I’ve got a
very special return trip for you this month!
More Than a Night was my first
published book. And I still love the story. I was at the forefront of the whole
stepbrother genre! For the re-release of the book (after I got my rights back),
I wanted to give readers something special. So in Any
Way She Wants It, Tricia told everyone how she met Justine Jarreau,
the heroine of More Than a Night. And believe
me, those two girls got up to some naughty stuff back in college where they
met! They were roommates at a time when both of them really needed a friend.
And that’s how More Than a Night, even though it
was written before, became a part of the West Coast series. I’ve also revamped
this version of the book right from page one and expanded it, too, and now
there are three extra chapters including a new ending! Okay, it’s a romance,
right, so there was an HEA then and an HEA now! So have fun with this brand new
version of More Than a Night!
Here’s a
blurb for you:
All Justine Jarreau wants in a one-night stand is an
uncomplicated, casual, mind-blowing sexual experience. And Lucas No-Last-Name
seems like the perfect candidate to fulfill her fantasy. The sex is
utterly mind-blowing. But then Justine discovers Lucas has an ulterior motive.
Not only does he disclose that her father just had a heart attack, but that he
is her new stepbrother and the CEO of Jarreau Wineries, the job Justine coveted
until her father disowned her years ago.
Her stepbrother. And her replacement. So much for
uncomplicated and casual.
Lucas Falconer wants Justine to come home for good, for her
father’s sake, a man Lucas now considers part of his family. And family is the
most important thing in the world to Lucas. But Justine isn’t falling in with
his plans. His only option is to seduce her into staying. He did it that first
night, and he knows he can do it again. The pleasure will be all his.
But can a relationship born with
lies and manipulation last more than a night?
Here’s an excerpt!
More
Than a Night
© 2018 Jasmine Haynes
Chapter One
Justine
Jarreau wanted a man.
But
only for the night.
The
trendy restaurant on Union Square was perfect for her needs. It overflowed with
tourists, businessmen, and clubbers. San Francisco bedlam on a cool Friday
night.
She’d found her quarry seated two tables away. Not movie-star
handsome. Dark Italian looks, a square jaw, sexy eyes, and short brown hair. She
liked short hair. And his tan, definitely natural. No tanning booth for this
guy.
He’d passed her table on the way to his, and she’d enjoyed
the scintillating rear view. Late thirties, maybe forty. Tailored suit. Totally
hot body.
But his
looks alone didn’t make him the best catch of the evening. There was something
about him, something that made her keep watching, something that made her keep
wanting.
Despite
the flutters in her stomach and the tingles in her hands, could she really go
through with this? Find a man in a bar, go to bed with him?
Their
eyes met, they exchanged smiles, her skin heated with erotic images.
Then he
sent the glass of chardonnay to her table. Right as she’d finished her first.
A woman
likes to be noticed, especially dressed in a short skirt, tight sweater, and
four-inch killer heels.
Better
yet, a woman likes subtlety. He’d tipped his drink to her. No harassment, no
asking to join her, no swaggering dickhead mentality. Just a salute with his
drink.
Then
his eyes issued an unspoken invitation. If she chose to take him up on it.
It was
crazy, it was alarming, it was what she wanted. Wanted badly. And yes, she
could go through with it. Despite the nerves rattling her stomach.
He
called for his check. She signaled for hers. He laid his money down and rose to
leave, with one last smile for Justine.
She paid
her bill and left to look for him on the sidewalk. A rich coffee scent drifted
from the café next to the restaurant. The December evening had grown colder and
goose bumps pimpled her bare legs. She should have worn nylons or leggings, but
neither suited her plans for the night.
He was
just ahead and hadn’t seen her. She’d have to make the next move.
“Excuse
me.”
He
turned, smiled. As if he’d been waiting for her.
God. She’d
thought him attractive before, but up close, he was melt-in-your-mouth
gorgeous. It was the eyes, a deep brown as rich as toffee. Long dark eyelashes
and a smile hot enough to make her heart stutter. She was almost afraid to hear
his voice in case it ruined her fantasy.
She was
dizzied by the sights and the sounds and the people and him. And dizzy because
she’d never done anything like this before. She’d struggled through
relationships, but they got in the way of her career. Becoming CFO of a million-dollar
company—at least a million—was more
important than anything.
And the
idea of a one-night stand was absolutely liberating.
“Thank
you for the wine. Let me treat you now.” It could have been a question, but she
made it firm. An expectation.
His
eyes darkened to deep chocolate. “It would be my pleasure to accept.”
