Jonah gritted out, âIâm trying to rescue you, which will not be possible unless you stop struggling.â
The woman stopped wriggling long enough to shoot him a flat stare. âIâm an excellent swimmer,â she croaked. âI swam conference for Bryn Mawr.â
Not just a tourist, Jonah thought, with her posh American accent ringing in his ears. From the whole other side of the world.
âCould have fooled me,â he muttered. âUnless thatâs what passes for the Australian Crawl Stateside these days.â
The stare became a glare. And her eyes ⦠A wicked green, they were, only one was marred with a whopping great splotch of brown.
And while he stared her hand slipped. Luckily she had the smarts to grab the pointy end of his board, leaving him to clench his thighs for all he was worth.
âHoney,â he growled, by then near the end of his limited patience, âI understand that youâre embarrassed. âBut would you rather be humbled or dead?â
Her strange eyes flinted at the honeyânot that he gave a damn. All he cared was that she gave a short nod. The sooner he dumped her back on the sand and got on with his day the better. And if a dose of reality was necessary to get it done, then so be it.
Dear Reader
Far North Queensland is a beautiful part of the worldâand only a hop, skip and a short plane ride from where I live. The beaches are magnificent, the sun is hot, and the skies are endless. And what with all that gorgeousness and sultry heat, the flash resorts and the great bars and cafésâwell, the possibility of a hot summer romance is ripe.
From all that my hero, Jonah North, was born. Strong and taciturn. All sun-drenched skin, quicksilver eyes, brawn, candour and capability. A man with a wild past that has him shouldering regret, and a rare smile thatâll melt your knees from ten paces. Heâs a bloke. A manâs man. And one the ladies like quite a bit as wellâmyself included! All I had to do was throw him the most unlikely heroineâcool, unimpressed, desperately independent and a touristâthen sit back and watch as the sparks flew and the mighty tree was felled.
I hope you enjoy the show as much as I did!
Till then, happy reading. And keep a fan on handâwhen Jonah hits the page you might need it! :)
Ally
www.allyblake.com
Those Summer NightsIn Crescent Cove find sun, sea and steamy nights â¦
This hot, sultry duet continues next month with THE HEAT OF THE NIGHT by Amy Andrews.
Donât miss Claudiaâs story!
In her previous life Australian author ALLY BLAKE was at times a cheerleader, a maths tutor, a dental assistant and a shop assistant. In this life she is a bestselling, multi-award-winning novelist who has been published in over twenty languages with more than two million books sold worldwide.
She married her gorgeous husband in Las Vegasâno Elvis in sight, though Tony Curtis did put in a special appearanceâand now Ally and her family, including three rambunctious toddlers, share a property in the leafy western suburbs of Brisbane, with kookaburras, cockatoos, rainbow lorikeets and the occasional creepy-crawly. When not writing, she makes coffees that never get drunk, eats too many M&Ms, attempts yoga, devours The West Wing reruns, reads every spare minute she can and barracks ardently for the Collingwood Magpies footy team.
You can find out more at her website, www.allyblake.com
Other Modern Tempted⢠titles by Ally Blake:
THE DANCE OFF
FAKING IT TO MAKING IT
This and other titles by Ally Blake are available in eBook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk
This one is for all the long, hot Australian summers of my life; for all the memories and possibilities they hold.
With an extra dollop of love for Amy Andrews, one of my favourite writers and a sublime woman to boot.
ONE
Avery Shaw barely noticed the salty breeze whipping pale blonde hair across her face and fluttering the diaphanous layers of her dress against her legs. She was blissfully deep in a whirlpool of warm, hazy, happy memories as she stood on the sandy footpath and beamed up at the facade of the Tropicana Nights Resort.
She lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the shimmering Australian summer sun, and breathed the place in. It was bigger than she remembered, and more striking. Like some great white colonial palace, uprooted out of another era and transplanted to the pretty beach strip that was Crescent Cove. The garden now teetered on the wild side, and its facade was more than a little shabby around the edges. But ten years did that to a place.
Things changed. She was hardly the naive sixteen-year-old with the knobbly knees sheâd been the summer she was last there. Back when all that mattered was friends, and fun, andâ
A loud whoosh and rattle behind her tugged Avery back to the present. She glanced down the curving sidewalk to see a group of skinny brown-skinned boys in board shorts hurtling across the road on their skateboards before running down the beach and straight into the sparkling blue water of the Pacific.