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Excerpts from a couple of books included in this boxed set:

SANDS OF SEDUCTION

She took a deep breath; was there ever a good time? She must do it; accept it, not hide away anymore. Right now she needed a roof over her head and a job far away from the taunts and stares.

Clary heard the letterbox of the front door, snap shut. The post, it was never ending; every day she gathered up over half a dozen envelopes and yet more leaflets, more dead trees. As she slammed the spam into the recycle bin, a glossy photo caught her eye. Her heart leapt, just what she was looking for; a cottage for sale in a picturesque hamlet, nestling at the foot of a forest in the South Downs. It was half way across the country, but the further the better. She frowned reading the message, maybe it was just a general advert, but it seemed personal.

Delighted you are reading this. I invite you to make an appointment as soon as possible. Your dream cottage by the sea is waiting for you; within easy reach of Brighton and London.

Phone or email Cecil Partridge now, don’t hesitate.

02890 760723 cpartridge@tellomail.co.uk

After pouring a fresh cup of coffee, she picked up the leaflet, taking it to the small dining room, serving as an office. Sitting at the PC, she bent to stroke the head of her white retriever, gazing up at her with those brown soulful eyes. ‘Would you like to live by the beach? Run on the sands, swim in the sea?’

Lila raised her head, with a huge smile, a pink tongue lolling out of her black lips. ‘Yes you would wouldn’t you. Okay – let’s do it. Right now.’ Clary googled ‘MoveNow’, the best website for buying and selling houses or apartments. She tried to swallow the hurt; it seemed so strange searching for property without Theo by her side. It was impossible to ban the memories, the grief. Clenching her teeth, she rubbed away the tears stinging her eyes; dread welled up. Fight it Clary, fight it. Her chest tightened, as she forced herself to search the list of properties for sale. After only a few seconds of scrolling along, she recognized the hamlet. There was more information on the list; it was near a medieval market town with an ancient castle. The tiny village was a picture postcard, composed of cottages either side of a cobbled street, with a village store. The price was low and within her range. It was all she needed or wanted.

THE GEEK GETS THE GIRL

According to the wrinkled strip of paper taped over the original brass placard on the office door, Rachel Parker was the manager of the Paris Haute Heels office. Zac assumed Miss Parker was the woman who strode down the parquet-floored aisle between cubicles with the air of a confident runway model, red heels clicking smartly. Not even the weight of the office supplies she carried could lower her proud jaw. Juggling a coffee cup in one hand, file folders, binders, purse and briefcase in the crook of an elbow—not to mention a mouthful of pink phone messages—she shrugged by Zac where he stood in the doorway to her office, and lunged toward the glass-topped desk to release her burden.

The sleek bend of her body sprawling over the desktop begged attention. A clingy, dark blue dress hugged her from shoulders to mid-thigh, and he visually caressed the taut curve of her ass. Hmm, what did the French call it? Derriere. Nice. And when in France… His fingers cruised an imaginary stroll over the dangerous curves. Shifting into high gear, he hugged the corner and stepped on the accelerator, moving down around her thigh. Breathy pants encouraged his actions until—

Those breathy pants ceased, and the woman whose curves he’d just mastered in a matter of three fantasy seconds stood staring at him, green eyes narrowed in stern summation.

Conjuring a save to cover the distraction that had almost netted him the yellow flag, he tapped the paper taped over the door’s nameplate. “Snazzy décor you’ve got here, Miss Parker.”

“Cutbacks. Tightening the proverbial office belt. It works for me.” Long coils of chestnut hair danced over the spill of office ephemera as she nestled the paper coffee cup into a nook amidst the scatter. 

“And you have finally arrived.”

She caught his surprise and reacted, propping a manicured hand on her hip. 

“Seriously? How long does it take for IT to process a call for help? I know all eight private offices in this building share one tech department, but you must have more than one guy to handle service calls.”

“IT?” Nowadays, he generally put his fingers on sales figures, outlook charts, and the butter-soft leather in the company jet. Zachary Cosgrove had moved up from humble IT guy. Way up. 

“Oh, you assume—”

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