Holt KISS ME

1. Auflage 2011
ISBN: 978-1-61842-815-8
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, Band 1, 236 Seiten

Reihe: KISS ME

New York Times bestselling author, CHERYL HOLT, dazzles readers once again as she delivers another irresistible story of love, lust, betrayal, and redemption.

CHERYL HOLT is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of thirty novels. She has numerous national writing awards to her credit and is particularly proud to have been named 'Best Storyteller of the Year' by the trade magazine, Romantic Times. She lives and writes in Los Angeles and loves to hear from fans. Visit her website at www.cherylholt.com.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Holt, Cheryl

Leseproben

CHAPTER ONE

“Kiss me.”

“What?”

Dustin Merriweather stumbled to a halt as a short, voluptuous brunette threw herself into his arms. 

She was all lush curves and smooth, soft skin, her head a tangle of riotous curls that tickled his chin.  Her petite frame fit perfectly against his tall, lanky one, and wretch that he was, he was in no hurry to push her away.

When he bothered to date, he chose actresses and models.  He had the money and renown to surround himself with some of the world’s most beautiful women.  But they were the types who starved themselves to the point of emaciation, so her shapely body was a nice change. 

He could feel it through the puffy goose down of her unflattering parka.  It looked like a garment her younger brother probably wore in the sixth grade.

“Don’t just stand there,” she said.  “Kiss me or hug me or something.”

“I don’t think I know you well enough to kiss you.”

“Then be a brick wall and hide me.”

He chuckled at her vehemence, as she moved closer and burrowed inside his leather jacket.  Her cheek was pressed directly over his heart, her slender hands sliding around his waist to clasp the small of his back.  She angled them so that his shoulders faced the street, and she was cradled against the wall of the building next to them.

“What are we doing?” he asked. 

“Ssh,” she warned.  “Not so loud.”

“What are we doing?” he repeated, whispering. 

“There is a woman on the sidewalk behind you, and she’ll pass by in a minute.  You can’t let her see me.”

“All right.”

He stood in the quiet, enjoying the feminine feel of her as he breathed deep of the cold autumn air.  The stark scenery washed over him.  It was a crisp October afternoon, the jagged peaks of the Rocky Mountains towering to the sky.  Up on the steep slopes, a few patches of color were still visible as the last leaves on the aspen trees clung tenaciously to the branches. 

Soon they’d all be gone, and the frigid gray of winter would set in.

Earlier in the morning, he’d driven up from Denver.  Business had dragged him to the isolated town of Gold Creek.  Though his family had made the bulk of their fortune in the prior century, emptying the abandoned mines that dotted the narrow canyon, he’d never previously visited. 

With the elevation above eight-thousand feet, it wasn’t the most hospitable place.  Only the hardiest souls could manage to thrive in such an unwelcoming environment.  His shrewd, industrious great, great grandfather—a pioneer and prospector—had been one of them, but Dustin had no interest in following in the man’s footsteps.

He preferred the warmth of Los Angeles and the sandy beaches of the Caribbean, and at age twenty-eight, his constant goal was to work as little as possible and play as much as he was able.

The town’s main street, with its old shops and dilapidated houses, looked as if everybody was barely holding on.  The area hadn’t generated any of the modern economic prosperity achieved by other mountain communities. 

It was too far out of the way to attract tourists, and there were no gentle slopes that might have allowed for a ski resort or summer hiking.  The mines had been boarded for decades so employment was sporadic and intermittent. 

Who would live in such a godforsaken spot?  Who could bear it?

He tamped down a shudder, imagining a windy, January day.  It wasn’t unusual to have four-hundred inches of snow in the winter, and his contemplation of that pile of white stuff ignited a wave of claustrophobia.

On the trip up from Denver, he’d considered staying over, maybe checking out grainy photos at the historical society’s museum, but he wouldn’t. 

He had no abiding loyalty to his name or reputation, felt no connection to his ancestors and couldn’t stand to reminisce.  Their past actions and acclaim were dubious to say the least.  Who could be proud of a legacy of gold mines and the poisonous devastation they left in their wake?

