Jo Leigh - Have Me

“You’re killing me…”

Jake’s voice was as rough as sandpaper. He let his button-down fall, leaving him in his undershirt, and then his pants dropped and he kicked those out of the way.

Rebecca’s gaze moved down to his thigh even as she ran her fingers over her bare tummy. Jake tensed as he waited for her verdict.

“Are you going to just stand there staring?” she asked.

“I don’t know what to do first,” he said. “You’re stunning.”

For all that she was driving him wild, the hint of a blush that warmed her cheeks was almost more than he could bear. “That’s a pretty good place to start …” she said as she covered the distance between them.

“But an even better place would be in the actual bedroom.”

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to the next story in the IT’S TRADING Men! trilogy. We’re in the second month of Trading Men on Trading Cards with the St. Marks Lunch Exchange group of single women in midtown Manhattan, and a new batch of hot hunks have just entered the dating pool!

I’m so excited to introduce you to Rebecca Thorpe and Jake Donnelly. Rebecca is the CEO of a very large philanthropic foundation, and at twenty-eight, she’s not willing to settle for anything less than the perfect husband. So far, several have come close, but none have had that magic something .

When she sees Jake Donnelly on a Trading Card, she falls instantly in lust. He’s completely wrong for her. Jake’s a former NYPD detective, wounded in the line of duty, who lives in Brooklyn. He doesn’t care about the social registry or where she got her degree. He’s the man of Rebecca’s most wicked dreams, and she can’t wait to cut loose with Jake for one night of carnal indulgence. Only, they both soon realise that one night won’t be nearly enough …

I hope you enjoy the fantasy and fun of Have Me , and continue on with Want Me in June.

As always, I can be reached at joleigh@joleigh.com. Hearing from readers is the best thing ever!

Love to you all,

Jo

JO LEIGHis from Los Angeles and always thought she’d end up living in Manhattan. So how did she end up in Utah, in a tiny town with a terrible internet connection, being bossed around by a house full of rescued cats and dogs? What the heck, she says, predictability is boring. Jo has written more than forty novels and can be contacted at joleigh@joleigh.com.

Jo Leigh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Yael. I strive to create heroines who

are as terrific as you.

Where R U???

REBECCA THORPE DIDN’T bother returning her friend Bree’s text because there was no need. She was already walking up the pathway to the St. Marks church basement, the ready-to-be-frozen lunches she’d prepared in a large tote in preparation for the bimonthly lunch exchange. That wasn’t what had slowed her pace though. She took her hand out of her coat pocket and stared again at the trading card she’d been toying with for the past fifteen minutes.

Ever since Shannon Fitzgerald had introduced the idea of using trading cards for trading men , the lunch exchange group, now numbering a whopping seventeen women, had been in a dating frenzy. The concept was simplicity itself: everyone involved recommended men they knew who were eligible and in the market. Whether they were relatives, friends or even guys without that perfect chemistry—for them at least—there was suddenly a bounty of prescreened, fully vetted local men. None of whom knew that they were members of this very select group.

On paper Gerard had seemed ideal. He was gorgeous, not only on the front of the card, either. Tall, dark, handsome, he’d gotten his degree from Cambridge, then had come to New York to work for the United Nations. He was urbane, sophisticated, dressed like a dream. And he’d taken her to dinner at Babbo, which was never a bad thing.

Sadly, like the other three men Rebecca had gone out with, courtesy of the trading cards, there had been no sizzle. Maybe she’d see Gerard again because he was fascinating, and they had many common interests, but the man she was looking for wasn’t him. She’d known ten minutes into the date that the magic was missing, and while she’d been disappointed, she hadn’t been surprised.

She was too picky. Or something. She couldn’t spell out her criteria for the one but she certainly knew when she hadn’t found it. She’d never had luck with men, and that had as much to do with her being a Winslow as it did with her taste, but the end result was that she hadn’t truly connected with a man, not for the long haul, and the trading cards hadn’t changed her luck.

So, with all due respect to the trading cards and to the whole idea of dating, she was done. No more cards for her, no more setups, no more blind dates, no more searching and no more hoping.

If she met someone in the course of doing what she loved, then great. If she didn’t, she was fine with that, too. At twenty-eight she wasn’t willing to say she’d never try again. She wanted to have a partner, maybe even have kids. But for now? Work was enough. Work was almost too much. It barely left time for her to visit with friends, go to movies, the theater, read a book. She was taking herself out of the game.

Determined and damn cold, she walked into St. Marks. The sound of women, of her friends, greeted her the moment she stepped over the threshold. There was a lot of joy to be had in her world, and only a part of it depended on a man.

“There you are,” Bree said, grinning as she met Rebecca at one of the long tables. “Charlie bet me you wouldn’t make it today. He said the donor dinner is getting too close.”

Rebecca started stacking the lunches she’d prepared. “What did you win?”

“Something juicy that would make you blush.”

Rebecca was glad not to have to hear the details. Charlie Winslow was her cousin, and while he was her favorite cousin, and she’d played an integral role in getting him and Bree together, there were certain things she’d rather not have in her memory. “As long as you’re happy, I’m happy. And he’s right. The dinner is driving me insane. I hate this part. I despise having to ask for money.”

“Hard to run a charitable foundation without funds,” Bree said.

“I know. But it defeats the purpose if I have to wine and dine the donors to the tune of several hundred thousand dollars. That money should be used elsewhere.”

Bree, who looked adorable in skinny jeans with a gorgeous camel cowl-neck sweater, patted Rebecca’s arm. “You could always serve them dinner á la soup kitchen. As a statement.”

“I’ve considered it. But I really do need their money. Besides, the Four Seasons isn’t known for its soup-kitchen ambience.”

“Keep thinking about how much good the Winslow Foundation does. Then suck it up.”