It made his pulse kick up a notch in anticipation. “There’s a surefire way to end this little disagreement right now, because I say you’re lying. I say you are interested in a celebrity like me.” He cupped her chin with his hand and watched her thick lashes flutter as she broke eye contact. But she didn’t pull away. “In fact, I say you’re interested in me.”
JP knew he had her.
Her voice came soft and a little shaky. “How do I prove I’m not?” The way she was staring at his mouth contradicted her words. So did the way her body was leaning into him.
Lowering his head until he was a whisper away, he issued the challenge. “Kiss me.”
About the Author
JENNIFER SEASONS is a Colorado transplant. She lives with her husband and four children along the Front Range, where she enjoys breathtaking views of the mighty Rocky Mountains every day. A dog and two cats keep them company. When she’s not writing, she loves spending time with her family outdoors, exploring her beautiful adopted home state.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.
Also by Jennifer Seasons
Playing the Field
Stealing Home
Give in to your impulses . . .
Read on for a sneak peek at three brand-new
e-book original tales of romance from Avon Books.
Available now wherever e-books are sold.
THE GOVERNESS CLUB: CLAIRE
By Ellie Macdonald
ASHES, ASHES, THEY ALL FALL DEAD
By Lena Diaz
THE GOVERNESS CLUB: BONNIE
By Ellie Macdonald
An Excerpt from
THE GOVERNESS CLUB: CLAIRE
y Ellie Macdonald
Claire Bannister just wants to be a good teacher so that she and the other ladies of the Governess Club can make enough money to leave their jobs and start their own school in the country. But when the new sinfully handsome and utterly distracting tutor arrives, Claire finds herself caught up in a whirlwind romance that could change the course of her future.
What would a “London gent” want with her, Claire wondered as she quickened her pace. The only man she knew in the capital was Mr. Baxter, her late father’s solicitor. Why would he come all the way here instead of corresponding through a letter as usual? Unless it was something more urgent than could be committed to paper. Perhaps it had something to do with Ridgestone—
At that thought, Claire lifted her skirts and raced to the parlor. Five years had passed since her father’s death, since she’d had to leave her childhood home, but she had not given up her goal to one day return to Ridgestone.
The formal gardens of Aldgate Hall vanished, replaced by the memory of her own garden; the terrace doors no longer opened to the ballroom, but to a small, intimate library; the bright corridor darkened to a comforting glow; Claire could even smell her old home as she rushed to the door of the housekeeper’s parlor. Pausing briefly to catch her breath and smooth her hair, she knocked and pushed the door open, head held high, barely able to contain her excitement.
Cup and saucer met with a loud rattle as a young man hurried to his feet. Mrs. Morrison’s disapproving frown could not stop several large drops of tea from contaminating her white linen, nor could Mr. Fosters’s harrumph. Claire’s heart sank as she took in the man’s youth, disheveled hair, and rumpled clothes; he was decidedly not Mr. Baxter. Perhaps a new associate? Her heart picked up slightly at that thought.
Claire dropped a shallow curtsey. “You wished to see me, Mrs. Morrison?”
The thin woman rose and drew in a breath that seemed to tighten her face even more with disapproval. She gestured to the stranger. “Yes. This is Mr. Jacob Knightly. Lord and Lady Aldgate have retained him as a tutor for the young masters.”
Claire blinked. “A tutor? I was not informed they were seeking—”
“It is not your place to be informed,” the butler, Mr. Fosters, cut in.
Claire immediately bowed her head and clasped her hands in front of her submissively. “My apologies. I overstepped.” Her eyes slid shut, and she took a deep breath to dispel the disappointment. Ridgestone faded into the back of her mind once more.
Mrs. Morrison continued with the introduction. “Mr. Knightly, this is Miss Bannister, the governess.”
Mr. Knightly bowed. “Miss Bannister, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Claire automatically curtseyed. “The feeling is mutual, sir.” As she straightened, she lifted her eyes to properly survey the new man. Likely not yet in his third decade, Mr. Knightly wore his brown hair long enough not to be following the current fashion. Scattered locks fell across his forehead, and the darkening of a beard softened an otherwise square-jawed face. He stood nearly a head taller than she did, and his loosely fitted jacket and modest cravat did nothing to conceal broad shoulders. Skimming her gaze down his body, she noticed a shirt starting to yellow with age and a plain brown waistcoat struggling to hide the fact that its owner was less than financially secure. Even his trousers were slightly too short, revealing too much of his worn leather boots. All in all, Mr. Jacob Knightly appeared to be the epitome of a young scholar reduced to becoming a tutor.
Except for his mouth. And his eyes. Not that Claire had much experience meeting with tutors, but even she could tell that the spectacles enhanced rather than detracted from the pale blueness of his eyes. The lenses seemed to emphasize their round shape, emphasize the appreciative gleam in them before Mr. Knightly had a chance to hide it. Even when he did, the corners of his full mouth remained turned up in a funny half-smile, all but oozing confidence and assurance—bordering on an arrogance one would not expect to find in a tutor.
Oh dear.
An Excerpt from
ASHES, ASHES, THEY ALL FALL DEAD
by Lena Diaz
Special Agent Tessa James is obsessed with finding the killer whose signature singsong line—“Ashes, ashes, they all fall dead”—feels all too familiar. When sexy, brilliant consultant Matt Buchanan is paired with Tessa to solve the mystery, they discover, inexplicably, that the clues point to Tessa herself. If she can’t remember the forgotten years of her past, will she become the murderer’s next target?
She raised a shaking hand to her brow and tried to focus on what he’d told her. “You’ve found a pattern where he kills a victim in a particular place but mails the letter for a different victim while he’s there.”
“That’s what I’m telling you, yes. It’s early yet, and we have a lot more to research—and other victims to find—but this is one hell of a coincidence, and I’m not much of a believer in coincidences. I think we’re on to something.”
Tears started in Tessa’s eyes. She’d been convinced since last night that she’d most likely ruined her one chance to find the killer, and at the same time ruined her career. And suddenly everything had changed. In the span of a few minutes, Matt had given her back everything he’d taken from her when he’d destroyed the letter at the lab. Laughter bubbled up in her throat, and she knew she must be smiling like a fool, but she couldn’t help it.