April 7, 2009 | Excerpts
The Naughty Ladies of Nice
Interpol agent Claudette D’Laquois is on the run. Dull Uncle Paul and his rundown chateau in Nice, France are her only safe haven…but she never planned on the delectable estate manager who is even more dangerous than the Russian mob boss who wants her dead.
Three weeks of overseeing operations at his friend’s orchard seems like the ideal vacation to CPA Don Hobbs. And so it was—until a French sex goddess pulls him into a world of drugs, intrigue, and erotic fantasy.
“Baby, you’re up to your beautiful brown eyes in shit.” Don leaned against the office door frame, his arms crossed over his chest as if that could control his temper.
Claudette gave him one of her typical French sniffs. Chicks from Marseille had one hell of a disposition, he decided for about the twentieth time since he’d been forced to work with her.
“Bonjour, Monsieur Hobbs. It is nice to see you, too, this beautiful morning.” Again with the sniff. He’d enjoy nothing more than spanking the firm ass of his unwanted assistant, but figured she’d rat him out to her Uncle Paul.
“Glad you’re able to relax with a ton of that reeking stuff parked in the front yard.” Don blinked and shoved his glasses up his nose, forcing his eyes away from her long legs stretched across the scarred desktop. Just once, he wished, she’d have a little decorum and wear slacks to work. “Do you have plans to do something with it?”
“Mon ami, you make too much of small things.” Claudette crossed one knee over the other and didn’t bother to tug down her short red skirt. Don swallowed hard. She sniffed again and held her hand at arm’s length, inspecting her nails. That irritating, hoity-toity attitude of hers had to go. “Plus, you exaggerate. I simply checked one of the little boxes on the form and mailed it to the supplier. He obviously made the mistake, if what you say is truth.”
He slapped the side of the desk to get her undivided attention. Right then he’d do anything to erase the image of those well toned calves wrapped around his neck. Dammit, why were French women so sexy?
“No, doll, there’s literally a ton of cow dung right out there on the circular drive.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, his other hand nudging her legs aside to grab a sheaf of papers. “I don’t know what the hell you ordered, but that’s what you got. So what’s your plan, baby? I happen to have a shovel in your size.”
Her chair skated back, just short of hitting the bookcase. Gritting her teeth, she tossed the little glass nail file she’d been using onto a stack of papers and stood.
“Do not treat me like a stupid woman—.” Cheeks flaming, she got right into his face. “Or your wife.”
“One, you’re not stupid. You only like to pretend you are.” He ticked the points off the fingers on his free hand. “Two, thank God I don’t have a wife. With my bad luck, she might have been just like you.”
She glared at him for one intense second before she jerked the order form from his hand.
“You, monsieur, need to be taught manners.”
“You, mademoiselle, need a good spanking.”
A coy smile tweaked the corners of her pouty, full lips. “That may be so, you uptight Américain, but this is not the time to discuss my sexual preferences.”
5 RED ROSES from RED ROSES FOR AUTHORS
No one does short, sexy books better than Sloane Taylor! She combines sensual romance with mystery and intrigue and comes up smelling of roses. Sweet and sassy. Five red roses, Morna
Sweet as Honey…Hotter than Hell