Excerpt 1 :
Shannon opened one of the doors and darted inside to Séamus standing at a full-length mirror fixing the cuffs of his white shirt that must’ve been bleached in the sun, almost blinding. The rich fabric hugged his strong shoulders. He’d yet to tuck in the hem, and the shirt hid his lean hips. His eyes twinkled in the mirror’s reflection.
“Do you like your gift?”
He was beaming, of all things, proud of what he’d done. Shannon held the dress closer to her chest. Didn’t he understand the etiquette between an employer and employee? Of course he did. He was the director of marketing for his father’s company. He probably had many people working under him.
“I... well, yes, I do.” When had it become easy to forget the sir she’d previously glued to her tongue? “But... I can’t... this is too much.”
“Never mind the cost.” He fastened the cuff link. From the way the jewel caught the light, the gold was real and had cost major dough—besides the dress.
“I can’t accept this. I really can’t.” She held out the dress.
He pivoted on his polished black shoe. His dimples seemed to dare her to touch them. “It is a gift, a gift I am asking you to accept, if you please.”
His sophisticated yet beseeching tone hit her with tiny tingles of shock on her spine. Such gentleness swathed each spoken word.
“Well... if you insist.” Shannon swallowed.
His lazy gaze gentlemanly feathered her skin from her toes to her head.
Oh hell, where was her discretion? She’d entered her client’s room wearing nothing but her bathrobe. She skittered backward. “I’ll... I’ll finish dressing.” She held up the dress. “I’ll see you... see you downstairs.
She whipped on her heel and almost kissed the one closed door, fumbled her way out through the open door, and dashed downstairs. Her wet hair slapping her back reaffirmed she’d truly entered his room while highly indecent. The cool hardwood on her bare feet also chastised her for not having the modesty to at least don slippers.
How could one man cause her to make so many mistakes—after eight years of adhering to every single rule her boss had drilled into her?
Excerpt 2:
“I see...” Well, what was she supposed to do? She couldn’t throw her life down the toilet because she felt sorry for a client. “Look, I feel bad about the predicament you’re in, but I’m your driver—”
“A driver whom I asked to marry me.” His gaze had turned to steel. Even his brows slanted inward.
“I can’t...” She coughed. “I can’t marry you. We don’t even know each other.”
“That’s because you won’t allow me the chance to know you.” He settled both hands on the table. “Allow me to get to know you. I can provide you with what you truly desire—your own town car for clients. Your own business.”
“Where are we going to get married? This place is a tourist resort.” Okay, what she’d said was dumb, but that was about all she was capable of uttering right now.
“Banff. I can procure a ring for you at a local jewelry proprietor. It’s simply a matter of visiting the town hall to obtain a marriage license.”
He was truly and utterly serious. She sagged in her chair and set both palms on her temples.
“Goodness, Shannon.” He chortled. “You look as if I asked you to rob a bank with me when I simply asked for your hand in marriage.”
Hearing her name on his lips again left a velvet-like tingling sensation on her skin. She glanced up. He continued to sit with both hands on the table, simply staring.
“Marriage is a serious commitment—”
“I think I know how serious of a commitment marriage is.” He finally lifted his filled glass and sat back. From the way he moved, he must have crossed his legs. His elbow rested on the arm of the chair. “There has never been divorce in my family, otherwise I think my mother would have left my father ages ago.”
“Is this why your father is strict about who you’ll marry?”
He grinned while sipping from his glass. “No. He prefers to keep with tradition. Every son and daughter of a Daugherty marries into another family from old money.”
“Then I think he’d have our marriage annulled,” Shannon pointed out—anything to stop this crazy conversation from going a step further.
“Never.” Séamus’ grin vanished. “He wouldn’t do anything to smear the Daugherty name. As I said—there has never been divorce in our family. Annulment isn’t an option, either. We are Irish Catholic.”
“You have a strong faith?” This took Shannon by surprise.
Séamus flicked his hand. “I attend Mass when I’m obliged.”
Well, his beliefs weren’t any of her business. No doubt his father ordered Séamus to attend service for special holidays and such. He was correct in one respect, though—his family’s outlook was from over a century ago.
“Now... I offered you your own business. What do you say? Yes?” He took another sip from his glass.
He was so nonchalant about everything. Maybe it came from being stinking wealthy and having whatever he wanted at his fingertips.
“Your father wouldn’t approve. I’m not Irish. I’m not Catholic. I’m not from this old money you speak about. I never even attended university. I’m Ojibway and from the rez. I follow the teachings of the Seven Grandfathers.”
“No, he wouldn’t approve, but I think you are perfect.”
“Perfect?” She shifted in the chair. “How?”
“You’re everything I would want to marry.” He motioned at the attendant. “Let’s eat first. We can discuss this further on the balcony.”
Excerpt 3 :
Hit the brakes. The thought kept screaming through Shannon’s brain. As much as her mind hollered the warning like a flashing amber up ahead on the road, her body refused to cooperate. Her lips had turned traitor and continued to taste Séamus’ mouth that was a blending of cider and a hint of mint from the candies they’d sampled after dinner.
She had her friends to think about, the pact they’d made, and their townhouse.
But gosh, his kiss was finer than the champagne they’d drunk this afternoon.
She had her dream to think about.
But geez, he’d offered to help her purchase a town car.
She was an independent woman doing what her mother and kokum had yearned for. How disappointed they’d be if she didn’t see it through.
But cripes, his mouth sliding over hers was a seamless fit. Perfect.
His arm snaked around her waist. He drew her in closer until her breasts melted against his chest—pectorals that weren’t overly muscular and gym-made, but firm and athletic from skiing, surfing, and golfing.
He even smelled wealthy and powerful, a fine scent of expensive cologne and a hint of a plushness from his tuxedo.
The deciding factor? Séamus wasn’t a snob who thought he was better than her, another horny client on the make, expecting her to be grateful for a taste of his dick.
His fingers brushed at her waist, gliding in a tiny movement back and forth. His touch was magical, and her skin responded with shivers and goosebumps. The soft puckers he offered became firmer, deeper.
When his tongue traced her closed lips, the warning bell rang again in her head. She had to stop him before one thing led to another. But darn, the temptation was so great.
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