Mary Baxter - Tempting Janey

Janey’s emotions couldn’t take another blow.

Her stomach heaved, her shoulders shook and tears gushed down her cheeks.

“God, Janey, don’t,” Dillon pleaded in an agonized voice.

Then he lunged to his feet and strode toward her, stopping so close that she could feel his breath warm her skin when he spoke again.

“I don’t know when to keep my bloody mouth shut.”

“It’s not your fault,” she whispered, her lips accidentally grazing his. Wide-eyed, their gazes held while Janey’s breath constricted and her head reeled.

“God, don’t look at me like that or—” He broke off again, then added, “Oh, to hell with it.”

As before, his kisses started out feather light, on her temple, her cheek, her mouth. They barely touched as he murmured, “I didn’t mean to upset you more.”

“It’s all right,” she sobbed, circling her arms around his neck until his lips were locked tightly and frantically against hers.

“Aptly named, Baxter’s latest novel boasts sensuality as its strongest feature—the attraction between the hero and heroine sparks fire from the first and keeps on burning hot throughout.”

—Publishers Weekly on Sultry

www.mirabooks.co.uk

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

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The quietness bothered him.

It wasn’t natural, Dillon Reed told himself as he ambled down the main hall of Brookwood High School, where he was principal. This hall and the others should be teeming with students laughing, talking and slamming locker doors.

All that and more would start again soon enough, Dillon reminded himself with a quirk of his lips. First thing in the morning, in fact. But on this Wednesday evening, just after dark, the students were gone and silence was the order of the day.

Dillon didn’t make a habit of cruising the halls when they were empty. His purpose for having stopped by the school on this particular evening was to get his briefcase, which he’d forgotten. After that, he was headed to his sister’s, where he was expected for dinner.

But since he had some time to kill, he’d figured he might as well stroll down the main hall and check for new graffiti on the walls and lockers, something that never failed to raise his ire.

Dillon paused, feeling the silence close around him like a tomb. The place was downright gloomy without its usual hubbub.

What was wrong with him? He spent more than his share of time on the job, arriving way before the first bell rang and leaving long after the last one had sounded. In fact, he was on the premises a lot at night—the only time he could get his paperwork done—and the silence had never bothered him before.

What was different about tonight?

He wasn’t complaining. He loved what he did, loved every nook and cranny of this new building, loved every minute he spent walking the halls and grounds. He’d worked his way up through the ranks of the system, starting out as a teacher and coach, then moving up to guidance counselor, and now to principal.

He wasn’t content, though. He had his eye on a superintendent’s position. But he wasn’t in a hurry. Right now, he was content to remain hands-on with the kids. Keeping up with them kept him young in mind and spirit. When the time was right to make the move, he would know it.

However, he wasn’t interested in getting too far away from Hunter. This small South Carolina town of forty thousand plus, perfectly positioned between Charleston and Savannah, was home to him. And since he’d invested heavily in a chunk of land—land that he hoped to make into a profitable horse farm—he intended to be picky about future jobs.

A deep sigh escaped Dillon just as he reached his office and unlocked the door.

That was when he heard the noise.

When he couldn’t identify the sound, every muscle in his body tensed. He didn’t move; he almost stopped breathing as his military background booted his system into high alert. He listened.

Nothing.

Dillon almost wilted with relief. His imagination was obviously working overtime, which wasn’t a bad thing. Blatant mischief and much worse were problems that all schools had to contend with. It never paid to be careless, and he couldn’t let himself get overconfident that his facility was different simply because he ran it with an iron fist.

He had the door all the way open and had reached for the light switch when he heard the noise again. He stood still, feeling his heart up its pace and the hairs stand out on his neck. No mistake this time. Something was going on.

Suddenly a crashing sound, like that of glass breaking, interrupted the stark silence.

Someone else was definitely in the building.

The lab. That was his first guess. It was at the opposite end of this hall and full of plenty of breakable objects. Rage rendered him immobile for several more seconds before it hit his body like a shot of adrenaline.

He spun on his booted heels and charged down the hall, careful at the same time not to let the culprit or culprits know they had company.

Dillon had no idea what he would encounter, but it didn’t matter. Whoever was responsible for what was going down would pay dearly. No one destroyed Brookwood property and got away with it.

Another crash assaulted his ears just as he rounded the dark corner. He flinched, but his feet never faltered. Hoping to sneak up on the intruders unannounced, he hadn’t turned on the lights. That would have sent them scurrying out the side door of the lab before he could get to them.

When Dillon paused at the door and eased his head around, only the glow from a high-powered flashlight greeted him. Still, he was able to see two people, both males, both young, both wearing caps, masks and gloves.

Students, his instincts told him. Smart students, at that, having thought to shield their identity.

They were having a high old time, too, beating the hell out of the equipment. One had a baseball bat in hand, the other had a hammer. Broken glass, microscopes and computers were strewn about.

The place looked like a war zone.

After seeing the havoc the little creeps had wreaked, Dillon’s rage threatened to choke him. This was the first time this kind of malicious destruction had taken place at his school. But no more. He was about to bring their party to a halt.

“Hold it, boys. Playtime’s over.”

“Oh, shit!” one of them yelled, then tore off toward the door. “Come on, let’s get the hell out of here!”

The other one obviously needed no second invitation as he shot over the debris like a sprinter and dashed toward the exit, almost running over his companion in the process.

Dillon followed suit, only to curse silently. The door. He’d underestimated their closeness to the side entrance that made a quick exit possible.