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Tuesday, January 6, 2015

Time for a Triple Treat

Berengaria Brown’s “Triple Treat” (MMF)

This title is offered at a 10% discount. Offer ends midnight CST, January 7th

Blurb: Morgan McLean and Glenn Hilton meet Xonra Gibson at a memorial service for one-hundred-one-year-old MaryAnne Menzies and ask her out. How is she to know they aren’t ax murderers or something? And surely it’s wrong to go on a date after a memorial service anyway?
Xonra is Vice President of Advertising for HR Resources Ltd., and she’s seen a lot of delicious-looking men, but none as delicious as Glenn and Morgan. Besides, these two together are an irresistible team and she longs to say yes. It’s just that to do so seems illogical and dangerous. Xonra was busy climbing the corporate ladder when everyone else was out having fun. Suddenly fun seems just as irresistible as these two men. But the date takes them to Berisford Village and everything there is definitely not what it seems to be on the surface.

Buy link: http://www.bookstrand.com/triple-treat


Xonra Gibson tapped her long, black nails against the steering wheel as she slowly drove down the street for the third time. Still no legal parking spaces. She glanced at the dashboard clock again. Eight minutes to two. Dammit. I’ll go around once more, and if I can’t find anything, I’ll have to risk an illegal parking space.
At five to two, she gave up and fitted her car into a semi-legal parking space at the end of the line. Well, the hood and the front seat are legal! she reassured herself, snagging her purse off the passenger seat, beeping her car lock, and walking briskly to the tiny chapel where the funeral service for MaryAnne Menzies, aged one hundred one, was about to start.
The chapel appeared to have been designed to seat maybe forty. At least twice that number of chairs had been crammed into it, and almost every one of them was filled. With the added height her four-inch heels gave her, Xonra was able to see an empty chair hard against the wall halfway down on the right side.
Apologizing profusely, feeling her face heat with embarrassment, she squeezed her way along the row, sucking in her stomach and clenching her butt in an effort to be thinner and fit through the miniscule gap more easily. She slid into the vacant seat gratefully, her side pressed against the wall, her eyes lowered, as music began to play and the memorial service began.
Xonra tried to concentrate on her memories of MaryAnne, who’d befriended her mother when Mom had been widowed with baby Xonra. MaryAnne had shown Mom the best places to shop, taught her budgeting tricks, and helped her with craft projects and household maintenance. All of that was thirty years ago and MaryAnne had already seemed very old to Xonra.
As Xonra listened to the eulogy, she remembered MaryAnne had grown up on a farm, buried her only child, outlived two husbands, but never lost her joy for life and desire to help others along the way. No wonder so many are here to honor her memory.
Xonra kept her gaze either on the minister conducting the service, or on the floor, but she couldn’t help being highly aware of the hunky man pressed hard against her left side. His shoulders were so broad he was overhanging her seat, no matter how much she leaned into the wall. And his right thigh seemed glued to her left one, sending waves of lusty heat right through her body. Damn, he’s good-looking. Well, what she could see of him through her peripheral vision. Late thirties, maybe forty, faint touches of gray in his black hair, chocolate eyes, tanned skin, six feet tall at least. And those broad shoulders and muscular thighs. Well, yum!
Likely married with six kids! she reminded herself firmly. And you’re supposed to be focusing on MaryAnne, not the hunky guy sitting next to you!
As Vice President of Advertising for HR Resources Ltd., Xonra saw a lot of good-looking men, and none of them had ever lit her fire the way Mr. Shoulders next to her did. She pictured herself sliding that crisp white shirt off his arms, leaning into his chest and licking across—Oh, shit, I’ll have wet underwear in a moment! MaryAnne. Focus on MaryAnne. It’s totally inappropriate to think about some unknown hunk at a memorial service!
The service went for an hour, and at the end, they all stood to sing “Amazing Grace.” Xonra’s mother had given her a list of people to speak to and surreptitiously she drew it out of her purse to check and make sure she didn’t forget anyone. Xonra had offered to fly her mother here for the service, but her mother hated flying and there wasn’t time to drive so far, so it was up to Xonra to represent their little family.
She was concentrating on looking around the crowd to pinpoint the people she needed to speak to, so she was startled when a large, hot hand rested on her thigh.
“Glenn Hilton. My grandparents farmed right alongside MaryAnne’s folks. How did you know her?”
Xonra looked up into the most delicious pair of warm, liquid eyes—melted rich, dark chocolate. She felt herself drowning in them, her cunt clenching, and cream soaking her panties. Along with the devastating eyes, there was a chiseled chin, high cheekbones, and black hair just touching his collar, with those enticing little hints of gray here and there.
Hoping she wasn’t drooling, she replied, “Xonra Gibson. MaryAnne was a wonderful help to my mother when we moved here from upstate after my dad died.”
The man sitting beside Glenn leaned forward, his hand out to shake hers. “Morgan McLean, Glenn’s partner.”
Well damn. Not six kids but just as unattainable. Why are all the best looking ones taken?
Because when everyone else was out fucking like bunnies you were sitting in the office accumulating those billable hours and climbing the corporate ladder. Your choice, remember?
Yeah, okay, shut up.
“Did you spend much time on your grandparents’ farm?” she asked Glenn.
For the next few minutes he reminisced about childhood summers on the farm, and once again Xonra saw bright flashes of MaryAnne’s kind and helpful nature in his stories. Those long-ago days still were happy memories he cherished, she could tell.
As the people in their row gradually moved out into another room for cups of tea and coffee, the men stayed at Xonra’s side, talking quietly about MaryAnne and the service. One part of her brain was searching the crowd for the people she needed to give her Mom’s good wishes to, and the other was hoping she didn’t sound like a lovesick teenager, as every nerve ending was alive to their attentions.
When Glenn rested his large hand gently on her back, Xonra’s panties dampened even more. If he wasn’t taken, I’d seriously be considering a one-night stand. “Hot” isn’t even close to how he makes me feel.
Morgan offered to get her a cup of coffee, but Xonra declined and slipped through the crowd to talk to her mother’s friends. It was nearly an hour later that she was ready to leave, and stopped at the table by the door to sign the Bereavement Book and pick up a program to send to her mom.
Glenn and Morgan appeared from nowhere, smoothly moving to stand on either side of her.
“Can we offer you a ride somewhere?”
“Or walk you to your car?”

Buy link: http://www.bookstrand.com/triple-treat


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