Simona Taylor - Everything to Me

For lovers only...

When she jets down to the Caribbean, Dakota Merrick doesn’t expect to spend the night with Trent Walker at his luxurious island hideaway. The bad blood between the music columnist and the ultra-charming jazz producer vanishes with their first kiss. Dakota’s enchanted by the erotic atmosphere of the world-class resort and the passionate music she and Trent are making together.

Trent knows he shouldn’t trust the ambitious reporter. But living out his most sensual fantasies with Dakota is a temptation no man can refuse. Until a breaking scandal threatens their tropical idyll. Will Dakota choose ambition over a future with him? Or can Trent find the right notes to play a love riff straight into her heart?

“Magic,” he murmured.

“Huh?”

“Those bottles and chimes. Charms. You see them in different parts of the world. Some for the evil eye, some for good luck…”

“Love charms?”

He laughed softly. “Considering where we are, I’m betting on it.”

She lifted her eyes to the jangling chimes, wary but curious. He wondered if she believed in them. He knew that luck was what you made it. And so was love. Dammit, he thought. It’s now or never. Her face, still tilted toward the chimes, was open to him. He knew exactly what she would taste like seconds before his lips landed on hers. Red wine and mangoes. A warm sweetness all her own.

Immediately, her lips parted and softened, opening for him. When the tips of their tongues touched, he felt as if someone had tossed a transistor radio into his bathtub. The jolt was so sharp it almost singed his hair. He felt her sigh softly into his mouth.

He let one hand rise to cup her pointed chin, but was reminded of her injury by the roughness of the bandage.

“Sorry,” he murmured, taking his hand away.

She grasped it and rested it lightly against her cheek, nestling into it.

SIMONA TAYLOR

lives on her native Caribbean island of Trinidad—a fertile place for dreaming up scorching, sun-drenched romance novels. She balances a career in public relations with a family of two small children and one very patient man, while feeding her obsession with writing.

She has also published three works of women’s literary fiction under her real name, Roslyn Carrington, but it is her passion for romance that most consumes her. When not dreaming up drool-worthy heroes, she updates her website, www.scribble-scribble.com.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Dear Sister in Romance,

I hope you enjoy Everything to Me. This is the second novel I’ve set in Tobago, where my grandmother was born. We vacationed there every year, and I have many memories of my childhood there: sailing from Trinidad on a rickety overnight ferry—and once on my grandfather’s tiny, open fishing boat, and watching crab and goat races on the beach. I’m always glad to share my pride and delight with you. Better yet, why not come see for yourself? I’ll take you to this great place I know where we can eat right on the beach...

Even if you can’t hop on a plane, pass by my website, www.scribble-scribble.com. There’s always a breath of fresh Caribbean air waiting there for you. You can also reach me at roslyn@scribble-scribble.com, or on Facebook, Shelfari, or on my author pages at Harlequin.com or Amazon.

Keep reading!

Simona

Contents

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 1

Trent Walker. On her plane.

Shoot me now.

Dakota Merrick sank a little deeper into the plush upholstery of her seat and watched as Walker sauntered up the aisle of the first class cabin. He held a leather laptop case in one hand, and a long, camel-colored coat was slung over his arm. He was casually dressed in a deep green polo and dark jeans and oh, yes, they both fit him quite nicely. The rich fabric clinging to him allowed her to make out the imprint of toned pecs and biceps.

Not that she was admiring them or anything.

As he drew closer, Dakota became aware of an itch rising somewhere in her midsection and creeping upward, like an invasion of teeny baby spiders. Up, up, over her chest and throat, up into her hair, and…oh, ugh. Spider metaphors were so uncool. She was a better writer than that.

He was even closer now. Damn.

It was a six-hour flight from the small eastern seaboard city of Santa Amata. If she’d been granted three wishes by a genie, she was pretty sure that being trapped for so long in a flying potato-chip can with the great Trent Walker wouldn’t be one of them.

Especially since the last time they’d met, she’d almost got herself arrested.

He was not going to sit next to her. He was not… She’d rather sit next to a toddler with an ear infection. Anything would be better than being stuck with…

She was relieved to see that he was stopping two rows ahead. Dakota watched as he checked his ticket, his long face tilted down, his eyes hidden behind thin, expensive sunglasses. Then he lifted his head, verified his seat number and seemed satisfied.

Easily, he popped open the storage bin and stowed his haphazardly folded coat inside. He held on to the laptop. Sure he would, she thought. The music genius was probably going to work through the whole flight.

She looked down at the pile of magazines she’d brought with her, and tried not to feel competitive. There’d be more than enough work to keep her occupied once she got to Tobago, she reminded herself. She didn’t need to get all workaholic up in here.

A chubby-legged young girl in a too-short denim skirt—which looked more like a wide, clingy belt than anything else—squeezed past Walker, looked up into his face with a pardon-me smile, and stopped dead. Dakota could hear the squeal of recognition from where she sat.

Trying not to roll her eyes, she watched the two briefly exchange words. Walker was smiling nonchalantly, while the girl quivered like an overexcited rabbit and flipped her purple-streaked hair. He reached into his laptop pocket, pulled out a small card, wrote something on it and extended it to her between two fingers. She clasped it to her chest like it was Willy Wonka’s golden ticket, then did a little happy dance, chubby ankles tripping past each other in lace-up platform shoes.

Now Dakota really did roll her eyes.

Traffic in the aisle was backing up, so Walker excused himself with an incline of his head, and slid into his row. He smiled goodbye to the bunny rabbit and she jiggled down the aisle. She stopped, as luck would have it, right next to Dakota. Dakota rose and slid out, allowing her access to the window seat, glancing in Walker’s direction as she did so.

She was startled to discover that he was looking in hers.

His expression could have won him a prize at a lemon-sucking contest. Slowly, one long hand came up and removed the glasses, as if he needed more light to determine if it really was her. With that gesture, he revealed eyes that reminded her of the buttered toffee she used to make candy apples with as a kid. But in those eyes… There was no warmth there. The unsmiling set of his full mouth immediately squelched that happy memory.