Macy O'James is back in Sugarville, Washington, ready to
face those who tarnished her reputation as an easy girl and
further tainted with a crime. Now sexy and confident, as
well as famous for her music videos and celebrity
connections, she is home to help the family who raised her.
Meeting the sexy fireman, Gabriel Donovan, brings sparks to
the fire already burning through Macy.
The "straight arrow" Gabe and "shoot-from-the-hip" Macy
indulge their fantasies, not expecting more than a one-
night stand full of burning hot sex. Gabe searches for an
arsonist as he protects and defends Macy against the town
onslaught. But can Macy let her defenses slip and rid
herself of the crucified girl of years ago to establish a
lasting relationship?
Macy is the bad and sexy girl returning to a small town
from California after achieving total success. Always
feeling on the outside looking in, Macy struggles to open
herself up again. She is constantly on the edge with
flippant comebacks to protect her. Macy and Gabe burn up
the pages and keep you engrossed to the last page.
Though it’s been years since the infamous Macy O’James
stepped foot in Sugarville, Washington, everyone remembers
what she supposedly did. The tiny town is still buzzing
about her crime and lack of punishment.
Now back to lend her family a hand, Macy vows to hold her
head high—especially at her high school reunion. But
forget about the hottest man in Sugarville escorting her.
Though she and fire chief Gabriel Donovan generate enough
sparks to burn down the town, he’s a law-abiding, line-
towing straight arrow. So not her type.
But, maybe—just maybe—he could change her mind about that.
Excerpt
Gabriel Donovan knew Macy O’James was trouble the minute she
rolled into town.
Hell, he knew it before she even hit the city limits. He and
Johnny Angelini were sitting in Johnny’s police cruiser out
near the county line, shooting the bull and discussing ways
to improve workplace efficiency, when he had his first Macy
O’James sighting.
Not that he knew it was her at that moment. Despite old
Sheriff Baxter’s objection to what he considered the
newfangled notion of interdepartmental information sharing
between Johnny, Sugarville’s sole deputy, and Gabe, the
town’s fire chief, the two men liked putting their heads
together every now and then to talk out problems they felt
had crossover potential. And that particular hot July
afternoon, Gabe had just finished recounting why he thought
Johnny should check out a ramshackle trailer out near
Leavenston that he suspected might be a meth lab, when a
candy-apple red, drop-top Corvette roared by, trailing
screaming rock and roll in its wake.
The two men exchanged a look. "Not going that much above the
limit," Gabe commented laconically.
"True." Johnny nodded. "Ten over hardly seems worth the time
to write up a ticket."
"That was my thought."
"Still," Johnny said. "Hot car, hotter driver, man. Blond.
Could be my future bride."
"There is that," he agreed, although how his friend could
state the driver’s hair color, much less her hotness factor,
from the one quick glimpse they’d gotten as she’d blown past
was beyond him. He didn’t, however, doubt it was true.
Johnny had eyes like a raptor when it came to the female
portion of the human race.
The deputy scratched a thumbnail across his jaw. "And it is
a hot day. Be a real mess if Myerson chose now to let his
cows cross the road."
"Little car, big cattle," he granted.
"My civic duty to do my job. It’s not like they pay me the
big bucks for sitting under the trees. So." He raised an
eyebrow. "You in?"
Gabe considered. Common sense dictated he get out of the
cruiser, get back in his rig and go about his business. He
had no real reason or even desire to check out Johnny’s
"future bride". Beyond the fact he was currently dating a
nice woman, he was nowhere close to being the hound with the
babes that Johnny was.
Not any more.
On the other hand, it was pretty much the male code not to
let your friends have too much fun if there was any chance
you could throw a wrench in their good times. "S’pose I
better," he said dryly. "When she files the sexual
harassment suit, she’s gonna need a witness."
Grinning, the deputy started up the Ford Ranger. He eased
the cruiser out from beneath a stand of Douglas firs and
alders that had done a decent job of shielding their cars
from passing traffic, bumped over the uneven turf and onto
the highway, then hit the siren at the same time he punched
the gas.
