Jule Mcbride - Naked Ambition

JULE McBRIDEis a native West Virginian. Her dream to write romances came true in the nineties with the publication of her debut novel, Wild Card Wedding. It received a Romantic Times BOOKreviews Reviewer’s Choice Award for Best First Series Romance. Since then, the author has been nominated for multiple awards, including two lifetime achievement awards. She has written for several series and currently makes her happy home at Blaze ®. A prolific writer, she has almost fifty titles to her credit.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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About the Author JULE McBRIDE is a native West Virginian. Her dream to write romances came true in the nineties with the publication of her debut novel, Wild Card Wedding. It received a Romantic Times BOOKreviews Reviewer’s Choice Award for Best First Series Romance. Since then, the author has been nominated for multiple awards, including two lifetime achievement awards. She has written for several series and currently makes her happy home at Blaze ® . A prolific writer, she has almost fifty titles to her credit.

Title Page Naked Ambition Jule McBride www.millsandboon.co.uk

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Copyright

November 2007

EVERY TIME SHE SO MUCH AS LOOKED at J. D. Johnson, Susannah Banner could swear she felt his big, hot hands removing all her clothes, never even bothering to leave behind the panties. Even worse, the undeserving man had had this bothersome effect on her since she was only five years old, knee-high to a grasshopper her daddy had called her.

Yes, J.D. had started ruining her life as early as grade school, where she’d had the misfortune of first meeting him, Susannah fumed as she drove her compact car along Palmer Road, past Hodges’ Motor Lodge. She then cornered off the main drag and into the back parking lot of Delia’s Diner to hide the car so J.D. wouldn’t see it if he followed her. She’d been young when she’d met J.D., and well, what little girl—especially one so innocent as Susannah—could have seen through a male as duplicitous as J. D. Johnson?

Years later, when Susannah was old enough, she’d fantasized about him for hours, a mistake that had led to hot-heavy sex and feelings of sincere regret. Not even in a proper bed, she reminded herself, her fury rising, but in the bed of his daddy’s pickup truck.

Just minutes ago, J.D. had drawn his last straw, and she was still reeling. Oh, Susannah knew he hadn’t been born with the sense God gave a gnat, but then what man had? J.D. possessed the devil’s double-edged tongue when it came to sweet-talking his way out of bad tasting situations, too. And he’d been gifted with a singing voice that could charm the skin off a rattlesnake, and worse, the pants off any female country-western fan in America.

Susannah wasn’t like those women, though, she thought as she headed toward the door to Delia’s. Why should Susannah be impressed by J.D.’s good fortune, after all? Like everybody else in Bayou Banner, she’d known him before he was rich and famous. In fact, she was one of the chosen few who knew what the initials J.D. stood for.

“I just wish I hadn’t married you, Jeremiah Dashiell,” she muttered. It had been her biggest mistake. Tears shimmering in her soft blue eyes, she tossed one of her trademark oversize handbags into the corner that she and her best friend, Ellie Lee, occupied every Saturday morning for breakfast.

As Susannah scooted in after the bag, Ellie set aside a tented white reserved card written in Delia’s calligraphy.

“Please forgive me!” Susannah began, scarcely registering that Ellie was still wearing sunglasses, although the day was overcast. “J.D. made me late.” Susannah shook her head, making the ends of her long, wavy sun-streaked blond hair swirl around her face. “God, I hate him! I just wish I’d had sex with somebody besides him just once. But no,” she continued, “I’ve always been faithful.” She’d doubted that was the case with J.D., and now her worst fears had been realized. She blinked back tears. “Do you realize he’s the only man I’ve ever slept with, Ellie?”

“Sure, I was born the day after you in the hospital in Bayou Blair,” Ellie reminded. “So I’ve known you even longer than you’ve known J.D. And I agree. I think you should have slept with that banjo player, at least. Remember the hottie who played in J.D.’s band in high school? The one who looked like Justin Timberlake?”

“The one who called every time me and J.D. hit the skids?”

Susannah muttered, wondering how she was going to tell Ellie what had just happened. Thinking about the banjo player was a welcome diversion. She’d kissed him and let him feel her breasts, but that was all. “How could I forget him? Of course, three weeks after I saw him, I married J.D.” She glared down at the gold band on her ring finger.

“You should have insisted on an engagement,” Ellie mused, eyeing the band. “That would have given you time to consider the consequences.”

“True.” After his career had taken off, J.D. had offered to buy her a diamond, so it would look as if they’d been engaged, but Susannah had refused, since that would have ruined the spontaneity of their wedding night. Now, of course, their whole marriage was a lie. “You think I would have stayed single if I’d talked to somebody with a crystal ball?”

“Honey, not even Mama Ambrosia could have seen your and J.D.’s future.”

The local fortune teller had a cabin on a meandering tributary near Bayou Banner. As angry as she was, Susannah could admit Ellie was right. Not even a professional such as Mama Ambrosia could explain the magic that still happened sometimes between Susannah and J.D. They’d even made up their own private language for it, with code phrases for lovemaking such as scarves and cards or hats and rabbits.

J.D.’s slow drawl rumbled in Susannah’s ear, and she could almost feel his warm breath tickling the lobe. “What about a game of scarves and cards, Susannah?”

He’d proposed on one of those liquid-velvet nights the Mississippi Delta had made famous, when the moon was just right, and shadows on the surface of the bayou rippled like fairy wings, making everything seem like an illusion, including scents of forsythia that stirred in the midnight air as gently as the cream in Madame Ambrosia’s darkest love potions.

Their prom clothes—his tux and her butter-yellow dress beside them—they’d been lying naked on their backs on pine needles, stargazing through the waving fronds of willow branches. With a voice as smooth as the inky sky, J.D. had sung the traditional song, “Oh, Susannah”—something he always did, since his family had come from Alabama—then he’d whispered, “I want to marry you right now, oh, Susannah Banner.”