Rhonda Nelson - Blazing Bedtime Stories, Volume IX - The Equalizer

Of Rhonda Nelson …

“I loved The Keeper . Jack and Mariette strike sparks off one another from their very first meeting and there is an emotional intensity to the mystery that will bring a few tears to your eyes.” —Fresh Fiction

“This highly romantic tale is filled with emotion and wonderful characters. It’s a heart-melting romance.”

—RT Book Reviews on Letters From Home

“Wonderfully written and heart-stirring, the story flies by to the deeply satisfying ending.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Soldier

Of Karen Foley …

“[G]uaranteed to keep you turning the pages!”

—RT Book Reviews on Devil in Dress Blues

“[T]he romance is intense and sure to please.”

—RT Book Reviews on Hot-Blooded

“With its blaze of heat, this is one very captivating tale!”

—Cataromance Reviews on Able-Bodied

A Waldenbooks bestselling author, two-time RITA ®Award nominee, RT Book Reviews Reviewers Choice nominee and National Readers’ Choice Award winner, RHONDA NELSONwrites hot romantic comedy for the Mills & Boon ®Blaze ®line. With more than thirty-five published books to her credit, she’s thrilled with her career and enjoys dreaming up her characters and manipulating the worlds they live in. She and her family make their chaotic but happy home in a small town in northern Alabama. She loves to hear from her readers, so be sure and check her out at www.readRhondaNelson.com, follow her on Twitter @ RhondaRNelson and like her on Facebook.

KAREN FOLEYis an incurable romantic. When she’s not working for the Department of Defense, she’s writing sexy romances with strong heroes and happy endings. She lives in Massachusetts with her husband and two daughters, an overgrown puppy and two very spoiled cats. Karen enjoys hearing from her readers. You can find out more about her by visiting www.karenefoley.com.

Rhonda Nelson

Karen Foley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Rhonda Nelson

For Cara Summers, a wonderful storyteller, intrepid white-water kayaker—

I’m sure you remember Reno :-)—and all around sweetheart. You’re an inspiration, truly.

WITH A NAME SIMILAR TO A fabled outlaw, a passion for archery and a best friend named John Little, former Ranger Robin Sherwood had been the butt of many jokes, the bulk of which he’d accepted good-naturedly.

This, however, was different, because the situation he presently found himself in was a hell of his own making.

The maître d’s eyes rounded in alarm, presumably because Robin was in every possible violation of the dress code and, while it was October, it wasn’t yet quite Halloween. The conundrum had clearly flummoxed him.

“My usual table, please, Branson,” Robin instructed briskly, sparing the man their usual chit-chat.

“Certainly, sir.” His gaze slid over him once again—further confirmation that his eyes hadn’t deceived him, Robin imagined—and, with a small gulp, Branson turned and led the way. “If you’ll follow me.”

“It’s like Christmas has come early,” John crowed behind him through fits of smothered, wheezing laughter. “And this is the best present ever .”

Determined to see this humiliation through to the end, Robin released a long suffering sigh and soldiered on.

A series of gasps, snickers and the clatter of fumbled cutlery followed him through the five-star restaurant. Though he was generally shameless and couldn’t be bothered to care what people thought, he came as close to blushing as he ever hoped to and knew a small measure of relief when they finally arrived at their table.

“Paybacks are hell,” Robin told him, his tone mild. He casually placed his napkin over his lap. “Just remember that.”

John, irritatingly, continued to beam. He was in custom Armani, naturally—nothing off the rack would fit his Hercules-like frame—and every blond hair had been gelled meticulously into place. “You shouldn’t have accepted the bet if you weren’t certain of the outcome. Isn’t that what you’ve always told me? A glass of Cristal,” he happily told the waiter. “I’m celebrating.”

Robin ordered a nice red wine and pretended not to notice that almost every eye in the exclusive restaurant was trained on him. He glanced out the window and admired the view instead. Downtown Atlanta lay spread out in a sea of night, punctuated with glittering lights and the occasional flash of neon. Though many of the storefronts were decorated with pretty mums, hay bales and gourds, fall seemed reluctant to make an official appearance thus far. It was unseasonably warm in Hotlanta for this time of year, which made his current outfit all the more uncomfortable. He grimaced.

That would teach him to bet when drunk.

“You look positively miserable,” John said, smiling.

Robin smothered a curse and glared at his friend. “I’m hot.”

“I imagine so.” John’s gaze darted to the top of Robin’s head and he heaved a grudging sigh. “You can take off the hat, I suppose, but be careful not the crush that feather,” he warned with a scowl. “It’s rented, not bought.”

Thank God for small favors, Robin thought. Better that the damned thing was returned than put away for future use. Particularly his. And given how much fun his friend was currently enjoying at his expense, he could easily see John pulling this little number out again and again.

Robin’s phone suddenly vibrated in the leather pouch attached to his waist and, though it was bad form to answer it in the restaurant, he couldn’t dismiss the call. It was an old friend from boarding school, Brian Payne, and more recently—more importantly—his new boss at Ranger Security. After the hit to his leg in Mosul had shredded his thigh muscle and thus ended his career in the military—as he’d envisioned it, anyway—Robin was eternally thankful for the job. Though there were many who would argue that he didn’t need gainful employment, he’d never felt that way. Trust fund or not, he’d always needed a purpose. Needed to be useful. What was that old saying? Idle hands were the devil’s playground?

He didn’t know if he completely agreed with that—a battlefield seemed more apt—but he understood the sentiment. Busy people didn’t have time to get into trouble. The only reason he’d been horsing around with John and had lost this damned bet was because he was between jobs at Ranger Security.

“Sherwood,” he answered, turning away from the din.

“My Facebook feed just blew up with pictures of you, taken at Dolce Maria’s, in what appears to be some sort of costume,” Payne said, the humor barely registering in his cool voice. “I know it’s been a while since you’ve been in polite society, Robin, but surely you haven’t forgotten all the rules.”

Robin swore hotly under his breath and Payne’s chuckle echoed over the line.

“‘The boy who wouldn’t grow up,’ one caption reads,” Payne continued. He laughed appreciatively. “Clever.”

Robin felt his eyes widen and he shot a dark look at John. “I’m not freakin’ Peter Pan,” he told him, outraged. “I’m Robin Hood, dammit.” He glared accusingly across the table and lowered his voice. “I told you I needed the bow and arrows, but would you listen? No.”