Keep on the lookout for this fun story coming to Harlequin Blaze at the end of October, 2010!

Then again, what’s a little “mess” every now and then…

Here’s an Exerpt:

Cameras started snapping the moment the jet black Bentley rolled into view, shutters popping off like rounds of machine gun fire from the army of paparazzi that had gathered on the grounds of the Clearwater Springs Resort. Behind the Bentley, four black SUVs followed in procession, turning off the highway and onto the long drive that would bring them up the hill.

It looked like the fricking president was arriving instead of a spoiled and pampered heiress, and Marc Strauss ground his teeth as the fiasco began to unfold.

Reporters who had perched themselves near the large iron gates shot their last photos and were now rushing to reposition, charging through the meticulously manicured flower beds and bounding over the low stone walls. They ran around like savages, smashing plants and smearing mud, scaling the metal sculptures that had cost Marc a fortune. It was everything he could do to keep from pushing through the glass lobby doors and personally extricating each and every one of them from his beloved property. Instead, he clenched his fists and directed his anger to the person responsible.

“This is a fucking circus,” he said to his brother, Brett. “The clean-up is coming directly out of your salary.”

Brett smiled and watched the scene like this was the most exciting day of his life. “No problem, Bro. I’ll just take it off all the money we’re gonna make from this publicity.” He slapped Marc on the back and pointed to the caravan. “That guest right there is going to put Clearwater Springs on the map.”

Marc opened his mouth to say they were already on the map, that they didn’t need Hollywood’s latest princess to drum up business, that the debacle that was Rachel Winston and her shiny new criminal record would turn away more loyal clients than it would bring new ones, but they’d gone down that road before. Marc had made his arguments and had ended up giving in to Brett’s marketing scheme–mostly because the deal had been all but done before Marc had heard anything about it.

It was only now, with the tranquility of his resort obliterated and the stampede of reporters decimating the world he’d so carefully built, that he realized what a mistake that had been.
“Ease up, Brother Grim,” Brett said, snapping his gum and winking off the chaos as the Bentley rolled to a stop in the circular drive. “Once she’s inside, Security will escort our unwanted guests off the property.” He waved a hand over the scene. “We’ll get Cory out here to clean up the grounds…”

The sound of Brett’s voice trailed off as the chauffeur opened the back door of the Bentley and the woman who would be their ward for the next thirty days stepped onto the stone drive. Marc had seen pictures of Rachel Winston. Heck, everyone had. And they’d seen plenty of her after she’d done the spread for Hush magazine last year. In the photos she was beautiful–distractingly so–with a china doll face, dark, silky hair and exotic blue eyes. Now Marc knew that beauty wasn’t digitally added after the shoot.

She was the real deal. And as he watched her greet the crowd with a poised and tentative smile, his annoyance withered under a sudden ray of lust.

He swallowed hard as she smoothed her hands over her slacks and adjusted her shirt. Her conservative blue pants and pale pink blouse shouldn’t have been sexy, but they were. Accessorized with pointy-toed heels, a pink clutch purse and wide framed sunglasses, she oozed high-end Hollywood. And that was no wonder. Perfection had been literally bred into her DNA when her handsome studio executive father crossed genes with Hollywood’s hottest starlet of the seventies. Though the marriage between Richard Winston and Abigail Moore had been brief and turbulent, it had lasted long enough to produce this striking creature, and as a member of the opposite sex, Marc had to give them a nod. Rachel Winston was the thing hot dreams were made of. Toss in a colorful history and a bad girl image and it was no surprise that the world ate her up.

“I wonder if Hush let her keep that yellow fuzzy thing,” he heard his brother say. “You know the picture I’m talking about?”

Know it? The photo had been emblazoned on Marc’s brain from the moment Brett dropped the magazine on his desk two weeks ago. Sprawled across a brown velvet chaise, she’d been clad in a pale lemon bra, one strap hanging haphazardly off her shoulder as she held a finger to her lips and eyed the camera with a sinister stare. Her dark, wavy hair had been mussed, her makeup slightly smudged to give the impression she’d been busy–doing what was left for the reader to imagine. And though Marc considered himself an evolved and liberated man, one look into those sapphire blue eyes and his imagination had taken off with all the tact of a hard and horny teen.

Brett had unearthed the photo spread as one in a series of ploys to get Marc to buy into this arrangement, and Marc hated to admit it had worked. One glimpse of Rachel Winston in all that glorious flesh and a tow truck couldn’t have dragged his eyes from the photo. That sexy gaze stuck a hook in him that had taken days to shake off.

And now she was standing on the steps of his resort, just as alluring and electrifying as she’d been in those photos. Except now she was here for real.

God, he was in trouble.

“I wonder if she brought it,” Brett added. “That or that blue sparkly thing she was–”

“She’s our charge, not a play toy,” Marc snapped.

The reminder was spouted as much for his own sake as his brother’s. Given the situation, he didn’t need the flutter in his gut or any encouragement from the peanut gallery. Keeping his resort in one piece through the next four weeks would be hell enough. Marc couldn’t afford to make pals with their celebrity guest. That position was already taken by Brett, and if one of them didn’t keep his wits about him, Ms. Winston would be running this show before the week was out.

Sooner, if this grand entrance of hers was any indication.

A somewhat feminine looking man stepped out of one of the SUVs and began barking orders to the others. Several men took aim at the paparazzi, backing the bolder ones off and creating a clear path from the Bentley to the lobby doors. Suitcases began lining up against the caravan, and while Marc wanted to go tell the woman she wouldn’t need much more than a maid’s uniform, he gestured instead to the bellmen to begin helping with the luggage.

The men grinned and rushed out with expediency Marc hadn’t thought them capable of. And in the corner of Marc’s eye, he noticed all the other lobby staff poised and fitted as if this were inspection day at an Army boot camp.

Great, just great. Rachel Winston hadn’t even walked in the door yet and already she was handling the reins. This would be worse than he expected. He mentally began plotting his discussions with all the parties involved, laying down the ground rules as to what was expected and who would and wouldn’t be running the show for the next thirty days.

Starting with Rachel and her father.

Marc had a number of clarifications to make with them, undoing the misconceptions he knew his brother had laid down–the first one being that Rachel would most definitely be working during her stay. She’d been sentenced by a judge to work thirty days as a maid as punishment for a battery conviction she’d obtained when she’d injured a hotel employee down in San Diego. After a string of minor tussles with the law, a judge apparently decided a little apathy might be what the incorrigible rich girl needed.

And Brett had somehow arranged to have her sentence carried out here in their resort, no doubt by making a number of promises Marc had no intention of honoring.
Rachel Winston was here to work, and the sooner he made that clear, the sooner they could get this over with.

He half expected she might high-tail it out the moment she discovered this wouldn’t be the covert vacation Brett had promised. And if she did, that would be fine by Marc. He’d only agreed to this when Brett assured him there would be no misunderstandings between all parties, and today was the day to make sure that was true.

So when Richard Winston emerged from the Bentley and stepped to his daughter’s side, Marc decided it was time to get this meeting over with. If the new guest was going to end up leaving, best it happen quickly.

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Order your copy of MANHUNTING now!