Colleen Collins - Lightning Strikes

Blaine wanted Donovan

More than ever, she wanted to make love to him. Fiery, passionate love. The kind that burned away all petty worries. She stared at his profile, wondering how to approach him.

“It’s getting awfully hot in here,” she whispered.

He looked around the room for a thermostat. “Want me to turn down the—” He broke off, as if he suddenly realized she wasn’t talking about the temperature. “Well…what do you want?”

Blaine shifted in her seat. Outside, the rush of rain and wind sounded like someone whispering, “Lovers.”

Lovers. The thought thrilled her.

“What do I want?” To show him, she pressed her lips against his neck, taking tiny, nibbling bites. Emboldened by her fired-up libido and his sharp intake of breath, she leaned close to his ear and whispered, “I want to devour you.”

Dear Reader,

A year ago, my editor visited me in Colorado. We took a day trip to Manitou Springs, a lovely town nestled in the foothills of Pikes Peak, and we were talking about my writing a WRONG BED book. At that moment we walked past an old antique store with the most beautiful, ornate brass bed in the window and my editor pointed at it and said, “There’s your Wrong Bed story.”

And that’s the moment Lightning Strikes began taking shape in my mind. The story opens when Blaine Saunders, down on her luck and out taking a mind-cleansing stroll, is lulled into a store by a sensuously magical brass bed in the window. And on a whim, practical Blaine has a spontaneous moment and buys the bed!

That’s just the beginning of more spontaneous moments in Blaine’s life—moments filled with fun, sensuality and some steamy adventures with a dark, handsome stranger who falls into her life, and into that brass bed….

I invite you to visit my Web site, www.colleencollins.net, where you can read about my upcoming Temptation novels, enter contests and more.

Enjoy Lightning Strikes! And like the heroine in the story, do something fun and sensual for yourself on a whim….

Best wishes,

Colleen Collins

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

867—JOYRIDE

899—TONGUE-TIED

HARLEQUIN DUETS

10—MARRIED AFTER BREAKFAST

22—ROUGH AND RUGGED

30—IN BED WITH THE PIRATE

39—SHE’S GOT MAIL!

Lightning Strikes

Colleen Collins

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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I’d like to dedicate this book to the Common Grounds coffee shop in Denver where I’ve sipped many lattes and written many romances. And thanks to my great friends in Denver with whom I shared lots of laughter and good times. John and Ralph, save a chair for me at the “Little Bear.”

And thank you to my editor, Wanda Ottewell, for her ongoing encouragement and support.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

BLAINE SAUNDERS GLIDED her fingers along the cylindrical metal and closed her hand tightly around it, loving its hard, smooth texture. Then she sucked in a gasp of air and sneezed.

Damn allergies. Still gripping the section of metal on the brass headboard, Blaine stuffed her other hand into her pants pocket and withdrew one of the always-present tissues she kept handy this time of year. Just a few minutes ago, she’d sneezed her head off outside the Spice of Life coffee shop, one of her fav haunts in Manitou Springs. But then, almost everywhere in Manitou was a fav haunt—what wasn’t to like about a picturesque mountain community filled with quaint shops and winding streets nestled at the base of Colorado’s Pikes Peak?

But when summer hit, the temperatures spiked and the afternoon thunderstorms rolled in, changing the cozy little town into a bowl of pollen.

She blew her nose. June should be declared Pollen Month.

Tucking away the tissue, Blaine brushed her fingers along the glistening headboard and imagined how pleasurable it would be to sleep in this beauty every single night. She leaned closer, catching her reflection in its polished surface. The shimmering metallic image gave her big green eyes and shoulder-length auburn hair a magical allure she never felt in everyday life. If she held her head a little higher, her gold-tinged reflection looked almost like Liv Tyler in Lord of the Rings.

Blaine sighed deeply. Then coughed. Damn allergies.

Dabbing the tissue at her nose, she stroked her finger in a lazy path along a metallic curve, enjoying the streak of moisture left from her hot skin making contact with the cool metal. So cool. So hot outside. Would anyone notice if I pressed my hot face against this cool metal?

She looked around. Jerome, the store owner, stood by a window, his hair glinting silver in a stream of sunlight, where he fastidiously dusted off an antique cabinet. But no one else was around. Great. She leaned over and pressed her forehead, then her cheek, against the sleek metal.

Ahhhhhh.

This had to be better than sticking her face in front of a fan, which she’d been doing back at her office all morning long. Especially after David called to announce he was engaged to another girl, although the fan didn’t, unfortunately, blow away her disappointment. So she’d reminded herself that four months of Thursday-night dates didn’t necessarily equate to ever-after.

For David, it didn’t equate to exclusivity either, it appeared.

But for Blaine, it had been a close-enough, sorta-boyfriend situation that she’d suggested they take a romantic Alaskan cruise, a dream she’d nursed since grammar school when she’d written a report on the northern lights. When David agreed, Blaine had exuberantly spent her income tax return on a cruise ticket. Which she’d been on her way to get a cash refund for when this beguiling bed had snagged her attention.

She pressed her cheek harder against the metal, loving its sleek, cool texture. If only men were like this. Stable, reassuring, cool when it was hot outside…hot when it was cool inside…

“Blaine, dear, are you all right?”

Blaine, her cheek still pressed to the section of brass bed, shifted her gaze. Jerome stood stiffly next to her, his gray, cookie-duster mustache twitching. His gaze darted to the metal pressed to her cheek, then back to her eyes.

“I’m fine,” she murmured, easing ever so casually to a standing position, hoping she didn’t have a cylindrical indent on her cheek. Jerome’s cologne, which always smelled like spicy orchids to her, traced the air.

“Still haven’t fixed your air-conditioning?”

“When my accounts pay up, I might.”

In the moment of silence that followed, Blaine knew that Jerome knew exactly what she was talking about. Several months ago, Jerome had hired Blaine to organize an estate sale, for which he had yet to pay. As owner of the Blaine Saunders Temporary Agency, she normally brokered temporary personnel for others—anything from accounting to technical writing—but because Jerome had been an old friend of her mother’s, Blaine had taken on management of the estate sale herself.