“You look really hot,” Rance said, his voice husky
“And how.” Deanie turned and squinted up at his large shadow towering over her. “There were no umbrellas available, and so I’ve been cooking.”
He grinned. “I meant hot as in good-looking.” Before she could answer him, he’d hooked a leg over the chair and straddled the chaise behind her. His thighs framed hers and his chest cushioned her back. His hands settled on her shoulders, then traced her upper arms. Deanie could barely breathe.
“You feel hot, too,” he added, his lips touching the shell of her ear.
“It’s the sun,” she said weakly.
“Maybe.” His hands slid back up over her shoulders.
“And maybe not.” Strong fingers lifted her hair away from her neck and she felt the cool rush of fresh air followed by the hot press of his lips.
“What are you doing?”
“Following the Camp E.D.E.N. curriculum and the first workshop—‘Shedding Your Inhibitions.’”
“Shouldn’t we find someplace a little more private? With less people?”
“Now, Deanie,” Rance said, grinning wickedly. “Wouldn’t that defeat the whole purpose?”
Dear Reader,
Being a romantic at heart, I love Valentine’s Day. It’s an infatuation that began long before I met my husband and fell in love. Lucky for him. See, my hubby is a total nonromantic. His last V-Day gift to me? A fishing rod and reel combo from the local sporting goods store. But for me, it’s not the actual gifts that make Valentine’s Day so special. It’s the whole notion of an entire twenty-four hours devoted to the big L. It’s just so… romantic.
But I have a lot of friends—single women, as well as married ones—who think I’m a nutcase. They hate the cheesy cards and the never-ending pressure that comes with a holiday where the depth of a person’s love is often measured by the size of the gift.
Like my gal pals, Deanie Codge, the heroine in my newest Harlequin Blaze novel, is totally convinced that Valentine’s Day is the worst day of the year. Not because she doesn’t enjoy a box of Godiva, mind you, but because she simply doesn’t believe in love. She’s been there and done that, and she’s not doing it again.
But when she finds herself stranded on a romantic island for twenty-four hours with her old flame, Rance McGraw, she starts to think that maybe, just maybe falling in love again might not be all that bad. After all, it is Valentine’s Day….
Join Deanie and Rance as they spend their hottest holiday ever in Tall, Tanned & Texan, and have a blazing-hot Valentine’s Day!
Kimberly Raye
P.S. I love to hear from readers! You can visit me online at www.kimberlyraye.com or write to me c/o Harlequin Books.
Tall, Tanned & Texan
Kimberly Raye
This book is dedicated to the wonderfully talented Nina Bangs. Thanks for being such a great writer and an even better friend!
Contents
1
DEANIE CODGE had been waiting her entire adult life to experience really great sex.
Sex that included lots of slow, deep kisses and long, lingering touches. Sex that stole her breath away and zapped her common sense. Sex that made her toes tingle and her skin prickle and her body actually throb.
Sex that didn’t involve a sleeping bag, a can of insect repellant and the bed of a beat-up pickup truck.
Now, after twenty-nine years and one too many mosquito bites, she was this close.
Deanie stowed her purse beneath the seat in front of her and her hand paused on the side pocket where she’d tucked her cell phone. She slid it free and noted the flashing message light before powering it off. She had five messages. Probably one from each of her older brothers. Or maybe they were all from Clay. He wasn’t the oldest, but he was the only one who’d settled down and found the right woman. His wife, Helen, was pregnant with their first child, which was due any day now. Since Clay had taken over the family’s cattle ranch—their father suffered from rheumatoid arthritis and had handed over the workload to his most responsible son and the only one who’d stuck around Romeo—he now considered himself the head of the family. While their dad spent his time playing bingo and gossiping down at the Fat Cow Diner, Clay kept track of ten thousand cattle and his baby sister. She could only imagine the fit he was throwing after discovering that she was missing in action.
Technically, she wasn’t missing. She’d left a letter clearly explaining what she was doing. At the same time, while the letter was meant to inform, she knew its contents would make her overprotective brother worry that much more.
It wasn’t every day that his baby sister signed up for boot camp.
A sexual boot camp, that is.
She ignored the small spiral of guilt, stowed her cell phone and fastened her seat belt. She lifted the oval window shade and stared at the hustle and bustle. Beyond the glass, she could see the white and gray building that housed the terminals for San Antonio International Airport. A cart overflowing with luggage, her new white and pink flowered canvas bags balanced on top, rolled toward the turquoise-and-white 747. The gray tunnel she’d just walked through still sat attached to the doorway of the plane. The last few passengers filed inside, twisting this way and that to make it down the narrow aisle that separated pairs of seats.
Excitement zipped up her spine and her hands trembled. This was it. The second step in transforming her ho-hum, going-absolutely-nowhere life.
The first had involved the purchase of the pair of three inch stilettos currently cutting off the blood supply to her toes and the cotton sundress that clung to her as if it were hanging on for dear life.
She drew a deep breath