Something's Gotta Give

Something's Gotta Give
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The whole thing was rigged! What else would you expect from lawyers and a judge with family connections? Former detective Sam Owen Brimstone was not looking for work, but now he was stuck with it and had to admit that in this case, the body he was assigned to guard was an awfully attractive one.Too bad that curvy, petite Jamie Gibson was a lawyer and, true to her profession, persistent in getting answers. But Sam's initials weren't S.O.B. for nothing. Tempted as he was, he wasn't about to let Jamie sweet talk him, that is, until circumstances took a turn for the worse and the job suddenly became personal.

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Something had to give and apparently it was her.

“Okay. Bodyguard it is.” She met Sam’s gaze and felt a flush on her face that spread clear through her. The thought of him guarding her body sent a shiver down her spine.

“I know you’re not crazy about the situation. Neither am I. But we’re stuck with each other. The way I see it, things will go more smoothly if you follow some ground rules.”

“Let’s be clear.” Jamie stared up at him. “You can list ground rules from now until hell freezes over, but I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do.”

The stubbornness glittering in her eyes did amazing things to her particular shade of hazel. The obstinate expression canceled out the brown and gold and turned them to bright green. And beautiful. A man could lose himself in those angry eyes.

Something’s Gotta Give

Teresa Southwick


lives with her husband in Las Vegas, the city that reinvents itself every day. An avid fan of romance novels, she is delighted to be living out her dream of writing for Silhouette Books.

Do you need a man? The 75>TH semi-annual Charity City Auction

This is your chance to find the right one for that “honey do” list.

Could you use a weekend warrior? Ex-Army Ranger Riley Dixon is the guy for you. He’s donating a survival weekend guaranteed to get your heart rate up.

What about that home repair you’ve been putting off? Dashing Des O’Donnell, former Charity City High football hero, now owner and president of his own construction company, is offering a repair of your choice.

Personal security issues? Defend your honor? Savvy Sam Brimstone, recently of the LAPD and a hotshot detective, is your man.

These are just a sampling of the jaw-dropping guys available to the highest bidder. Ladies, don’t miss the chance to buy a guy—no strings attached.

Cash, check, credit and debit cards gratefully accepted by the Charity City Philanthropic Foundation.


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 One

If anyone had told him he’d wind up on the wrong side of the law, Sam Brimstone would’ve said they’d taken one too many shots to the head.

But here he was looking up at the beefy, balding judge who stared right back at him from the bench. “Samuel Owen Brimstone, the charge against you is one count of assault and battery. How do you plead?”

There was the sixty-four-million-dollar question. Once upon a time Sam had been a decorated detective with a big-city police department, working for law and order. Now the law in Charity City, Texas had its sights locked and loaded on him. That’s what he got for butting into something that was none of his business. He’d be back on the highway doing seventy-five miles an hour to nowhere if he hadn’t decked a bozo hustling a hardworking bar-and-grill waitress.

Where the gray area came in was that Sam knew he’d been spoiling for a fight, and the bozo had obliged by giving him motive and opportunity.

“Mr. Brimstone, the court doesn’t have all day. Did you, or did you not, start an altercation last night at the Lone Star Bar and Grill?”

“Depends on your definition of altercation.”

“Can I take that as a yes?”

“Yes, what?” Sam asked.

“Yes you threw the first punch.”

“You can.”

“Can what?” the judge asked, barely controlling his exasperation.

Sam smiled. Small consolation that his initials spelled SOB and he was living up to them. A man had to take comfort wherever he could. “I threw the first punch, Your Honor.”

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“He had it coming.”

“Anything else?”


“So you’re pleading guilty?”

Sam was guilty of more than assault and battery. It was the reason he’d left the LAPD. A woman had died because of him. The law didn’t hold him accountable, but his conscience was something else. So he’d take responsibility for hitting a guy who deserved it. Besides, he didn’t have any priors. Probably he’d get off with a warning and a lecture about anger management, then be on his way.

“Yes.” He noted the judge’s raised eyebrow and decided not to push it. “I’m pleading guilty.”

“Okay, son. I’m sentencing you to thirty days community service.”

“Thirty days!” What the hell was going on? He’d already spent the night in jail for doing the wrong thing, right reason. “That seems excessive,” he said, suddenly developing an anger-management problem. “I’m just passing through town. Anywhere else, these charges would be dismissed with time served.”

“This isn’t anywhere else. It’s Charity City.” He glared down from the bench. “Do you have somewhere else you need to be?”

“No, sir. I’m between jobs.”

“Is there a financial hardship putting yourself up in town? If so, the county would be happy to arrange accommodations,” the judge said pointedly.

“Thanks, anyway, but I’ve sampled cell block hospitality. I can afford a room.”

He was pretty well off, thanks to all work, no play, a side job doing private investigations and the hefty inheritance his bastard of a defense attorney father had left him, even though he didn’t want any part of dear old absentee Dad’s blood money. But the judge didn’t need to know any of that.

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