Justine
practically liquefied. He had a phone sex voice, low, deep, tongue-tying and toe-curling.
“My
hotel’s across the street.” He paused, as if he knew the effect of that phone
sex voice and wanted to see what it did to her. “Good jazz piano in the bar.”
The
voice did it. Made her sizzling and shivery. The jazz piano was the whipped
cream on top. And she’d let him lick it off. If he was a very good boy.
Being
an out-of-towner was also very, very good. She checked his ring finger for the
telltale band of white and didn’t find it. She should have checked earlier
because she wanted a man with no strings and no wedding ring. She didn’t poach
in someone else’s forest, not even for one night.
She
smiled, giving him a slow, seductive sweep of her eyelashes. “Sounds goods.”
He took
her hand. Warm and unexpected. Then the prickle of pins and needles and desire.
She felt naked under her skirt, and hot, oh so hot, hot enough to forget it was
winter instead of summer.
“My
name’s Justine.” Her voice was too breathy, too needy, too sultry.
But he
must have thought it was perfect because he pulled her close, threading through
the traffic stopped on the street, his touch protective and possessive.
They
reached the opposite curb, and he looked down, at her eyes, her lips, their
clasped hands. And her mind suddenly forgot to tell her heart how to beat and
her lungs how to breathe.
“Lucas.”
He gave her his name with an electrifying smile, as if he were citing flowery
poetry or talking dirty.
The effect
on her was immediate, hot, wet, right there and ready.
The St.
George doorman ushered them through the gold-trimmed entrance and up the stairs
to a lobby of lush carpet and plush chairs, elegant women in evening wear and polished
men in tuxedos.
Theater-goers
filled the bar, drinking and gossiping before the show while the piano player
warmed up his fingers and the keys before his set.
Lucas
waved a bill, and the host led them to an intimate table in the corner window
overlooking Powell Street. Justine curled her legs beneath her on the bench
seat and leaned an elbow along the back, her pose relaxed, her insides jumbled.
Lucas
ordered the drinks, Campari and soda for him, another white wine for her. She
needed to sip this one slowly or she’d lose her head over Mr. Lucas Hot Body.
“I love
people-watching. That’s what I like best about living in the city.” Then she
turned the talk to him. “Are you here on business?”
“Just
for one day. I’m driving back tomorrow.”
Their
drinks arrived. Lucas tapped his to hers and drank. She wanted to lick the
bitter Campari from his lips.
To hear
her better over the din of voices and laughter and music, he pulled his chair
closer, his knee resting against hers. The contact pulsed along her thigh. She’d
worn a bra, but the peaks of her nipples against the thin lace felt like beacons.
But he
looked her in the eye. “I take it you live in the city? And you work here,
too?”
“I work
on the Peninsula.” That was the thing she hated about the city, the grinding
commute south, the endless rush hour. “I’m Controller for a small manufacturing
firm.”
His
eyes trailed her tight sweater and short skirt in a long sexy onceover. Then
the corner of his mouth lifted, not a smile, not a smirk, just an acknowledgement
that he’d seen. And he liked. “You don’t look like any accountant I’ve ever
met.”
Her gaze
followed the muscles of his chest down to the flatness of his abdomen, then
onto the black slacks outlining the promise of something very tasty.
She
really had let sex go for too long, way too long, if she was noticing a man’s
package.
“Well, you don’t look like a toilet paper salesman from
Muncie either.”
He
laughed, a sound she felt like a kiss low on her belly.
“I’ll
take that as a compliment.”
If she
wasn’t careful, she’d have to start fanning herself.
A man
laughed too loudly at the next table, and she thought he’d overheard the toilet
paper comment. But no one was listening, and besides, who would be able to hear
over the jazz piano? Who would actually care?
And she
wanted to know more about this man. A lot more. “So where are you visiting us
from?”
“The
Central Coast.”
Not
very definitive. That could be anywhere from Salinas to Santa Maria, over two
hundred miles. She’d lived down there, too, a very long time ago.
But she
didn’t try to pry out all his secrets, just made conversation. A prelude to
asking him if he’d like to spend a few mutually satisfying hours with her.
If he
didn’t turn out to be a dickhead.
So far
so good. Very good. He was smart, he was handsome, his technique was
understated, he didn’t come on too strong or too fast.
“So
what do you do on the Central
Coast?”
“CEO
for a medium-size manufacturing firm.” He echoed her earlier phrasing.
She
sipped her drink, looking at him over the rim. He wasn’t much of a talker.
