” Andi dropped into the chair he pulled out for her and laid her hands flat on the table. “What if I told you it's been a really tough day, tough week, tough year?”

He pushed his empty coffee cup aside and the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “I'd say I could argue the same.”

“But did you spend the last three hours running all over town looking for a cupcake?” she challenged, playfully mimicking Rachel's flirtatious singsong tone. “The Pig 'n' Pancake was closed, along with the supermarket, and the café down the street said they don't even sell them anymore. And then . . . I met you.”

He covered her left hand with his own, and although the unexpected contact made her jump, she ignored the impulse to pull her fingers away. His gesture seemed more an act of compassion than anything else and . . . she liked the feel of his firm yet gentle touch.

“What if I told you,” he said, leaning forward, “I've traveled five hundred and seventy miles and waited sixty-three days to taste this one cupcake?”

Andi leaned toward him as well. “I'd say that's ridiculous. There's no cupcake in Astoria worth all that trouble.”

“What if this particular cupcake isn't from Astoria?”

“No?” She took another look at the box, but couldn't see a label. “Where is it from?”

“Cannon Beach.”

“What if I told you I could send you a dozen Cannon Beach cupcakes tomorrow?”

“What if I told
you
,” he said, stopping to release a deep throaty chuckle, “this is the last morsel of food I have to eat before I starve to death today?”

Andi laughed. “I'd say that's a good way to go. Or I could invite you to my place and cook you dinner.”

Her heart stopped, stunned by her own words, then rebooted a moment later when their gazes locked and he smiled at her.

“You can have the cupcake on one condition.”

“Which is?”

Giving her a wink, he slid the clear-sided bakery box toward her. Then he leaned his head in close and whispered in her ear.

 

About the Author

A graduate of the
Writers' Digest
advanced novel-writing school and the Christian Writers Guild's apprentice program, DARLENE PANZERA is an active member of Romance Writers of America's Greater Seattle and Peninsula Chapters.

Darlene is the winner of the Make Your Dreams Come True contest, sponsored by Avon Books, which led her novella,
The Bet
, to be published within Debbie Macomber's
Family Affair
, released June 2012.

She's also published several short stories, and
A Look of Love
was a top finalist in the
Writer's Digest
Popular Fiction Awards contest.

Born and raised in New Jersey, Darlene now lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and three children. When not writing, she enjoys spending time with her family and her two horses, and loves camping, hiking, photography, and lazy days at the lake.

Darlene Panzera would love to hear from her readers. You can find her on Facebook, or write to her at: P.O. Box 1876 Belfair, WA 98528

Visit her website at www.darlenepanzera.com.

Visit
www.AuthorTracker.com
for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

 

By Darlene Panzera

Bet You'll Marry Me

 

Give in to your impulses . . .

Read on for a sneak peek at five brand-new

e-book original tales of romance from Avon Books.

Available now wherever e-books are sold.

NIGHTS OF STEEL

T
HE
E
THER
C
HRONICLES

By Nico Rosso

ALICE'S WONDERLAND

By Allison Dobell

ONE FINE FIREMAN

A
B
ACHELOR
F
IREMEN
N
OVELLA

By Jennifer Bernard

THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT LADY MARY

A
S
UMMERSBY
T
ALE

By Sophie Barnes

THE SECRET LIFE OF LADY LUCINDA

A
S
UMMERSBY
T
ALE

By Sophie Barnes

 

An Excerpt from

T
HE
E
THER
C
HRONICLES

by Nico Rosso

Return to The Ether Chronicles, where rival bounty hunters Anna Blue and Jack Hawkins join forces to find a mysterious fugitive, only to get so much more than they bargained for. The skies above the American West are about to get wilder than ever . . .

 

T
ake his hand? Or walk down the broken stairs to chase a cold trail. Anna's body was still buffeted by waves of sensation. The meal was an adventure she shared with Jack. Nearly falling from the stairs, only to be brought close to his body, had been a rush. The hissing of the lodge was the last bit of danger, but it had passed.

The wet heat of that simple room was inviting. Her joints and bones ached for comfort. Deeper down, she yearned for Jack. They'd been circling each other for years. The closer she got—hearing his voice, touching his skin, learning his history—the more the hunger increased. She didn't know where it would lead her, but she had to find out. All she had to do was take his hand.

Anna slid her palm against his. Curled her fingers around him. He held her hand, staring into her eyes. She'd thought she knew the man behind the legend and the metal and the guns, yet now she understood there were miles of territory within him she had yet to discover.

Their grips tightened. They drew closer. He leaned down to her. She pressed against his chest. In the sunlight, they kissed. Neither hid their hunger. She understood his need. His lips on hers were strong, devouring. And she understood her yearning. Probing forward with her tongue, she led him into her.

