Lindsay Evans - On-Air Passion

Title Page On-Air Passion Lindsay Evans www.millsandboon.co.uk

Copyright ISBN: 978-1-474-08074-3 ON-AIR PASSION © 2018 Lindsay Evans Published in Great Britain 2018 by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental. By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher. ® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries. www.millsandboon.co.uk Version: 2020-03-02

Introduction “Here, let me.” He took the keys from her and clicked open the car door, slid one of the pastry boxes into the passenger seat, and straightened back to his full and impressive height. “Thank you for having coffee with me,” he said. “And for introducing me to something sweet I can sink my...teeth into.” Despite her resolution not to let Ahmed rattle her in any way, Elle felt her face heat again. This was getting out of control. “I need to get in my car and go before you get me accused of public indecency.” He chuckled, his voice low and sexy as it rumbled from deep in his chest. “I’m surprised at you, Princess Elle.” And this time, there was no twist of cynicism to his mouth when he called her that. “None of that was even close to threatening the public’s decency.” As he spoke, he moved closer until his big body was crowding her against the car and Elle was breathing in a deep lungful of his intoxicating scent. Faintly smiling, he dipped his head and showed her what a real threat to public decency felt like.

Dear Reader Dear Reader Contents Cover Back Cover Text About the Author Booklist Title Page Copyright Introduction Dear Reader Dedication Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Extract Extract , Atlanta is one of my favorite cities. It’s a place where the music is hot, everyone is beautiful, and you can easily run into a celebrity at the local health-food store. It’s the perfect setting for the Clarks, a family with new money and old-fashioned traditions, and larger-than-life men with enough heat for a slow, Southern August night. Ahmed, the first of these Clark men, came to me in a dream. I hope you find him as wonderful as I do. With love from Atlanta, Lindsay

Dedication For all my readers, THANK YOU!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Extract

Extract

Chapter 1

“You should just keep your mouth shut! Nobody wants to hear politics from a ballplayer.”

From behind the broad back of his bodyguard, Ahmed moved quickly through the vocal crowd of about two dozen people to get to the doors of the radio station. Some were obviously gawking simply because of who he was—rich, retired at thirty and a consistent presence in the Atlanta club scene and on gossip sites across the internet. Others were there because they smelled a scandal or something close to it. And there were some who were present, like the guy who’d just screamed at Ahmed, because they apparently didn’t have anything better to do at ten o’clock on a Wednesday morning.

“Technically you’re an ex-ballplayer, so you can have opinions on anything you damn well please.” Sam, Ahmed’s bodyguard and cousin, growled the comment as they slid past the radio station’s security guys, just low enough for Ahmed to hear, although if he’d said it at the top of his voice, nobody would have reacted. Guys over six feet tall with muscles stacked on top of muscles could get away with saying just about anything they wanted to, and to whomever.

Ahmed was built on a more modest but—he liked to think—no less impressive scale with his six and a half feet of lean but defined muscle, a strong jawline and cheekbones that had been accused a time or two of being “chiseled.” And those were just the nice things his sisters said about him.

Only the memory of the mellow breakfast he’d had with his family—his sisters, Aisha and Devyn, his mother and Sam—kept his annoyance at the heckler to a low-grade ripple. Besides, the hostility of strangers was nothing new to him, especially after twelve years playing professional basketball. He was now retired and having fun being a part-time radio show host. Even if he’d been silent about his politics, people would still find some way to throw insults his way. Plenty of his former teammates were prime examples of that. The people loved you when you were playing well, making them money, entertaining them. But once you fumbled, good luck.

“Damn, they’re rowdy out there today.” Sam settled the lines of his dark jacket more firmly on his shoulders with a shrug, the custom-made suit easily hiding his gun and somehow minimizing the size, but not the threat, of his big body. Ahmed didn’t know how he could wear it with the crazy-hot January weather currently punishing Atlanta. “What the hell did you do while I was asleep?” His deep voice rumbled in a way that let Ahmed know he was only half joking. Before going their separate ways—Sam to the military and Ahmed to basketball—Sam was forever pulling Ahmed out of the trouble his big mouth got him into. He’d learned to temper his snarkiness but once Sam got out of the army with an honorable discharge, Sam fell back into the role as bodyguard but in a more official capacity.

“You know it’s because of that tweet I sent last night,” Ahmed said.

“As if the city didn’t already know how you felt about it closing that downtown high school.” Sam took in the wide and sterile hallway and the half dozen or so people making their way through it with a skilled gaze, taking in details Ahmed took for granted.

“Just making sure they didn’t miss my opinion,” he said with a scornful twist of his lips.

Marcus Garvey High was a school Ahmed had poured a lot of money and time into to support its STEM program that worked to give city kids an equal chance at tech, engineering and science jobs once they graduated. Although Ahmed had been born into a middle-class family and hadn’t faced the challenges many of those kids at the high school did, he knew betting on an elusive sports career or going into the armed forces shouldn’t be the only options they saw in their future.