They caught up with the Corvette moments later and watched
as it first slowed, then pulled to the side of the road. The
blaring music cut-off mid note.
Two suitcases sticking up from behind the car seats blocked
the driver from view. But her door opened in the sudden
silence and a long, bare leg appeared, a blue peep-toed,
platform-soled, Cuban heel-shod foot stretching for the ground.
"You can wait here," Johnny said, reaching for the door
handle. "This is clearly a job for a trained professional."
Gabe snorted. "Not a chance. What kind of bud would I be if
I didn’t have your back?" Climbing from the cruiser, he
looked at Johnny over its top. "For all we know, the woman’s
armed and dangerous."
"Yeah, I’m worried about that. Might have to pat her down
for weapons."
That would be the day. Johnny loved flirting up females, but
he also had an appreciation and bedrock respect for them.
Besides, he wasn’t the type to abuse his authority any more
than Gabe was.
By the time he’d cleared the hood, the woman had eased out
of the low-slung car and risen to stand hipshot on the
highway beside it. She relaxed her rump back against the
driver-side door as she watched them approach, the heels of
her hands braced on either side of her hips.
"Holy shit," he muttered, because she looked for all the
world like one of those World War II pinup girls, dressed as
she was in a white sailor shirt trimmed in blue, those retro
shoes, and even more retro little blue tap pants that
showcased yard-long legs.
Hell, she was even wearing a white sailor cap, its wide
turned-up brim tilted rakishly off-kilter atop a froth of
curls that clung in wisps to its brim and her cheekbones.
And, sure enough, she was a blonde. Shooting his friend a
sideways glance, he shook his head. "I don’t know how you do
it, man."
"It’s a gift," Johnny said over his shoulder as Gabe stopped
and leaned against the cruiser’s hood. Continuing to the
Corvette, the deputy raised his voice to address its driver,
saying easily, "Hey, sailor. New in town?"
"No newer than you, Angelini," the woman replied in a low,
husky voice that ruffled Gabe’s nerve endings. "Considering
you and I moved here around the same time." Her shoulder
hitched lazily. "’Course, I’ve moved on, while you. . .well,
here you still are." Her gaze cut to Gabe and she gave him a
leisurely up and down examination that, to his disgust,
elicited a down and dirty level of sexual awareness he
thought he’d left in the dust long ago. "I’d say the honor
of new in town probably goes to your friend there."
Johnny came to attention. "Macy?" he said incredulously.
"Macy O’James?"
Hearing the name, Gabe’s own interest was peaked, and he
gave the woman a closer inspection. They’d never met, but
he’d sure as hell heard of her. Macy O’James, Sugarville’s
own wild child, heartbreaker—and ultimate pariah. From his
first day in this little eastern Washington prairie town,
he’d been inundated with tales of Macy, a girl who’s morals
were no better than they should be who had left a trail of
wreckage in her wake when she’d blown town for L.A, where
she’d starred in a series of music videos. Steamy videos, it
was always amended. Depending on who was relating a story to
Gabe, she was Sugarville’s version of Pamela Anderson/Carmen
Electra/Paris Hilton. Except—and this was always grudgingly
admitted--Macy mostly kept her clothes on.
All of which he had supposed was marginally titillating. It
was a helluva lot more so now. Because, looking at her
lounging provocatively against her red convertible, the sun
shining on the creamy expanse of those long legs and limning
the curves of pink lips that were currently crooked in a
sardonic smile, it was easy to understand the town’s
preoccupation with her exploits. Once upon a time, he, too,
had allowed girls like her—sexual girls with magnetism to
spare, too pretty and knowing for their own good-- to
consume too many of his waking hours.
Well, hey, that was then. This was now. No skin off his ass
what she did. He believed in live and let live, in allowing
people to be who and what they were. While he had a
self-acknowledged issue or two with good-time girls, having
been, loosely speaking, raised by one, he’d do his best to
accord O’James the same courtesy he’d show anyone else.