And it wasn't enough. Their first kiss could've taken them too far and she'd had to stop. Now, with Jack pressed against her, his arm wrapped around her shoulders and his lips against hers, too far seemed like the perfect place to go.

They pulled apart and, each still gripping the other's hand, walked back into the lodge room. Sheets of steam curled up the walls and filled the space, bringing out the scent of the redwood paneling. The room seemed alive, breathing with her.

Jack cracked a small smile. “This guy, Song, I like his style. Lot of inventors are drunk on tetrol. Half-baked ideas that don't work right.” He held up his half-mechanical hand. “People wind up getting hurt.”

“Song knows his business,” she agreed. “So why the bounty?”

He leveled his gaze at her. It seemed the steam came from him, his intensity. “You want a cold trail or a hot bath?”

She took off her hat, holding his look and not backing down. “Hot. Bath.”

Burbling invitingly like a secluded brook, the tub waited in the corner. The steam softened its edges and obscured the walls around it. As if the room went on forever.

With the toe of his boot, Jack swung the front door closed. Only the small lights in the ceiling glowed. Warm night clouds now surrounded her. A gentle storm. And Jack was the lightning. Still gripping her hand, he walked her toward the tub, chuckling a little to himself.

“My last bath was at a lonely little stage stop hotel in Camarillo.”

The buckle on her gun belt was hot from the steam. “I'm overdue.” She undid it and held the rig in her hand.

“I'm guessing you picked up Malone's trail sometime after the Sierras, so it's been a few hundred miles for you, too.”

It took her a second to track her path backward. “Beatty, Nevada.”

“Rough town.” He let go of her hand so he could undo the straps and belts that held his own weapons.

She hung her gun belt on a wooden peg on the wall next to the tub. Easy to reach if she had to. “A little less rough after I left.”

His pistols and quad shotgun took their place next to her weapons. He was unarmed. But still deadly. Broad shoulders, muscled arms and legs. Dark, blazing eyes. And the smallest smile.

They came together again, this time without the clang of gunmetal. The heat of the room had soaked through her clothes, bringing a light sweat across her skin. She felt every fold of fabric, and every ridge of his muscles. Her hands ran over the cords of his neck, pulling him to her mouth for another kiss.

Nerves yearned for sensation. Dust storms had chafed her flesh. Ice-cold rivers had woken her up, and she'd slept in the rain while waiting out a fugitive. She needed pleasure. And Jack was the only man strong enough to bring it to her.

 

An Excerpt from

by Allison Dobell

When journalist and notorious womanizer Flynn O'Grady publicly mocks Alice Mitchell's erotic luxury goods website, the game is on. They soon find themselves locked in a sensual battle where Alice must step up the spice night after night as, one by one, Flynn's defenses crumble.

AN AVON RED NOVELLA

 

F
lynn O'Grady had gone too far this time. It was bad enough that Sydney Daily's resident male blogger continued to push his low opinions about women into the community (he seemed to have an ongoing problem with shoes and shopping), but this time he'd mentioned her business by name.

How dare he suggest she was a charlatan, promising the world and delivering nothing! The women who came to Alice's Wonderland were discerning, educated, and thoroughly in charge of their sexuality. They loved to play and knew the value in paying for quality. They knew the difference between her beautiful artisan-made, hand-carved, silver-handled spanking paddle (of which she'd moved over 500 units this past financial year, she might add) and a $79.95 mass-produced Taiwanese purple plastic dildo from hihosilver.com.

Still, while Alice didn't agree with the raunch culture that prevailed at hihosilver, she'd defend (with one of their cheap dildos raised high) the right of any woman to take on a Tickler, Rabbit, or Climax Gem in the privacy of her own home. Where was it written that men had cornered the market for liking sex? O'Grady had clearly been under a rock for at least three decades.

Alice reached for the old-fashioned cream-and-gold telephone on her glass-topped desk and dialed. She knew what she needed to do to make a man like Flynn O'Grady understand where she was coming from. As the phone rang, she re-read the blog entry for the third time. Anger rose within her, but she pushed it down. She'd need her wits about her for this conversation.

“O'Grady.”

Alice took a deep breath before she began. “Mr. O'Grady, we haven't met, but you seem to know all about me.”

A brief silence on the other end.

“I see,” came the answer. “Would you care to elaborate?” His voice was deep and husky around the edges. He should have been in radio, rather than in print.

“Alice Mitchell here. Purveyor of broken promises.”

Another pause.

“Ms. Mitchell, how . . . delightful.” His tone made it clear that it was anything but.

“I'm sure,” said Alice, raising one eyebrow slightly, allowing her smile to warm her words. “You've had quite a lot to say about my business today. I was wondering if we could meet. I think I deserve the right of reply.”

“I'm not sure what good that would do, Ms. Mitchell,” he replied, smoothly. “You're more than welcome to respond via the comments section on my blog.”

She'd had the feeling he'd try that.

