October 2017
On Sale: October 16, 2017
Featuring: Jackson "The Beast" Boudreaux; Bianca Hardwick
348 pages ISBN: 1542047455 EAN: 9781542047456 Kindle: B06XWR6BC3 Paperback / e-Book Add to Wish List
It was ten minutes before I could steal time away from the kitchen. When I
stepped out from behind the swinging metal doors, I saw Pepper had followed my
instructions.
Jackson Boudreaux stood at the end of the bar, glaring into his drink like it
had made a rude comment about his mother. Though the rest of the bar was
crowded, around him there was a five-foot circle of space, as if his presence
were repelling.
I wonder if he smells?
Judging by his appearance, it was a distinct possibility. The black leather
jacket he wore was so creased and battered it could have been from another
century. The thick scruff on his jaw made it obvious he didn't shave on anything
resembling a regular basis, and his hair—as black as his expression—curled over
the collar of his jacket and fell across his forehead in a way that suggested it
hadn't seen a pair of scissors in years.
No wonder Eeny had called him a werewolf. The man had the look of something wild
and dangerous you might run across if you were out for amidnight stroll in the
woods.
He looked up and caught me staring.
From all the way across the room I felt the weight of his gaze, the sudden
shocking force of it, as if he'd reached out and seized me around the throat.
My breath caught. I had to convince myself not to step back. I forced a smile.
Then I made myself move forward, when all my instincts were telling me to turn
around and find a vial of holy water and a gun loaded with silver bullets.
I stopped often to shake hands with the regulars and say hello as I made my way
through the room, so it was another few minutes before I made it to the bar.
When I finally found myself standing in front of my intended target, I was
dismayed to see his expression had turned from merely unpleasant to downright
murderous.
The first thing Jackson Boudreaux said to me was, "I don't like to be kept
waiting."
And my oh my did the Beast have a beautiful voice.
Deep and rich, silky but with an edge like a purr, it was at total odds with his
unkempt appearance. It oozed confidence, command, and raw sex appeal. It was the
voice of a man secure of his place in the world—a voice that was as used to
giving orders to employees as it was to women beneath him in bed.
A flush of heat crept up my neck. I wasn't sure if it was from annoyance, that
voice, or his disturbing steely-blue eyes, which were now burning two holes in
my head.
Before I could reply, he snapped, "Your hostess is incompetent. The music is too
loud. And your drink menu is pretentious. ‘Romeo and Julep?' ‘The Last of the
Mojitos?' Awful. If I were going on first impressions, I'd guess your food is
awful, too."
The flush on my neck flooded into my cheeks. My mouth decided to answer before I
did. "And if I were going on first impressions, I'd guess you were one
of the homeless panhandlers who harass the tourists over on the boulevard, and
throw you out of my restaurant."
Nostrils flared, he stared at me.
So much for unruffled feathers.
To cover my embarrassment, I stuck out my hand and introduced myself. "Bianca
Hardwick. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Boudreaux."
There was a long, terrible moment during which I thought he'd start to shout,
but he simply took my hand and shook it.
"Miss Hardwick. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Formal. So he wasn't born in a barn after all.
"Call me Bianca, please. I apologize for the wait."
Jackson dropped my hand, and with it, his brief civility. "If I wanted to call
you Bianca, I would have. Where's my table?"
He glared at me, his hand wrapped so tightly around his drink his knuckles were
white.
Fighting the urge to kick him in the shin, I instead gave him my sweetest
Southern-belle smile. I would not be intimidated, or bullied, or lose
my cool on account of this arrogant jerk.
"Oh, it's here somewhere." Deliberately vague because I knew it would annoy him,
I waved a hand in the air. "As soon as a table becomes available, we'll squeeze
you in where we can. So nice of you to drop by. Now if you'll excuse me, I have
to get back to—"
"Miss Hardwick," he hissed, stepping closer to loom over me. "Where. Is. My.
Table?"
I felt a dozen pairs of eyes on us. In my peripheral vision, I saw the
bartender, Gilly—almost an older brother to me—red-faced in anger at how I was
being treated. And was it my imagination, or had the restaurant gone quiet
again?
One thing definitely wasn't in my imagination. Jackson Boudreaux didn't
smell. At least not bad. Standing so close, I caught his scent: a delicious
whiff of exotic musk and warm, clean skin that would have been extremely sexy on
anyone else.
