| Copyright Leigh D'Ansey 2010 | all rights reserved | Site design: Leigh D'Ansey |
Jack McAllister's back in town, and he's got old debts to settle. Jack
always pays his dues, no matter how overdue they are or how
misguided he was in accruing them. Samantha Ryan's top of his
payback list.
always pays his dues, no matter how overdue they are or how
misguided he was in accruing them. Samantha Ryan's top of his
payback list.
When a quick scan of the cluttered bench top failed to reveal the scissors,
Sam brought the delicate fabric to her mouth instead. Vowing for at least the
thousandth time to keep a tidier workbench, she nipped the thread she’d
used to repair the seam of an ecru chiffon blouse.
Just as she reached to pick the thread away from her lips, the doorbell
jangled. Sam poked her head around the doorway of her miniscule work
room to see Jack McAllister step over the exterior threshold. A rush of cold air
and a spicy shot of expensive aftershave came through the door with him.
“What do you want?” she said, giving the intruder a beady look.
“I wish you’d stop being so nice to me.” As usual Jack dwarfed the tiny
boutique, making the racks of shimmering garments look like dolls clothes.
“Why do you always think I have an ulterior motive?”
“Because you always do have an ulterior motive—and no, I’m not going to
sell you my shop.”
“Good grief! What would I do with this heap of old rubble?” Jack looked
around the tiny store, so reminiscent of New Zealand’s pioneer past that
scraps of rose-festooned wallpaper still showed through the rough plastered
walls.
“Because this heap of old rubble happens to be the only piece of real estate
you don’t own in the CBD,” Sam retorted, dropping the blouse onto the
worktop.
Two of Jack’s large strides brought him alarmingly close. Sam slipped out of
her workroom and quickly stepped behind the Victorian pattern-making table
that served as a counter.
“The CBD, as you call it, consists of your boutique, the post office, the bank,
Milly’s Hardware and the new DVD rental store,” Jack said, with the mocking
grin that never failed to infuriate Sam. “That’s hardly a metropolis,”
“It’s the whole point,” she countered, “You personally own those other
buildings. Without Lucy's, you can’t put together that rithzy hotel you’ve
been planning ever since you came back to town.”
Jack dodged an impossibly thin mannequin draped in an oyster-coloured
satin gown. Now, only the counter separated him from Sam.
He frowned. “You’re spitting,” he said.
“I am not thpitting,” articulated Sam, eyes widening as Jack leaned across
the counter, one of his big hands reaching for her.
“You’ve got something stuck to your tongue.”
Sam reared back but not before Jack had caught the end of the cream silk
thread. His finger grazed her mouth. The salty tang of masculine skin
lingered on her tongue. Her nostrils caught the musky-spicy scent of him.
Without conscious thought her lips parted as Jack plucked away the tiny
filament.
Warmth flooded Sam’s cheeks. She ran her tongue over lips that were
suddenly dry.
“See?” Jack held up the thread in mock triumph. “What are you doing
chewing on cotton thread? Business not going too well?”
Sam reached out, snatched the thread away and dropped it into the
wastepaper basket.
“Yeah,” she snapped. “I can’t afford to buy lunch so I’m eating silkworm
casts. Does that make you happy, McAllister?”
Sam brought the delicate fabric to her mouth instead. Vowing for at least the
thousandth time to keep a tidier workbench, she nipped the thread she’d
used to repair the seam of an ecru chiffon blouse.
Just as she reached to pick the thread away from her lips, the doorbell
jangled. Sam poked her head around the doorway of her miniscule work
room to see Jack McAllister step over the exterior threshold. A rush of cold air
and a spicy shot of expensive aftershave came through the door with him.
“What do you want?” she said, giving the intruder a beady look.
“I wish you’d stop being so nice to me.” As usual Jack dwarfed the tiny
boutique, making the racks of shimmering garments look like dolls clothes.
“Why do you always think I have an ulterior motive?”
“Because you always do have an ulterior motive—and no, I’m not going to
sell you my shop.”
“Good grief! What would I do with this heap of old rubble?” Jack looked
around the tiny store, so reminiscent of New Zealand’s pioneer past that
scraps of rose-festooned wallpaper still showed through the rough plastered
walls.
“Because this heap of old rubble happens to be the only piece of real estate
you don’t own in the CBD,” Sam retorted, dropping the blouse onto the
worktop.
Two of Jack’s large strides brought him alarmingly close. Sam slipped out of
her workroom and quickly stepped behind the Victorian pattern-making table
that served as a counter.
“The CBD, as you call it, consists of your boutique, the post office, the bank,
Milly’s Hardware and the new DVD rental store,” Jack said, with the mocking
grin that never failed to infuriate Sam. “That’s hardly a metropolis,”
“It’s the whole point,” she countered, “You personally own those other
buildings. Without Lucy's, you can’t put together that rithzy hotel you’ve
been planning ever since you came back to town.”
Jack dodged an impossibly thin mannequin draped in an oyster-coloured
satin gown. Now, only the counter separated him from Sam.
He frowned. “You’re spitting,” he said.
“I am not thpitting,” articulated Sam, eyes widening as Jack leaned across
the counter, one of his big hands reaching for her.
“You’ve got something stuck to your tongue.”
Sam reared back but not before Jack had caught the end of the cream silk
thread. His finger grazed her mouth. The salty tang of masculine skin
lingered on her tongue. Her nostrils caught the musky-spicy scent of him.
Without conscious thought her lips parted as Jack plucked away the tiny
filament.
Warmth flooded Sam’s cheeks. She ran her tongue over lips that were
suddenly dry.
“See?” Jack held up the thread in mock triumph. “What are you doing
chewing on cotton thread? Business not going too well?”
Sam reached out, snatched the thread away and dropped it into the
wastepaper basket.
“Yeah,” she snapped. “I can’t afford to buy lunch so I’m eating silkworm
casts. Does that make you happy, McAllister?”
Leigh D'Ansey
Leigh D'Ansey
Romance Author
Romance Author
| "Leigh D’Ansey’s debut novel, Kincaid’s Call is ripe with romance and perfect for a quick summer read." Read more.... "FANTASTIC reading, the romance is sizzling, emotional and written by a master" Read more... |
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Married to McCallister
Excerpt from. . .
'Kincaid's Call' ranked #1 Bestseller
for The Wild Rose Press on eBookwise!
Other BESTSELLER rankings.
for The Wild Rose Press on eBookwise!
Other BESTSELLER rankings.