Beverly Bird - Out Of Nowhere

He reached into the pocket of his jacket and withdrew a little leather case. He flipped it open, but he moved his body as he did, edging in on her space, trapping her against the wall.

Tara couldn’t quite get her breath. Her head filled with his scent, something sharp yet smooth that stroked her nerve endings. She fought the urge to squirm, and concentrated on the badge he was holding in front of her nose.

Tara looked at his eyes in the thin moonlight. They were sharp, watchful eyes, totally at odds with that slow Southern drawl of his. Her teeth started chattering, with a chill she wasn’t aware of feeling.

Oh, she was in so very much trouble….

Dear Reader,

Welcome to another month of hot—in every sense of the word—reading, books just made to match the weather. I hardly even have to mention Suzanne Brockmann and her TALL, DARK & DANGEROUS miniseries, because you all know that this author and these books are utterly irresistible. Taylor’s Temptation features the latest of her to-die-for Navy SEALs, so rush right down to your bookstore and pick up your own copy, because this book is going to be flying off shelves everywhere.

To add to the excitement this month, we’re introducing a new six-book continuity called FIRSTBORN SONS. Award-winning writer Paula Detmer Riggs kicks things off with Born a Hero. Learn how these six heroes share a legacy of protecting the weak and standing up for what’s right—and watch as all six find women who belong in their arms and their lives.

Don’t miss the rest of our wonderful books, either: The Seduction of Goody Two-Shoes, by award-winning Kathleen Creighton; Out of Nowhere, by one of our launch authors, Beverly Bird; Protector with a Past, by Harper Allen; and Twice Upon a Time, by Jennifer Wagner.

Finally, check out the back pages for information on our “Silhouette Makes You A Star” contest. Someone’s going to win—why not you?

Enjoy!

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Senior Editor

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For Don Hurley—for the title and the inspiration

has lived in several places in the United States, but she is currently back where her roots began on an island in New Jersey. Her time is devoted to her family and her writing. She is the author of numerous romance novels, both contemporary and historical. Beverly loves to hear from readers. You can write to her at P.O. Box 350, Brigantine, NJ 08203.

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

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

It’s not easy being an angel.

Of course, Belle’s particular angel problems were always compounded by the fact that she was a dog and her charges were human. They didn’t speak her language. But in Belle’s estimation, that didn’t matter. No one could ever tell humans anything anyway. They were born with agendas. They had as many preconceived notions about each other as she’d once had fleas on a rather ignominious assignment in Mexico.

The problem with humans was that they never followed their instincts—which just went to show what superior intelligence could do for a species. Pheromones, Belle thought. Now there was the answer. Humans always overlooked the pure power of scents, but dogs caught them, cats sniffed them and—voila. Magic—a pal for life.

Which was why humans occasionally needed an angel to nudge them together—and when that failed, to cause a total ruckus to get their attention. This was Belle’s specialty. Well, the nudging part was in her job description. The ruckus business was something she’d thought up purely on her own.

She waited in front of the Cathedral Basilica on Eighteenth Street in Philadelphia’s first snowfall of the season for the humans she’d been assigned to this time. Then she saw him rounding the corner from Race Street, the man she’d been sent to find.

C. Fox Whittington wore a black leather bomber jacket and his hands were deep in his pockets. Black jeans topped his cowboy boots. Belle hoped the boots were for effect. Nowhere in Fox Whittington’s bio had it said anything about horses. She did not like horses, having been kicked soundly by one a hundred years or so ago.

Snowflakes landed on Whittington’s dark hair and promptly melted. As Belle watched, he grinned at some private thought. His white teeth flashed. He probably didn’t need pheromones, she decided. The females of his species would no doubt take one look at that handsome face and fall right at his feet.

Belle hoped this might make her job a little easier. Human males were rarely captivated by the females at their feet. They always wanted the ones they couldn’t quite catch—and Tara Cole would be hard to catch.

Belle wagged her tail once, sharply, as the woman appeared farther down on Eighteenth Street with a cell phone pressed to her ear. Tara had places to go and lots of things to do when she got there, Belle thought. Her hair was a shade darker than Whittington’s. Belle couldn’t tell exactly how long it was because it was tucked into her collar, but it seemed like there might be a lot of it. Her eyes were dark. She was very beautiful. She wouldn’t have much use for pheromones either, Belle decided. This was definitely the type of female that men chased for miles.

She took the phone from her ear and dropped it smartly into her pocket as though glad to be rid of it. This was going to be interesting, Belle thought as Tara drew closer to Whittington. She wasn’t watching where she was going, was still looking down at her pocket where the cell phone was. Maybe they’d walk right into each other. Then some sparks would fly.

But Tara turned left onto Race Street without even looking at Whittington. And Whittington began heading the other way, toward Logan Circle. Stop! Wait! Didn’t they smell each other? Didn’t they sense anything?

Within moments, they were ten, fifteen, twenty feet apart, still moving in opposite directions. Belle sighed. Stupid agendas, she thought. Humans always thought they knew exactly what kind of mate they needed. Disgusted, she left the Cathedral, trotting north now.

Any decent angel had more than one arrow in her quiver.