No.  He’d finish with his meetings, then hit the road and be in Denver by supper.  He’d brought Chantal with him.  She was the latest New York model to catch his fancy.  He’d told her to pack for a week, that they’d stop to dine and loaf in Aspen, so she’d be irritated at his change of plans.  But her wishes were irrelevant.

Behind him, footsteps approached.  The nymph in his arms stiffened and snuggled herself even closer.  He pulled the lapels of his jacket around her torso, trying his best to keep her concealed.

A woman marched by.  From the back, she appeared to be wealthy, and he suspected she was beautiful.  She had long, blond hair that was professionally streaked with the appropriate highlights, and she was wrapped in an expensive wool coat that hung to her knees.  Her boots were shiny leather, the spiky heels clicking on the pavement.

“Don’t move yet,” his sprite murmured.

“I won’t.”

“I don’t want her to glance over her shoulder.”

“She didn’t even notice we were here.”

“Of course, she didn’t.”

The woman continued down the block, then turned the corner and vanished from view.  Silence fell as her strides faded.

“Is she gone?” his elf asked.

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?  You can’t see her?”

“Nope.”

She drew away, and as she grinned up at him, he was temporarily spellbound.  His heart actually did a little flip-flop.

She was just so pretty.  Plump, rosy cheeks.  Pouty lips.  A pert nose red from the cold.  A mass of dark curls that framed a perfect face.  And her eyes!  They were big and green and full of mischief, and he was certain she’d caused no end of trouble to the people in her life.  

“You were a great wall,” she said.

“Glad I could help.”

“Thank you.  You were terrific.”

She patted her palm on the center of his chest, then strolled off.

He stood for a moment, shaking his head at her quirky personality, at their odd encounter, when it dawned on him that she was leaving and he didn’t want her to go.  The dreary, decrepit town had him that morose and unsettled.   

“Hey,” he called after her.

She spun around.  “What?”

“What was that about?”

“Nothing.”

“No, really.  Who was she?”

“I don’t have any idea.”

She was the worst liar.  It would be easy to date or gamble with her.  You’d never have to wonder what she was thinking or feeling.  Her entire emotional condition was written on her face.

“You can tell me,” he urged.  “It’s not like I’ll run out and alert the media.”

“You never know how someone might act.”

She walked on again, and he hurried over and fell in beside her. 

“Do you make it a habit,” he asked, “to accost strange men on the street?”

“Are you admitting to being strange?”

He snorted with amusement.  He was a Merriweather sibling, a descendant of a clan of driven, hardscrabble frontiersmen who’d built Merriweather Industries into one of the world’s most profitable businesses.  They had staked out their claims in the West and earned their fortunes by extracting minerals, then glomming onto the surrounding land.

The mines and foundries and railroads were long gone, but the riches they’d generated were never-ending.  He, with his brother and sister, Lucas and Brittney, wallowed in the money, but they didn’t have to dirty their hands at commerce like their forebears.  They had financial managers who made the cash grow and grow and grow so that he, Lucas, and Brittney could spend and spend and spend.

None of them even resided in Colorado, although Lucas was moving back now that he was marrying his beloved Faith Benjamin.  Brittney fancied herself an artist so she rattled around in Santa Fe with their widowed mother, Jacqueline,  Jacqueline was the only one who maintained any enduring Colorado ties. 

Dustin couldn’t stand the wide open spaces, the inclement weather, and he couldn’t wait to return to his beach house in LA.

Did that history make him strange?  Absolutely.

They arrived at the corner, and a gust of wind barreled down the canyon.  He hadn’t brought a warm enough coat, and he shivered.  Down on the valley floor in Denver, it had been a pleasant autumn morning, with temperatures predicted to rise into the seventies.  Up here at eight-thousand feet, angry clouds whipped by and a few snow flakes whirled to the ground.

“Do you live in Gold Creek?” he asked her.

“All my life.”

He shivered again.  They were next to a diner, and he motioned to it.  “Let me buy you a cup of coffee.”

“I probably shouldn’t.”

“I can be...