Rhonda Nelson - Getting It Right!

On Getting It!

“Rhonda Nelson will have readers chuckling and sighing with Getting It! (4.5), a witty, sensual tale featuring a completely unforgettable pair of lovers. Very, very hot!”

—Romantic Times

“Rhonda Nelson takes you on quite an adventure in Getting It! She gives the reader everything—hilarious scenes, passionate and tender love and a serious message as well. The reader is in for quite a ride with this one.”

—Cataromance

“Getting It! demonstrates how much fun falling in love can be when it is between the right two people. Pick it up and enjoy.”

—The Romance Reader

On Getting It Good!

“With exciting, believable characters and hot passion, Rhonda Nelson has created an exciting series. I can’t wait to see who will be getting it next.”

—A Romance Review

“Getting It Good! (4) by Rhonda Nelson has humor and great characters, which make for a fun read.”

—Romantic Times

“The latest Chicks in Charge tale, Getting It Good! is a delightfully amusing contemporary romance starring two likable combatants.”

—The Best Reviews

Dear Reader,

I hope that you’re enjoying my CHICKS IN CHARGE series. If you missed the first two books, please be sure to check them out. (Getting It! Harlequin Temptation January 2005 and Getting It Good! Harlequin Blaze February 2005). I’ve had a ball writing these feisty heroines and finding the perfect guys for them.

Since the debut book I’ve been asked many times where I got the idea for this series. It was funny, really. I was sitting in my office, absently listening to a panel of “experts” talk about why The Bachelorette had been more of a success than The Bachelor. One of the women shrugged and said, “It’s because a chick’s in charge.” Something about the girl power in that phrase really appealed to me and I started playing the “What if…” game. The result was this series of books with smart, determined women who know their own worth. Pairing them with guys who figure it out as well has been a very fun and fulfilling experience.

Don’t miss the final book in my CHICKS IN CHARGE series—Getting It Now!—available next month. I’d love to know what you think. Be sure to swing by my Web site—www.booksbyRhondaNelson.com and let me know how you’re enjoying the ride.

Happy reading!

Rhonda Nelson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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This book is dedicated to one of the nicest people

I have ever known, my good friend Pam Farris. PTO,

sons and daughters, Girl Scouts, midnight movies, countless

lunches, hair days and pool days, your unfailing friendship

has been a source of great joy for me

over the years and I look forward to many more.

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

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

UNDER ORDINARY circumstances, April Wilson was just vain enough to appreciate a hot stare from an equally hot guy. What woman didn’t like a lingering appreciative look? One that somehow managed to validate those extra minutes spent in front of the mirror, that additional time rifling through the closet to find the perfect outfit, or taking those few seconds to repair a chipped nail?

Usually one flicker of interest from a pair of intrigued masculine eyes was enough to make her inwardly preen with satisfaction because it meant she hadn’t wasted her time, that her somewhat manic attention to detail had paid off.

Unfortunately, in this case, it was the particular source of interest that was causing her…discomfort.

Looking equally relaxed and dangerous, Ben Hayes sat sprawled on a chair at the end of the bar. The Blue Monkey Pub on the edge of New Orleans’ famed French Quarter was technically her haunt, but over the past few months Ben had been showing up with disconcerting regularity and had easily made it his preferred hang out, as well. It was unnerving to say the least. Her gaze was inexplicably drawn to him once more, causing a flutter of awareness to skim up her spine.

Mercy.

A navy-blue designer T-shirt clung to his broad shoulders and muscled chest, serving as both a testament to his casual style and the pricey label, a silent affirmation that he’d arrived. April swallowed.

That, she knew, was important to him.

Worn denim clung to his hardened thighs and a pair of ridiculously expensive boots rounded out the ensemble. Dark brown hair just a shade shy of black hung in loose waves around a face that held more character than beauty and, though she couldn’t see them clearly from here—and she refused to look—memory painted an accurate picture of his eyes. Pale golden brown, the shade of light arcing off a crystal tumbler of good Kentucky bourbon.

Occasionally he’d hoist the longneck held carelessly between his fingers to that insanely carnal mouth and, though she seriously doubted he was even aware of it, every move he made exuded an effortless, sexy sort of grace that was essentially mesmerizing to every female—attached and unattached—in the room.

Simply put, Ben Hayes was sex on a stick…and from the time she was old enough to feel the first quickening of awareness in her belly, licking him all over had been a fantasy she’d explored repeatedly in her dreams.

Frankie Salvaterra—soon to be Hartford, April reminded herself—and a fellow Chicks In Charge buddy, leaned over and nudged her shoulder. Her dark brown eyes glittered with perception and just the smallest hint of pity. “It’s getting to you, isn’t it?”

“What?” April asked, knowing full well what her friend meant. When it came to sexual matters, as CHiC’s Carnal Contessa, Frankie was the go-to girl for advice.

“That stare.” She cocked her head toward the bar. “Ben’s been boring a hole through you for the past fifteen minutes.” Her lips curled. “My guess is that he’s mentally stripped you naked and committed carnal acts upon your person on every available surface in this room, ones that would undoubtedly end your suffering,” she said, needling April significantly, then sipped her drink and sighed. “If only you’d let him.”

April closed her eyes and let go a shuddering breath as Frankie’s graphic description too readily materialized behind her lids. Her friend was right, she knew.

And she was suffering.

Without warning and for no apparent discernable reason, her Big O had vanished. Or at the very least headed for higher ground. For the past eighteen months—eighteen miserable, excruciatingly frustrating months—and despite multiple attempts, self-inflicted and otherwise, she’d been unable to climax. It was as though whatever tripped her trigger had been unwittingly put on safety.