Surprising. Most men she dealt with loved talking about themselves. “Hmmm, a
CEO.” She gave his expensively tailored suit a long look, then glanced
pointedly at the hotel’s plush furnishings. “Your company must be doing very well.”
“We are.”
Not a trace of condescension or conceit, just confidence. He leaned forward, continuing
with the getting-to-know-you small talk, but his gaze traveled her face as if
there was so much more between the lines. “So, Ms. Controller, what do you want for the rest of your
life?”
Not an
ordinary question but she gave the easiest answer. “I want to be a CFO.” Before
she turned forty. Only two short years away.
“At the
same company you work for?”
“Hopefully. But not necessarily. I’m willing to move to get
what I want. What about you?”
“Chairman
of the Board.”
“I like
a man who knows what he wants.”
“And I
like a woman who knows what she
wants.” A wealth of innuendo smoldered in his hot eyes and simmered in his
smile.
She’d
never get a better opening. A swarm butterflies flew around in her stomach, but
under the short skirt, she was wet. Her body knew exactly what she craved.
And Lucas
watched her, as if he could read her mind, as if she’d become the prey and he was
the predator.
She’d
shaved, lathered, scented, and lotioned. And she had the necessary condoms in
her purse. She’d planned, she’d searched, she was ready. Lucas Falconer was so
tempting. Do it, say it, ask him.
Her
inner voice was a pushy little bugger. But she wasn’t quite there yet, just a
little more talk. A little more… something.
“My
career is truly what I want. But…” She let the sentence hang there, something
he could tag onto.
“What
about family?”
That
wasn’t what she’d been expecting. “All my family’s dead.” She ran her finger
around the rim of her glass as she wrapped her tongue around the lie. The lie
she always told when anyone asked.
He
stared at her with unreadable eyes, then dropped his gaze to her ring finger.
“I’m sorry.”
She answered
the unspoken question in that pointed look. “I’ve never been married either. I
know women are supposed to handle it all in the new millennium. But I’m pretty
sure I can’t do justice to both motherhood and a career.”
“So I take it you’re opting for the career.” His tone told
her nothing, not whether he thought she was admirable or she was selfish or she
was simply incompetent.
“My
career’s important.” She wasn’t ashamed of that. But she didn’t like that she
had to keep explaining. Not that he was the one making her defensive.
“CFO’s
a lofty goal.” His gaze traced every feature of her face. Again. And heat rose to
her cheeks. She couldn’t read this man.
Maybe
it was better if she didn’t.
“So, no
marriage. How about a steady boyfriend?”
She
shook her head. “Men who don’t have marriage on their minds prefer variety.”
“Are
you sure about that?”
“You
tell me.” She went for bold, tapping his bare ring finger. “Do you like
variety?”
“Yes. But
that doesn’t mean always having a different woman. Variety can be in the act
itself, the creativity a woman and a man bring to it.”
He lifted
his glass to his lips. Drank.
All she
could think about were the very creative things he could do with that sexy mouth.
It was
the worst thing to ask. Or the best. “How creative?”
“As
flexible as you want to get.”
“Like
acrobatics?” Pause. “Or BDSM. There’s a world of difference.”
His
soft chuckle made her sizzle. “Nothing that hurts. Only things that feel good.”
She
couldn’t keep her mouth shut. “How good?”
“So
good that someone has to scream.”
How had
they gotten into this conversation? Oh yeah, she’d started it, going for bold,
talking about variety, egging him on. Or he’d started it when he mentioned
creativity. His hands, her moans, his mouth, her screams. She could feel it,
taste it, wanted it, needed it.
If she
didn’t ask him to bed soon, she’d melt right here just listening to his voice.
He waited.
Had he said something she hadn’t heard? She was drowning in her own thoughts
and his coffee-colored eyes. His glass sat on the table, and the heat of his
hand jumped across the three inches that separated their fingers.
Holding
his gaze, as hard as that was, she said, “Why don’t we test out our mutual
creativity?”
The
words fell into the deepest, darkest silence, the kind where all the voices
fade, the laughter mutes—the moment between life and death, love and hate, yes
and no.
He felt
it, too, and drew the long seconds out. Until finally he said, “I thought you’d
never ask.”
God.
She’d done it. She was crazy. She was euphoric.
She was
committed.
~
Here’s
where you can get your copy of More
Than a Night!
More good
news! For the first time ever, I’m giving away Fool's Gold for
FREE! This is the second book in the Cottonmouth series. So grab your copy for
free!
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