Settling more firmly against the hood, he crossed his arms
over his chest, watching as she gave his friend a sultry smile.
"Hello, Johnny," she murmured to the deputy. "Long time no
see." She raised a slender brow. "You planning on writing me
a ticket for going a few miles over the speed limit?"
Her tone was negligent, but even as Johnny appeared to
consider the question, the hint of dare-ya attitude beneath
her casualness rubbed at Gabe’s edges, abrading the Zen calm
he prided himself on. The realization was surprising, and
more than a little annoying. Yet even so, he couldn’t stop
himself from watching her.
As if sensing it, she turned to him and slowly slid her sun
glasses down her slender nose. Her eyes were big and green.
Or possibly hazel; it was hard to tell for sure with the sun
hitting her from that angle.
Whatever the color, they were set for stun when she trained
them on him. And it bugged the bejesus out of him that if he
were any other man, he’d find the ploy’s effectiveness
factor off the charts.
"Well, you’re certainly taking in the scenery," she said.
"Here. Let me give you the nickel tour." And, her elbows
bent close to her waist and slender-fingered hands held
palms up in the air, she spread her arms and slowly pivoted
to display first the view from the left, then the back, then
the right.
And they all looked good.
Turning face-front once again, she gazed at him from up
under her lashes. "Like the view, sugar?"
He shrugged. "Not bad."
One corner of her mouth curved up. "To say the least."
But inside Macy wasn’t smiling. That was the trouble with
this burg—you couldn’t live down your reputation no matter
how long you’d been away or what you had accomplished in
your absence.
But she’d had years of practice slapping on an insouciant
expression and she did so now as she considered Johnny’s
sidekick.
My God, he was huge. The guy was six-six if he was an inch
and must weigh in at about two-thirty.
Nary an ounce of which was fat. Unexpected heat scalded her
veins and her heartbeat performed a quick pitty-pat. In a
knee-jerk attempt to negate the awareness she felt, she
consciously bumped up the wattage on her Bimbo meter.
Slicking her tongue over her bottom lip was inadvertent. But
the aren’t-you-just-so-big-and-strong look she gave him was
definitely deliberate. "And you are. . .?"
"This is Gabe Donovan, Macy," Johnny said. "Sugarville’s
fire chief. Gabe, this is Macy O’James."
"Sugarville’s celebrity tramp," she murmured.
Johnny, bless him, winced. While he’d always been hot for
anything in skirts back in high school, he’d still been a
fairly decent guy.
Fire Chief Donovan, on the other hand, merely gave her a
clipped nod as if he wasn’t the least bit surprised. And for
some reason that stung. For a nanosecond when she had met
the guy’s intense gray eyes, looked at his big, hard body,
she’d felt. . . something. Something that made losing it in
almost the next heartbeat a crying shame. It was clear,
however, that whatever-it-had-been had zero chance of going
anywhere now that he knew who she was.
But that felt a bit too boo-hoo,
I’m-just-a-poor-misunderstood-waif for a woman who had
learned young that life was messy, life was unfair, but you
sucked it up and dealt with it. Her shoulders squared. Well,
guess what, pal? I’m not wild about you, either.
And she wasn’t, whether the guy was a big hot number with
pretty, cool eyes or no. Not when he’d taken one look at her
and embraced the role assigned her by the good people of
Sugarville without even bothering to find out if there was
any validity to it.
Not when he made her feel like that girl the town loved to hate.
As if, she reminded herself, I give a great big rip. She was
what she was. She had no regrets.
None.
But she did know she’d had enough of this. Tilting her chin
up, she looked at Johnny. "So," she said. "What’s it gonna
be? Yes or no on the ticket?"
"I’ll give you a pass this time."
"That’s my preferred option," she agreed, opening the car
door and sliding inside. She started up the car with a roar
and slid it into first gear. "See you around, boys."
And without sparing either man another glance, she eased her
Corvette off the shoulder and headed down the road toward home.
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