Book Details

Harlequin Enterprises,
Mass market paperback, January 2007, ISBN-13: 9780373772889
Paperback reprint, December 2003, ISBN-13: 9780373835799

Wheeler Publishing,
Large print hardcover, March 2004 ISBN:1-587-24613-9
Original publication: Temptation, Blaze #779, April 2000 ISBN: 0-373-25879-8 

Chapter One (scene)

Target at one o'clock."

Logan Montgomery listened to his eighty year old grandmother and groaned. "You've been watching James Bond again, Gran."

"Just Sean Connery. That Pierce Brosnan is too new and the other one is a pansy. He wouldn't know how to please a real woman if she bit him on the—"

"Gran!" Startled, Logan glanced at his grandmother.

An impish gleam lit her knowing gaze. She'd learned how to utilize shock value to her advantage, he thought wryly. "I think that's enough."

"You never used to be a prude."

He stifled a laugh and settled for warning the irrepressible older woman instead. "And you never used to go so far. Better watch yourself."

The white-haired woman gave an unrefined, unlady-like snort. "If you aren't careful you'll end up a stuffed shirt like your father."

"With your influence? Not a chance." He drank from a glass of hundred dollar champagne, tasting bubbles and little else. Damn waste of money. A cold beer would taste a hell of a lot better, especially on such an unusually hot and balmy May afternoon. "So tell me why you summoned me to the annual Garden Gala."

He'd hoped he could ignore the formal invitation, hand-delivered to his house, the same as it had been hand-delivered to dozens of others. Although the Garden Gala was as much a Montgomery tradition as baseball was to Spring, Logan didn't have the same warm, fuzzy feeling for this event. Emma was a different story. He adored her.

"You're here because of her." His grandmother waved a wrinkled finger in front of his eyes. "Over there by the Dogwood tree. She catered this whole party herself. Talent personified."

Logan narrowed his gaze. He couldn't see much besides the overwhelming sea of floral prints on the female guests and the stark black and white uniforms worn by the help. "All I see is a bunch of penguins," Logan muttered.

"I believe waiter or waitress is the politically correct term," Emma said.

"Couldn't you get the Judge to relax the dress code for God's sake? These poor people look like they're attending a formal wedding, not serving cocktails on a spring day."

He liked parties as much as the next guy but this uptight excuse for a gathering wasn't the way he'd choose to spend a Saturday afternoon. He glanced at the overcast sky. Not even a cloudy one.

"Your father has his standards," Emma said in her haughtiest voice, in imitation of her son, Judge Montgomery. "He believes the help should dress as such. Ridiculous," she muttered. "The man ought to come into the twenty first century. Anyway enough about Edgar for now. Look around. What else do you see?"

Logan took two steps to the right so he could see around a ridiculous looking parasol, a frilly umbrella held by one of his mother's friends, to protect her skin from the non-existent sun and impending rain.

"Well?" A bony elbow nudged Logan in the ribs.

He looked once more and was rewarded by a glance at the elaborate bar set up in front of the pool house, on the perfectly manicured lawn ... a bar tended by a delectable looking creature in uniform. She stepped around the bar and into full view. There was no sun and the clouds had begun rolling in but this woman radiated pure sunshine on an otherwise dreary day. Not even the standard waitress uniform looked ordinary on her supple curves.

She reached over to clean the bar of used glasses and Logan was treated to a back-side view that was just as enticing. Black running shoes, obviously worn for comfort, and black tights with a vertical seem ran up the length of her well-toned legs. As she reached forward to sweep the top of the bar with a damp rag, the hem on her black mini-skirt inched higher. He stepped closer in time to catch a hint of lace peeking beneath the black hem. Interest replaced curiosity and the temperature outside hitched up another notch. So did strategic body parts. He stuck one finger inside the constricting collar of his white shirt, giving himself some breathing room.