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“As long as we’re on the same page…keep doing what you’re doing,” she said, her voice breathless.
“Gladly.”
He grinned, knowing that life couldn’t get any better than this.
About the Author
Diane Alberts is a multi-published, bestselling author with Entangled Publishing, Swoon Romance, and Decadent Publishing. ON ONE CONDITION hit #18 on the Barnes and Noble bestseller list, and TRY ME hit #76 on Amazon. CAPTIVATED BY YOU hit #31 on the Barnes and Noble bestseller list. She also writes New Adult books under the name Jen McLaughlin. Diane is represented by Louise Fury from the L. Perkins Agency.
Additional titles from Entangled Ever After…
Risky Surrender
He lifted her wrist. “What’s this?” He twisted the ring around.
Lucy tried to wiggle free, but it was no use. His eyes widened when he saw the one-of-a-kind piece of jewelry.
Her heart rate kicked into double time. “It’s my grandmother’s.” She yanked free of his hold and stood confidently. If she made a quick getaway now, he’d definitely suspect something and follow her.
He eyed her cautiously. “You weren’t wearing it before. When I helped you pick up the appetizers I knocked over.”
He’d checked out her hand for a ring? “Sure I was.”
“Did you steal it?” His voice was void of all tenderness now and she gulped.
Not because she was afraid she’d be caught, but because he’d drawn that conclusion so quickly and easily. And while he was at it, she could see the attraction he’d felt for her vanish.
“I don’t steal things.” She took them within the confines of the law—she just needed to bypass the red tape and rules so that she could complete Malcolm’s jobs as quickly as possible. She always worked with care and tried to leave minimal disruption to every site.
She ignored the tight bundle of nerves at the base of her spine. One more time, then I’m through.
“McCall. Jesus, where have you been?” A good-looking guy with wavy hair and sunglasses hanging off his shirt collar approached them.
McCall took his attention off her for a split second and that was all the distraction she needed. She wove her way through the guests to make her way to the starboard side of the ship.
Once there, she got into one of the motorboats used to transport guests to and from the party and fired up the engine.
“Hey!”
She looked up. McCall had his hands braced on the railing, ready to jump overboard to catch her. With a tight grip on the steering wheel, Lucy gunned it. And she couldn’t help it—she waved goodbye, twisting her hand at the wrist like they do on parade floats, so that he’d be sure to see the emerald ring on her finger.
One Night in the Spa
“I could start listing the muscles of the scalp,” he said as he worked, “but you’d be bored to tears. Let me just tell you what you need to know: you’ve got a headache. You probably always have a headache, but you’re so used to it, you don’t even notice.”
She wanted to argue with him. She wanted to tell him that if she didn’t notice the pain, then it wasn’t important. But apparently it was important because the moment his fingers started easing the tension, everything in her world started to get better. Suddenly she didn’t feel so beaten down. She breathed easier, and she even felt taller. Stupid when she was lying down, but what he did was like water to a dying plant. All of a sudden, she was beginning to perk up. And she never wanted it to stop.
“Do all your clients melt into a puddle on your table?”
“Only the best ones.”
Then he started moving lower, slipping his hands beneath her and using her body weight to produce the pressure. He went from her scalp to the base of her skull, then to her neck and shoulders. Every push of his fingers, every deep circle had her opening up to him. Not just in body, but in mind. She began to trust him in a deeper way than ever before. Which was strange because over the past three years, he’d been an integral part of every day. He knew more about her than anyone. And yet, at this moment, he became more to her. He could probably ask her to give over state secrets and she’d whisper them without a second thought. And if he asked her anything more personal—like if she’d fantasized about the two of them together—then she’d tell him that too. Thank God he wasn’t asking.
The Countess’s Groom
OCTOBER 2, 1762
Will Fenmore, horses’ groom to Rose Quayle, Countess of Malmstoke, watched his mistress as Creed Hall came into view on the hilltop. It jutted from the dark trees, a grim building of gray stone.
