A Taste of Texas
Returning to Oak Stand, Texas, doesn't mean things haven't panned out for Rayne Rose. In fact, she's a celebrity chef so successful she desperately needs her equilibrium! Fixing up her aunt's B and B is the perfect step back. But how's Rayne supposed to get perspective with Brent Hamilton–the best friend who broke her heart–next door?Beauty in motion. That was Brent then–and now. The boy Rayne adored has become a good-time guy…and all wrong for this widowed single mom. Still, she can't resist the different version of Brent she glimpses beneath the surface. And that taste tempts her to dig a little deeper. Because maybe what they once had could still be.
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Her gaze hit his, then dipped lower to his bare chest
Rayne swallowed and redirected her gaze, but not before Brent caught the interest that flared in the warm depths of her eyes. âHey.â
A frisson of awareness skipped up his spine. Sheâd looked at him as though he was the last scoop of ice cream in the tub of Rocky Road. It made his body tighten with anticipation even though he knew it wasnât a good idea. It wouldnât get him what he wanted. Well, it would get him something he wanted, but he wanted more than sweaty sheets and sexual satisfaction.
He wanted a piece of what heâd once had with herâ¦and that had nothing to do with lust.
Dear Reader,
From the first time I wrote the character of Brent Hamilton, the man intrigued me. He was handsome, slightly egotistical and a bit slimy. I couldnât stop thinking about him. Wondering about guys like him and why they donât fall in love. Then it came to me. What if Brent had missed his chance at love? What if he hated who he was? And what if he had a secret?
So A Taste of Texas was born.
This book is basically Brentâs story of redemption, but it also touches on something many successful woman, like the heroine, Rayne, deal withâbalancing career and family, and wondering how weâll ever get it right.
For those who have been following my stories, Bubba Malone shows up and runs into a feisty feminist. And a few characters from previous books pop by, plus Oak Stand faces off against Mother Nature.
But most important, soul mates find each otherâ¦for a second time around.
I love hearing from my readers. Drop me a line or two at www.liztalleybooks.com or snail mail me at P.O. Box 5418, Bossier City, LA 71171.
Happy reading,
Liz Talley
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
From devouring the Harlequin Superromance books on the shelves of her auntâs used bookstore to swiping her grandmotherâs medical romances, Liz Talley has always loved a good romance novel. So it was no surprise to anyone when she started writing a book one day while her infant napped. She soon found writing more exciting than scrubbing hardened cereal off the love seat. Underneath her baby-food-stained clothes a dream stirred. Liz followed that dream and, after a foray into historical romance and a Golden Heart final, she started her first contemporary romance on the same day she met her editor. Coincidence? She prefers to call it fate.
Currently Liz lives in north Louisiana with her high school sweetheart, two beautiful children and a menagerie of animals. Liz loves strawberries, fishing and retail therapy, and is always game for a spa day. When not writing contemporary romances for Harlequin Superromance, she can be found working in the flower bed, doing laundry or driving car pool.
To the boy who once twisted my hair
around his finger, and sang me Elvis songs, who gave me my first kiss, two beautiful children and the life you promised me in all those notes we passed in the halls of Webster Junior High. I believe in soul mates.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER ONE
BRENT HAMILTON HATED HIMSELF.
That was the only thought in his head as he sprawled on his parentsâ back porch steps watching a titmouse hopping from branch to branch in the scarred redbud tree.
The birdhouse heâd made last week already showed signs of inhabitancy, if the scruffy mat of pine straw peeking from the opening was any indication. At least that had worked.
Because nothing else in his life had.
In fact, it was one big royal suck.
He didnât hear the footsteps, only felt the long fingernails scraping his scalp as Tamara Beach tousled his hair.
âMorning,â she said.
âMorning.â He cradled his coffee mug between his calloused hands.
She squatted next to him and eased herself onto the step. She set her strappy-heeled sandals next to her.
âYou want some coffee?â he asked, staring at the tufts of hair on his bare feet. He hadnât bothered with pants. Just wore the boxers heâd pulled on that morning when heâd rolled from his bed in the carriage house and padded across the backyard toward his parentsâ home to let the dog out.
Tamaraâs bright red toenails waggled as she stretched. âNah.â
Awkward silence reigned.
Apple, his parentsâ overweight Boston terrier, sniffed through a patch of Aztec grass.
Finally Tamara nudged him with her shoulder. âHey.â
He didnât say anything.
âItâs no big deal. I mean, it happens to all guys.â
Brent rubbed a hand over his face. It had never happened to him. Ever. He couldnât blame it on the liquor or the fact he hadnât really wanted to sleep with Tamara. Hell, before last night, heâd been able to get it up if the wind blew right. The cause of his failure to rise to the occasion was the damn dissatisfaction that had made a home in his gut.
