The Valentine’s Day Disaster Read online

“I merely pointed out that the campaign they wanted was lewd and suggestive. The insinuation of a ménage à trois featuring their garden hoses was in poor taste.”

  “And yet, that ad went on to become Palmer’s most successful campaign ever. Implied sex sold those garden hoses like hotcakes.”

  “It also garnered more consumer complaints than any other ad we’ve ever produced.”

  “Which goes to prove controversy is a good thing. You seemed to understand that when you first came to work here. The family feud television spot you created for Frosty Bites was not only hilarious, but it was one of Tribalgate’s most successful campaigns in the last decade.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “That campaign was six years ago. What have you done for us lately?”

  “I won a Clio two years ago!”

  “Which means absolutely nothing. The ad you won the Clio for was cute and attention-­getting, but in the end it did nothing to increase the sales of the cars it was advertising. And Hyundai dropped Tribalgate over it.”

  “All right.” She nodded. “I see your point. Message received. I will strive to get over my ethics and infuse ads with more titillation.”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but no you won’t.”

  “You don’t want me to put more sexuality in the ads?”

  “You will no longer be putting anything into the ads.”

  “I . . . I don’t understand.”

  “It’s not your fault.” His tone softened. “You come from a small town. You’re just not sophisticated enough for Tribalgate.”

  Her jaw dropped. “What do you mean? I’ve lived in the city for twelve years, almost half my life.”

  “Ms. Spencer, Melody . . .”

  Goose bumps spread over her arm. The left muscle in her eye jumped, a tic she got whenever she was super stressed. This couldn’t be happening. “What are you saying?”

  “Not to sound like Donald Trump or anything, but you’re fired.”

  Stunned, she stood there, mouth open. She caught sight of Michael’s desk calendar Tuesday, April 1. April Fool’s Day. Relief washed over her.

  “Oh, very funny, sir.” She smiled circumspectly, hiding that defective tooth. “You almost had me going there.”

  He glowered. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve got to hand it to you. It’s the best April Fool’s joke anyone has ever played on me.”

  Slowly, he shook his head. “This is not a joke.”

  The dread was back and heavier than ever. Oh shit. “This isn’t a prank?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure Ashton Kutcher isn’t going to jump out of the closet and declare I’ve been punked?” she asked hopefully, even as she knew she was well and truly sunk.

  No joke. He was serious. She’d been fired.

  Her boss held out his palm. “Please hand me your identification badge.”

  Pressing her lips into a straight line, she fumbled with the ID badge clipped to her lapel. She could barely see through the mist of tears welling up in her eyes, but she refused to let him see her cry. She swallowed the saltiness, blinked hard, and passed her badge to him.

  Michael took her ID that represented her entire sense of self, stared at someone over her shoulder, and nodded.

  She turned and for the first time saw the two security guards standing in the doorway behind her.

  “They’ll take you to your desk to collect your things,” Michael intoned. “After that, they’ll escort you from the building. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t cause a scene.”

  About the Author

  LORI WILDE is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than seventy works of romantic fiction. She is a two-­time RITA® award nominee, a four-­time Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice nominee, and has won numerous other awards. She earned a bachelor’s degree in nursing from Texas Chris­tian University and holds a certificate in nursing forensics. An animal lover, Lori is owned by several pets, and lives in Texas with her husband, Bill.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

  By Lori Wilde

  Somebody To Love

  The Christmas Cookie Collection

  All Out of Love

  Love at First Sight

  A Cowboy for Christmas

  The Cowboy and the Princess

  The Cowboy Takes a Bride

  The Welcome Home Garden Club

  The First Love Cookie Club

  The True Love Quilting Club

  The Sweethearts’ Knitting Club

  Available from Avon Impulse

  The Valentine’s Day Disaster

  One True Love

  THE CHRISTMAS COOKIE CHRONICLES:

  Carrie

  Raylene

  Christine

  Grace

  Give in to your impulses . . .

  Read on for a sneak peek at four brand-­new

  e-­book original tales of romance from Avon Books.

  Available now wherever e-­books are sold.

  THE LAST WICKED SCOUNDREL

  A SCOUNDRELS OF ST. JAMES NOVELLA

  By Lorraine Heath

  BLITZING EMILY

  A LOVE AND FOOTBALL NOVEL

  By Julie Brannagh

  SAVOR

  A BILLIONAIRE BACHELORS CLUB NOVEL

  By Monica Murphy

  IF YOU ONLY KNEW

  A TRUST NO ONE NOVEL

  By Dixie Lee Brown

  An Excerpt from

  THE LAST WICKED SCOUNDREL

  A Scoundrels of St. James Novella

  by Lorraine Heath

  New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Lorraine Heath brings us the eagerly awaited final story in the Scoundrels of St. James series.

  Winnie, the Duchess of Avendale, never knew peace until her brutal husband died. With William Graves, a royal physician, she’s discovered burning desire—­and the healing power of love. But now, confronted by the past she thought she’d left behind, Winnie must face her fears . . . or risk losing the one man who can fulfill all her dreams.