But it wasn't anyone else. It was Prince A-hole, heir to an international
bourbon dynasty, devoid of affection for shaving, haircuts, new clothes, or, it
appeared, the human race.
Nappy! Picture him in a nappy with a binkie in his big fat mouth!
I lifted my chin and looked up into his eyes. I said calmly, "Maybe you were
right about the music being too loud. It must have obstructed your hearing,
because I just told you that we'd get you a table as soon as one becomes
available. Or perhaps you'd prefer I throw someone out? Maybe that nice elderly
couple by the piano? They look much less deserving of enjoying their meal than
you do, am I right?"
His lips flattened. A muscle in his jaw flexed. Through his nose, he slowly drew
in a breath.
I wondered if he was restraining himself from smashing his glass against the
wall. Though my heart was hammering, I stood my ground and didn't blink.
Finally, he dragged a hand through the thick mess of his hair and exhaled, an
exasperated sound that clearly telegraphed how much he enjoyed interacting with
the peasants.
Especially ones who dared to get lippy.
He snapped, "How long?"
By this time my smile had died a painful death. "You made my hostess cry. How
long of a wait do you think that's worth?"
Through gritted teeth, he replied, "I'm not a man to be toyed with, Miss
Hardwick. As I told your hysterical hostess, I know all the prominent food
critics—"
I snorted. "How lucky for them!"
"—and as my name is featured prominently on most of the dishes on your menu, I'd
expect you'd be more accommodating—"
"Technically, Boudreaux is your family's name, correct?"
"—because I make it my business to protect anything with my name on it—"
"Excuse me, how did my menu suddenly become your property?"
"—and if your food is as bad as everything else I've experienced so far,
including your attitude, I won't hesitate to speak with my industry contacts,
along with my attorneys about your infringement on my family's
trademark."
My mouth dropped open. I stared at him in horror. "You're threatening to
sue me? You can't possibly be serious!"
For an answer, he narrowed his eyes at me. A low, dangerous growl rumbled
through his chest.
Oh, no. Oh, no, he did not just try to scare me with that wild
animal act!
I closed the final foot between us, looked straight into his cold blue eyes, and
said, "I don't care who you are, Mr. Boudreaux, or how much bad press you can
bring me, or how many overpaid attorneys you have. Your manners are atrocious.
Growl at me again and I will throw you out."
I stepped back and met his burning stare with a level one of my own. "You'll get
the next available table. In the meantime, have another drink on me. Maybe the
alcohol will turn you back into a human being."
Fuming, I spun around and walked away, convinced Jackson Boudreaux was the most
arrogant, stuck-up, bad-tempered man I'd ever had the misfortune to cross paths
with. The only thing I could ever feel for him was disgust.
The marriage is fake. But for a sassy chef and an arrogant billionaire,
the sparks are real…
Jackson "The Beast" Boudreaux is rich, gorgeous, and unbelievably rude to the
staff at Chef Bianca Hardwick's New Orleans restaurant. Bianca would sooner
douse herself in hot sauce than cook for Jackson again, but when he asks her to
cater his fund-raiser, Bianca can't refuse, knowing the cash will help pay her
mother's medical bills. Then Jackson makes another outrageous request: Marry me.
The unconventional offer includes an enormous sum—money Bianca desperately
needs, even if it does come with a contract—and a stunning ring.
The heir to a family bourbon dynasty, Jackson knows the rumors swirling
around him. The truth is even darker. Still, he needs a wife to secure his
inheritance, and free-spirited, sassy Bianca would play the part beautifully.
Soon, though, their simple business deal evolves into an emotional intimacy he's
built walls to avoid.
As the passion heats up between them, Bianca and Jackson struggle to define
which feelings are real and which are for show. Is falling for your fake fiancé
the best happy ending…or a recipe for disaster?
Romance Contemporary
[Montlake Romance, On Sale: October 16, 2017,
Paperback / e-Book, ISBN: 9781542047456 / ]
J.T. Geissinger is an award-winning author of paranormal and contemporary
romance featuring dark and twisted plots, kick-ass heroines, and alpha heroes
whose hearts are even bigger than their muscles. Her debut fantasy romance
Shadow's Edge was a #1 bestseller on Amazon US and UK and won the Prism award
for Best First Book. Her follow-up novel, Edge of Oblivion, was a RITA Award
finalist for Paranormal Romance from the Romance Writers of America, and she has
been nominated for numerous awards for her work.