Colleen Collins - Sweet Talkin' Guy

There are lots of rumors, but no one is exactly sure why even the crankiest twosomes get so very coosome when they spend time at the historic Inn at Maiden Falls, nestled in the Colorado Rockies. Maybe it’s the beautiful vista of all that rushing water (the falls) outside the windows. Maybe it’s the clean, invigorating mountain air stirring up their blood. Or maybe (as the whispers say) there really are lusty ghosts of shady ladies past floating around the rafters. Old-timers say the inn was a famous brothel more than a hundred years ago; all the “soiled doves” may have mysteriously passed away, but their spirits remain to help young lovers discover the joy of sensual pleasure. Or so the story goes….

Dear Reader,

Ghost hookers who haunt a honeymoon hotel where they spice up couples’ sex lives? That’s the idea Julie Kistler, Heather MacAllister and I brainstormed in July 2002 at the national Romance Writers of America conference in Denver, Colorado. And now, June 2004, our stories have come to life as my book, Sweet Talkin’ Guy, kicks off our THE SPIRITS ARE WILLING Harlequin Temptation series!

In Sweet Talkin’ Guy, heiress and runaway-almost-bride Daphne Remington crosses paths with Andy Branigan, a cynical reporter. He smells a hot story, she needs a place to hide out and they end up sharing one of the bridal suites while pretending to be newlyweds. What they don’t know is their room is haunted by the once-notorious cardsharp and sharpshooter Belle Bulette, who thinks Andy and Daphne are hardly strangers but soul mates, and uses her ghostly wiles to prove as much.

To read about my upcoming books, check out my Web site at http://www.colleencollins.net.

Happy reading!

Colleen Collins

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

867—JOYRIDE

899—TONGUE-TIED

913—LIGHTNING STRIKES

939—TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT

HARLEQUIN DUETS

10—MARRIED AFTER BREAKFAST

22—ROUGH AND RUGGED

30—IN BED WITH THE PIRATE

39—SHE’S GOT MAIL!

107—LET IT BREE CAN’T BUY ME LOUIE

Sweet Talkin’ Guy

Colleen Collins

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Julie and Heather, with whom I had a ball brainstorming our ghostly world filled with divine hookers.

And to my editor, Wanda Ottewell, for her encouragement and insights, and for keeping me on course.

We know rules are not your favorite things, but some things need to be written down. So here’s your Golden Rules, girls. Abide by ’em and we’ll all do just fine. We weren’t exactly angels when we were here the first time around, but we’ve got another chance. So we want to do what we can to keep the idea of holy matrimony satisfying so’s nobody’s man will be tempted to go lookin’ elsewhere for a good time. It may not seem fair, but them’s the rules. We helped ’em stray. Now we’re helping ’em stay.

Rule #1: You will never, ever do anything that might come between the bride and groom.

Rule #2: No visibility. You can’t be scarin’ the livin’ daylights out of folks by fading in and out or showing up in bits and pieces at the wrong time.

Rule #3: Never, ever make love with a guest yourself. No exceptions.

Rule #4: No emotional attachments to anyone. You can’t follow them when they leave, so you might as well not get attached.

Rule #5: When you have successfully put a troubled couple on the road to bedroom bliss, you earn a Notch in Miss Arlotta’s Bedpost Book.

Rule #6: Especially good or bad activities may earn you Gold Stars or Black Marks.

Rule #7: It’s gonna take ten Notches before you can advance. All Advancements shall be determined by Miss Arlotta and the Council, who will consider how difficult your couples were, how much work you had to do, your level of creativity, whether your heart was in the right place and those Gold Stars or Black Marks.

Rule #8: Any girl who disobeys these rules shall be punished.

Rule #9: Any and all rules may be changed by Miss Arlotta as she sees fit.

That’s it. Push those couples into as much wedded bliss as they can handle, and we’ll all do fine. You’re all creative ladies when it comes to what happens between the sheets. So let’s get to work and show ’em what kinds of sparks can fly when the spirits are willing!

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue

BEING DEAD isn’t all it’s cranked up to be. Good thing I died with my cigarillo clinging to my lip, a flask of whiskey in one hand and my trusty .44 in the other. Otherwise I’d be plumb out of luck for entertainment.

Belle Bulette pointed her Colt .44 at the godawfulest, ugliest ceiling light she’d seen in at least a hundred years and cocked the hammer.

Across the parlor, the same room where over a century ago she and the girls had greeted their customers, Rosebud flashed a disapproving look through her wire-frame glasses before returning to her book, Lady Chatterley’s Lover. The rest of the ghostly strumpets either made a great show of ignoring Belle or voiced their opinions of her.

“There she goes again, using the parlor for target practice,” sniffed Flo, tossing a shawl over her nightgown.

Belle barely glanced in Flo’s direction. The hooker’s persnickety attitude had irked Belle in life and just did more of the same afterward. Whoever coined the phrase rest in peace had a thing or two to learn. Shame Mimi forgot to help Flo out of her too-tight corset the night of the fatal gas leak—otherwise, the ol’ biddy might’ve spent eternity in a better mood.

“She was much better behaved when we were alive,” chimed in Glory—oh, the men had once loved to shout “Glory, Hallelujah!”—in her thick Texas drawl.

“Balderdash,” said Flo.

“She didn’t shoot in the parlor,” said Sunshine sweetly, her golden-blond hair as bright as the April late-morning rays pouring through the bay windows. “Or in any other room in the bordello. Well, although she almost did that time that varmint Blackhearted Jack got surly with Miss Arlotta and Belle told him to leave, her gun barrel wedged in his gut.”

Belle wasn’t much of a girly type—she’d always preferred the company of men—but she had a soft spot for Sunshine, who was one of her staunchest supporters. Plus, Belle had learned long ago that beneath Sunshine’s doll-like looks was one savvy lady who knew exactly what she was doing.

Flo harrumphed. “Maybe Belle didn’t shoot her gun in the house, but she sure rode that horse of hers into the foyer after too much red-eye. Miss Arlotta fined her a half eagle for that escapade.”

“As though zat stopped her,” murmured the Countess, as the Hungarian beauty primped in a mirror, her reflection seen by the girls but not by the living eye. “Belle never cared about za money.”