“I think this is more . . . personal than that,” Alice purred down the line. “I'd like to try to convince you of my . . . position.” She stifled a laugh, enjoying every second of this. She could easily imagine him squirming in his chair right now.

The silence that followed inched toward uncomfortable.

“Er, right. Well, I don't have any time today, but I could see you on Wednesday,” he said.

It was Monday. Give him all day Tuesday to plan his defenses? Not likely.

“It would be great if you could make it today,” she said, a hint of steel entering her tone. “I'd hate to have to take this to your boss. I suspect there may be grounds for a defamation complaint, but I'm sure the two of us can work it out . . .” She left the idea dangling. The media was no place for job insecurity in the current climate, and she knew he was too smart not to know that. He needed to keep his boss happy.

“I could fit you in tonight, but it would need to be after 7.30,” he said, his voice carefully controlled.

‘ “Perfect,” she said, “I'll come to your office.”

She put down the phone, allowing him no time to answer, then sat back in her chair. Now all she needed to do was select an item or two that would help her to convince Flynn he should change his mind.

Standing quickly, she prowled over to the open glass shelving that took up one wall of her domain. Although it might be of use in getting her point across, it was probably too soon for the geisha gag. She didn't know him well enough to bring out the tooled leather slave-style handcuffs. Wait a minute! She almost spanked herself with the paddle that Flynn O'Grady had derided for overlooking the obvious.

Moving to a small glass cabinet in the corner, she opened the top drawer and inspected the silken blindfolds. She picked up a scarlet one and held it, delicate and cool to the touch, in her hand.

Perfect.

 

An Excerpt from

A
B
ACHELOR
F
IREMEN
N
OVELLA

by Jennifer Bernard

What happens when you mix together an absolutely gorgeous fireman, a beautiful but shy woman, her precocious kid, and a very mischievous little dog? Find out in Jennifer Bernard's sizzling hot
One Fine Fireman
.

 

T
he door opened, and three firemen walked in. Maribel nearly dropped the Lazy Morning Specials in table six's lap. Goodness, they were like hand grenades of testosterone rolling in the door, sucking all the air out of the room. They wore dark blue t-shirts tucked into their yellow firemen's pants, thick suspenders holding up the trousers. They walked with rolling strides, probably because of their big boots. Individually they were handsome, but collectively they were devastating.

Maribel knew most of the San Gabriel firemen by name. The brown-haired one with eyes the color of a summer day was Ryan Blake. The big, bulky guy with the intimidating muscles was called Vader. She had no idea what his real name was, but apparently the nickname came from the way he loved to make spooky voices with his breathing apparatus. The third one trailed behind the others, and she couldn't make out his identity. Then Ryan took a step forward, revealing the man behind him. She sucked in a breath.

Kirk was back
. For months she'd been wondering where he was and been too shy to ask. She'd worried that he'd transferred to another town, or decided to chuck it all and sail around the world. She'd been half afraid she'd never see him again. But here he was, in the flesh, just as mouthwatering as ever. Her face heated as she darted glance after glance at him, like a starving person just presented with prime rib. It was wrong, so wrong; she was engaged. But she couldn't help it. She had to see if everything about him was as she remembered.

His silvery gray-green eyes, the exact color of the sagebrush that grew in the hills around San Gabriel, hadn't changed, though he looked more tired than she remembered. His blond hair, which he'd cut drastically since she'd last seen him, picked up glints of sunshine through the plate glass window. His face looked thinner, maybe older, a little pale. But his mouth still had that secret humorous quirk. The rest of his face usually held a serious expression, but his mouth told a different story. It was as if he hid behind a quiet mask, but his mouth had chosen to rebel. Not especially tall, he had a powerful, quiet presence and a spectacular physique under his firefighter gear. She noticed that, unlike the others, he wore a long-sleeved shirt.

His fellow firefighters called him Thor. She could certainly see why. He looked like her idea of a Viking god, though she would imagine the God of Thunder would be more of a loudmouth. Kirk was not a big talker. He didn't say much, but when he spoke, people seemed to listen.

She certainly did, even though all he'd said to her was, “Black, no sugar,” and “How much are those little Christmas ornaments?” referring to the beaded angels she made for sale during the holidays. It was embarrassing how much she relived those little moments afterward.

Tossing friendly smiles to the other customers, the three men strolled to the counter where she took the orders. They gathered around the menu board, though why they bothered, she didn't know. They always ordered the same thing. Firemen seemed to be creatures of habit. Or at least her firemen were.

 

An Excerpt from

A
S
UMMERSBY
T
ALE

by Sophie Barnes

When Mary Croyden inherits a title and a large sum of money, she must rely on the help of one man—Ryan Summersby. But Mary's hobbies are not exactly proper, and Ryan is starting to realize that this simple miss is not at all what he expected . . . in the second Summersby Tale from Sophie Barnes.