Bronwyn Jameson - Addicted to Nick

The words tumbled out in a breathy rush. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I think you do know. I think that’s what scares you.”

Nick’s voice was as soft as the moonlight. T.C. felt a shiver run through her. Not cold, but heat. “Casual sex isn’t something I handle well,” she breathed.

“You think this would be casual?”

Her startled gaze flew to his and was immediately trapped by his intent expression. Her breathing grew shallow; her pulse pounded like racing hoofbeats on summer-hard earth.

“I imagine nothing’s ever casual with you,” he said slowly.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Silhouette Desire! We’re delighted to offer you again this month six passionate, powerful and provocative romances sure to please you.

Start with December’s fabulous MAN OF THE MONTH, A Cowboy’s Promise. This latest title in Anne McAllister’s popular CODE OF THE WEST miniseries features a rugged Native American determined to win back the woman he left three years before. Then discover The Secret Life of Connor Monahan in Elizabeth Bevarly’s tale of a vice cop who mistakenly surmises that a prim and proper restaurateur is operating a call-girl ring.

The sizzling miniseries 20 AMBER COURT concludes with Anne Marie Winston’s Risqué Business, in which a loyal employee tries to prevent a powerful CEO with revenge on his mind from taking over the company she thinks of as her family. Reader favorite Maureen Child delivers the next installment of another exciting miniseries, THE FORTUNES OF TEXAS: THE LOST HEIRS. In Did You Say Twins?! a marine sergeant inherits twin daughters and is forced to turn for help to the woman who refused his marriage proposal ten years before.

The sexy hero of Michael’s Temptation, the last book in Eileen Wilks’s TALL, DARK & ELIGIBLE miniseries, goes to Central America to rescue a lovely lady who’s been captured by guerrillas. And sparks fly when a smooth charmer and a sassy tomboy are brought together by their shared inheritance of an Australian horse farm in Brownyn Jameson’s Addicted to Nick.

Take time out from the holiday rush and treat yourself to all six of these not-to-be-missed romances.

Enjoy,

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

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spent much of her childhood with her head buried in a book. As a teenager, she discovered romance novels, and it was only a matter of time before she turned her love of reading them into a love of writing them. Bronwyn shares an idyllic piece of the Australian farming heartland with her husband and three sons, a thousand sheep, a dozen horses, assorted wildlife and one kelpie dog. She still chooses to spend her limited downtime with a good book. Bronwyn loves to hear from readers. Write to her at bronwyn@bronwynjameson.com.

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Nick didn’t know what coming home should feel like, but he figured something ought to register on the nostalgia scale. Nothing major, mind you, just a touch of the warm and fuzzies. Hell, even a twinge of bitterness would be better than the emotional numbness that seemed to have settled over him during the long flight from JFK to Australia.

He hated the lack of feeling. It reminded him too keenly of the first time he’d stood in this drive gazing up at Joe Corelli’s mansion, except that time he had deliberately schooled his eight-year-old heart to blankness. He hadn’t wanted to feel anything—not fear or confusion, shame or hope—so he’d simply looked at the big house and wondered how long till someone realized they’d made a serious mistake.

Kids like Niccolo Corelli got arrested for being anywhere near houses like this.

But the stranger who introduced himself as some relative of his dead mother had looped a comforting arm around his shoulders and said, “This is your home, Niccolo. Forget what came before—you’re part of my family now.”

Part of a family.

Nick hadn’t a clue what that meant, and, despite Joe’s best efforts, he’d never been allowed to forget his origins.

He stared a while longer at the big house and felt nothing. Maybe he just needed sleep. Ten hours, uninterrupted, between sheets. Yeah, that was exactly what his jet-lagged body and emotion-lagged mind needed, although they weren’t getting horizontal yet. With a barely stifled yawn, he unfolded himself from the hire car and stretched his limbs. Then, as he turned toward the house, he caught a flicker of movement at an upstairs window.

Big Brother George watching from on high.

Just like that first time, Nick thought, although today he raised a casual hand in acknowledgment instead of the single-finger salute of fourteen years before. The curtain shifted back into place, and Nick puffed out a derisive laugh. Idly he scanned the ground-floor windows and wondered who else might be watching.

How many of the four women who had grown up as his sisters waited inside the thick stucco walls? Sophie, no doubt. At the faintest whiff of trouble, Sophie always came running. She was the one who dobbed to her mother the first time he bloodied George’s nose…and to her father the last time. It was Sophie who eavesdropped on the heated argument between her parents before Joe brought him here, and who spread the phrase “dirty whore’s brat.”

Yeah, he would bet money on Sophie turning up—if George had bothered to let his sisters know he was coming. His adoptive brother’s communication record was something less than stellar.

He slammed the car door on that thought, but as he strode up the drive, he could feel the tension in his jaw and a stiffness in his muscles that had nothing to do with jet lag. He didn’t want to be here—not here in Melbourne, nor at the country stables he had reportedly inherited.

Reportedly.

Wasn’t it just like George to play petty games with the facts and to ensure that the solicitor handling Joe’s estate played along, too? Nick blew out an exasperated breath. As soon as he learned the full story and slapped a For Sale sign on Yarra Park, he was gone.

This time for good.

If the night hadn’t been so still, silent but for the occasional swoosh of straw under restless hooves, T.C. wouldn’t have heard the faint creak of gate hinges.

Or the crunch of footsteps on the gravel path leading from the house-yard to the stables.

She could have made her way back to the stable hand’s quarters at the far end of the barn and crawled back into bed, convinced her sleep had been disturbed by an unfamiliar and unforgiving mattress rather than the audible signs of a midnight intruder.