  After last night, she’d dared to hope that she meant something special to him, but they were so very different in rank and purpose. She considered suggesting that they go for a walk now, but she didn’t want to move away from where she was. So near to him. He smelled of sandalwood. His jaw and cheeks were smooth. He’d shaved before he came to see her. His hair curled wildly about his head, and she wondered if he ever tried to tame it, then decided he wouldn’t look like himself without the wildness.

  With his thumb, he stroked her lower lip. His blue eyes darkened. She watched the muscles of his throat work as he swallowed. Leaning in, he lowered his mouth to hers. She rose up on her toes to meet him, inviting him to possess, plunder, have his way. She became lost in the sensations of his mouth playing over hers, vaguely aware of his twisting her around so they were facing each other. As she skimmed her hands up over his shoulders, his arms came around her, drawing her nearer. He was a man of nimble fingers, skilled hands that eased hurts and injuries and warded off death. He had mended her with those hands, and now with his lips he was mending her further.

  Suddenly changing the angle of his mouth, he deepened the kiss, his tongue hungrily exploring, enticing her to take her own journey of discovery. He tasted of peppermint. She could well imagine him keeping the hard candies in his pocket to hand to children in order to ease their fears. Snitching one for himself every now and then.

  He folded his hands around the sides of her waist and, without breaking his mouth from hers, lifted her onto the desk. Parchment crackled beneath her. She knew she should be worried that they were ruining the plans for the hospital, but she seemed unable to care about anything beyond the w
ondrous sensations that he was bringing to life.

  Avendale had never kissed her with such enthusiasm, such resolve. She felt as though William were determined to devour her, and that it would be one of the most wondrous experiences of her life.

  Hiking her skirts up over her knees, he wedged himself between her thighs. Very slowly, he lowered her back to the desk until she was sprawled over it like some wanton. On the desk! She had never known this sort of activity could occur anywhere other than the bed. It was wicked, exciting, intriguing. Surely he didn’t mean to do more than kiss her, not that she was opposed to him going further.

  She’d gone so long without a caress, without being desired, without having passions stirred. She felt at once terrified and joyful while pleasure curled through her.

  As he dragged his mouth along her throat, he began undoing buttons, giving himself access to more skin. He nipped at her collarbone, circled his tongue in the hollow at her throat. She plowed her fingers through his golden locks, relishing the soft curls as they wound around her fingers.

  More buttons were unfastened. She sighed as he trailed his mouth and tongue along the upper swells of her breasts. Heat pooled deep within her. She wrapped her legs around his hips, taking surcease from the pressure of him against her. He moaned low, more a growl than anything as he pressed a kiss in the dip between her breasts.

  God help her, but she wanted to feel his touch over all of her.

  Peeling back her bodice, he began loosening the ribbons on her chemise. In the distance, someplace far far away, she thought she heard a door open.

  “The count—­” Her butler began and stopped.

  “Winnie?” Catherine’s voice brought her crashing back to reality.

  An Excerpt from

  BLITZING EMILY

  A Love and Football Novel

  by Julie Brannagh

  All’s fair in Love and Football . . .

  Emily Hamilton doesn’t trust men. She’s much more comfortable playing the romantic lead in front of a packed house onstage than in her own life. So when NFL star and alluring ladies’ man Brandon McKenna acts as her personal white knight, she has no illusions that he’ll stick around. However, a misunderstanding with the press throws them together in a fake engagement that yields unexpected (and breathtaking) benefits in the first installment of Julie Brannagh’s irresistible new series.

  Emily had barely enough time to hang up the cordless and flip on the TV before Brandon wandered down the stairs.

  “Hey,” he said, and he threw himself down on the couch next to her.

  His blond curls were tangled, his eyes sleepy, and she saw a pillowcase crease on his cheek. He looked completely innocent, until she saw the wicked twinkle in his eyes. Even in dirty workout clothes, he was breathtaking. She wondered if it was possible to ovulate on demand.

  “I’m guessing you took a nap,” she said.

  “I was supposed to be watching you.” He tried to look penitent. It wasn’t working.

  “Glad to know you’re making yourself comfortable,” she teased.

  He stretched his arm around the back of the couch.

  “Everything in your room smells like flowers, and your bed’s great.” He pulled up the edge of his t-­shirt and sniffed it. Emily almost drooled at a glimpse of his rock-­hard abdomen. Evidently, it was possible to have more than a six pack. “The guys will love my new perfume. Maybe they’ll want some makeup tips,” he muttered, and grabbed for the remote Emily left on the coffee table.

  He clicked through the channels at a rapid pace.

  “Excuse me. I had that.” She lunged for it. No such luck. Emily ended up sprawled across his lap.

  “The operative word here, sugar, is ‘had.’ ” He held it up in the air out of her reach while he continued to click. He’d wear a hole in his thumb if he kept this up. “No NFL Network.” She tried to sit up again, which wasn’t working well. Of course, he was chuckling at her struggles. “Oh, I get it. You’re heading for second base.”

