Miss September Lethally handsome, powerfully dynamic, with a mouth that looks like it’s spent a lifetime dominating the opposite sex, Colt oozes energy and sex appeal. Too bad he hates women. Ever since his first wife betrayed him, Colt has steered clear of entanglements, ignoring his own potent masculine needs. Renny should never have accepted Colt’s drunken marriage proposal but she just couldn’t help herself. She’s hopelessly in love with her brand new husband. She might not have the sexy curves of a centerfold model, but she yearns to unleash the raw power he keeps reined beneath that icy, indifferent facade. While Renny fights to save her fledgling marriage and change her husband’s mind about women, the love-wary Colt finds himself fighting the intense attraction he feels for her. When all is said and done, Colt’s once scarred and damaged heart will belong to Miss September. Note: Colt is Cord's (of Miss May fame) brother as well as Bolt's (of Miss October fame) brother . |
| Cover Art by Willo |
Excerpt If he lived, he’d never drink again, he promised himself, rolling into a sitting position and dropping his feet over the side of the bed as he glanced at his surroundings. The warm, apricot-sponged walls definitely looked familiar, along with the pine furniture, the jauntily upholstered chair in the corner and the ivory duvet draped across the end of the bed. But when he rubbed a hand into the spray of dark hair on his chest, his knuckles felt stiff. He glanced down at his hand and frowned at the dark, crusted scabs on the back of his fingers. Jesus. He didn’t remember hitting anyone. His knuckles stung as he made a fist and gazed at the dried wounds. A mirror on the wall outside the bathroom door framed his naked body and he checked his reflection for other signs of injury. His eyes glowed back at him, large flecks of gold gleaming against the sage color of his irises. Other than a bad case of bed-wrecked hair, he appeared to be unscathed—at least on the surface. It was a different story inside his head. Inside his head, there was a war being waged. And it felt as though nuclear weapons were involved. Tylenol. Advil. Aspirin. He had to get something for his headache. He pushed off from the bed and stumbled to his feet then turned, trying to get his bearings. His gaze slipped across the bed and he staggered, his knees almost buckling beneath him. “Fuck,” he whispered as he stared at the dark color staining the white bed sheets. Stark fingers of terror wrapped around his spine. “Who’d I kill?” Bracing himself with one hand on the wall, he searched his mind, trying to fill in the gaps between ordering a double scotch at dinner yesterday and waking up in the hotel room this morning. At least he assumed it was the next morning. Vestiges of images, short flashes of memory and drifting uncertainties traipsed through his head, offering him a glimpse of what might have gone on. All of it was pretty hard to believe. He shook his head as his gaze snagged on a small pair of jeans crumpled in a pile at the end of the bed. They weren’t his. Beside the flare-leg jeans sprawled a pale green T-shirt. He followed the trail of clothing with his eyes. Sneakers. Pink panties. The tiniest bra he’d ever seen. “Renny,” he breathed, searching suddenly around him as though he might find his tiny assistant under his arm. The shower. The bathroom. He could hear water running. “Renny,” he shouted, almost tearing the bathroom door from its hinges before hurling himself inside the small room. Steam filled the space, softening the sound of running water and clouding the dark teal walls. Behind the textured glass shower door, he could see nothing of the girl. His stomach twisted as he slid the door open, expecting to find a woman’s slight form standing beneath the shower’s spray. But Renny was curled up at the far end of the tub, her arms around her knees, crying her heart out. He plucked her into his arms, holding her tightly, reaching for a handful of towels and pulling them around her like a soft fluffy nest while he muttered her name. “Renny. Renny, baby. What did I do?” Inside his arms, Renny’s fragile frame shook as she turned her face into his chest and sobbed. Feeling empty and lost and terrified out of his wits, Colt carried her back into the bedroom. He rocked her in his arms as he sat on the bed and dabbed at her pale skin with the cream-colored towels, scared to death he might find blood with each touch of the thick, soft terrycloth. “Renny,” he moaned. “Talk to me, baby. What did I do to you? Do I need to take you to the hospital?” She burrowed her head more deeply against his chest as her small hands fought free of the tangled towels and found their way around him. She held onto him as though she was drowning. Colt willed his pulse rate to slow as he took several deep breaths and continued rocking her like a baby. “Tell me you’re okay,” he rasped when she finally stopped crying. In answer, her hands gripped him even tighter. With a little pulling and tugging and rearranging, he uncovered her head to reveal a wet mess of tangled brown curls. With his fist beneath her chin, he tilted her face upward. She gazed back at him, her blue eyes far too big for her face. His breath caught as he stared down at her. He’d never before seen her without her glasses and her hair pulled into an untidy knot at the back of her neck. He’d never really even looked at her before. There wasn’t much to attract his attention. Renny, god love her, was as plain as an empty brown paper sack. At least, that was what he’d always thought. Now he held his breath, stunned to find himself staring down into a face with an almost heart-stopping waif-like beauty. As he gazed into Renny’s dark blue eyes—her wet eyelashes clumped together and sparkling with moisture—he reached for her face, dragged his knuckles across her baby-soft cheek and rubbed his thumb across her full lower lip. “Renny,” he whispered. “What did I do to you?” Her face crumpled up and her voice broke as she stuttered. “Y-you m-married me, Colt.” |
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madison hayes
Miss September: Calendar Girls
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