  “Hardly.” Emily reached over and tried to push off on the other arm of the couch. One beefy arm wrapped around her. “I’m not trying to do anything. Oh, whatever.”

  “You know, if you want a kiss, all you have to do is ask.”

  She couldn’t imagine how he managed to look so innocent while smirking.

  “I haven’t had a woman throw herself in my lap for a while now. This could be interesting,” he said.

  Emily’s eyebrows shot to her hairline. “I did not throw myself in your lap.”

  “Could’ve fooled me. Which one of us is—­”

  “Let go of me.” She was still trying to grab the remote, without success.

  “You’ll fall,” he warned.

  “What’s your point?”

  “Here.” He stuck the remote down the side of the couch cushion so Emily couldn’t grab it. He grasped her upper arms, righted her with no effort at all, and looked into her eyes. “All better. Shouldn’t you be resting, anyway?”

  Emily tried to take a breath. Their bodies were frozen. He held her, and she gazed into his face. His dimple appeared, vanished, appeared again. She licked her lips with the microscopic amount of moisture left in her mouth. He was fighting a smile, but even more, he dipped his head toward her. He was going to kiss her.

  “Yes,” she said.

  Her voice sounded weak, but it was all she could do to push it out of lungs that had no air at all. He continued to watch her, and he gradually moved closer. Their mouths were inches apart. Emily couldn’t stop looking at his lips. After a few moments that seemed like an eternity, he released her and dug the remote from the couch cushion. She felt a stab of disappointment. He had changed his mind.

  “Turns out you have the NFL Network, so I think I can handle another twenty-­four hours here,” he announced as he stopped on a channel she’d never seen before.

  “You might not be here another twenty-­four minutes. Don’t you have a TV at home?” She wrapped her arms around her midsection. She wished she could come up with something more witty and cutting to say. She was so sure he would kiss her, and then he hadn’t.

  An Excerpt from

  SAVOR

  A Billionaire Bachelors Club Novel

  by Monica Murphy

  New York Times bestselling author Monica Murphy concludes her sexy Billionaire Bachelors Club series with a fiery romance that refuses to be left at the office.

  Bryn James can’t take much more of being invisible to her smart, sexy boss, Matthew DeLuca. Matt’s never been immune to his gorgeous assistant’s charms, and though he’s tried to stay professional, Bryn—­with a jaw-­dropping new look—­is suddenly making it very difficult. And when the lines between business and pleasure become blurred, he’ll be faced with the biggest risk of his career—­and his heart.

  Bryn

  “I shouldn’t do this.” He’s coming right at me, one determined step after another, and I slowly start to back up, fear and excitement bubbling up inside me, making it hard to think clearly.

  “Shouldn’t do what?”

  I lift my chin, my gaze meeting his, and I see all the turbulent, confusing emotions in his eyes, the grim set of his jaw and usually lush mouth. The man means business—­what sort of business I’m not exactly sure, but I can take a guess. Increasing my pace, I take hurried backward steps to get away from all that handsome intensity coming at me until my butt meets the wall.

  I’m trapped. And in the best possible place too.

  “You’ve been driving me fucking crazy all night,” he practically growls, stopping just in front of me.

  I have? I want to ask, but I keep my lips clamped tight. He never seems to notice me, not that I ever really want him to. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself. That sort of thing usually brings too much unwanted attention. I’ve dealt with that sort of trouble before, and it nearl
y destroyed me.

  The more time I spend with my boss though, the more I want him to see me. Really see me as a woman. Not the dependable, efficiently organized Miss James who makes his life so much easier.

  I want Matt to see me as a woman. A woman he wants.

  Playing with fire. . .

  The thought floating through my brain is apt, considering the potent heat in Matt’s gaze.

  “I don’t understand how I could be, considering I’ve done nothing but work my tail off the entire evening,” I retort, wincing the moment the words leave me. I blame my mounting frustration over our situation. I’m tired, I’ve done nothing but live and breathe this winery opening for the last few weeks, and I’m ready to go home and crawl into bed. Pull the covers over my head and sleep for a month.

  But if a certain someone wanted to join me in my bed, there wouldn’t be any sleeping involved. Just plenty of nakedness and kissing and hot, delicious sex . . .

  My entire body flushes at the thought.

  “And I appreciate you working that pretty tail of yours off for me. Though I’d hate to see it go,” he drawls, his gaze dropping low. Like he’s actually trying to check out my backside. His flirtatious tone shocks me, rendering me still.

  Our relationship isn’t like this. Strictly professional is how Matt and I keep it between us. But that last remark was most definitely what I would consider flirting. And the way he’s looking at me . . .

  Oh. My.

  My cheeks warm when he stops directly in front of me. I can feel his body heat, smell his intoxicating scent, and I press my lips together to keep from saying something really stupid.

  God, I want you. So bad my entire body aches for your touch.

  Yeah. I sound like those romance novels I used to devour when I had more time to freaking read. I always thought those emotions were so exaggerated. No way could what happens in a romance novel actually occur in real life.