Tempting Janey
When Dillon Reed strolls into Janey Mayfield's candy shop, the past opens up like a forbidden door. The imposing ex-marine turned high school principal is a shocking reminder of an affair that shattered all their lives.After the scandal that destroyed two marriages, Janey fled to Colorado with her daughter. Now, three years later, she's come back to South Carolina, determined to make a success of the business she inherited and keep control of her well-ordered life. But it's an uphill battle, what with her rebellious teenage daughter, a rash of break-ins plaguing the town, and an ex-husband with a grudge.She tells herself she doesn't want the attraction she feels for Dillon. She doesn't want to be vulnerable to what his heated glance has put on offer: sweet, irresistible passion. But Janey discovers that the more determined she is to avoid temptation, the more it stands in her way.
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Janey’s emotions couldn’t take another blow.
Her stomach heaved, her shoulders shook and tears gushed down her cheeks.
“God, Janey, don’t,” Dillon pleaded in an agonized voice.
Then he lunged to his feet and strode toward her, stopping so close that she could feel his breath warm her skin when he spoke again.
“I don’t know when to keep my bloody mouth shut.”
“It’s not your fault,” she whispered, her lips accidentally grazing his. Wide-eyed, their gazes held while Janey’s breath constricted and her head reeled.
“God, don’t look at me like that or—” He broke off again, then added, “Oh, to hell with it.”
As before, his kisses started out feather light, on her temple, her cheek, her mouth. They barely touched as he murmured, “I didn’t mean to upset you more.”
“It’s all right,” she sobbed, circling her arms around his neck until his lips were locked tightly and frantically against hers.
“Aptly named, Baxter’s latest novel boasts sensuality as its strongest feature—the attraction between the hero and heroine sparks fire from the first and keeps on burning hot throughout.”
—Publishers Weekly on Sultry
Contents
One
The quietness bothered him.
It wasn’t natural, Dillon Reed told himself as he ambled down the main hall of Brookwood High School, where he was principal. This hall and the others should be teeming with students laughing, talking and slamming locker doors.
All that and more would start again soon enough, Dillon reminded himself with a quirk of his lips. First thing in the morning, in fact. But on this Wednesday evening, just after dark, the students were gone and silence was the order of the day.
Dillon didn’t make a habit of cruising the halls when they were empty. His purpose for having stopped by the school on this particular evening was to get his briefcase, which he’d forgotten. After that, he was headed to his sister’s, where he was expected for dinner.
But since he had some time to kill, he’d figured he might as well stroll down the main hall and check for new graffiti on the walls and lockers, something that never failed to raise his ire.
Dillon paused, feeling the silence close around him like a tomb. The place was downright gloomy without its usual hubbub.
What was wrong with him? He spent more than his share of time on the job, arriving way before the first bell rang and leaving long after the last one had sounded. In fact, he was on the premises a lot at night—the only time he could get his paperwork done—and the silence had never bothered him before.
What was different about tonight?
He wasn’t complaining. He loved what he did, loved every nook and cranny of this new building, loved every minute he spent walking the halls and grounds. He’d worked his way up through the ranks of the system, starting out as a teacher and coach, then moving up to guidance counselor, and now to principal.
He wasn’t content, though. He had his eye on a superintendent’s position. But he wasn’t in a hurry. Right now, he was content to remain hands-on with the kids. Keeping up with them kept him young in mind and spirit. When the time was right to make the move, he would know it.
However, he wasn’t interested in getting too far away from Hunter. This small South Carolina town of forty thousand plus, perfectly positioned between Charleston and Savannah, was home to him. And since he’d invested heavily in a chunk of land—land that he hoped to make into a profitable horse farm—he intended to be picky about future jobs.
A deep sigh escaped Dillon just as he reached his office and unlocked the door.
That was when he heard the noise.
When he couldn’t identify the sound, every muscle in his body tensed. He didn’t move; he almost stopped breathing as his military background booted his system into high alert. He listened.
Nothing.
Dillon almost wilted with relief. His imagination was obviously working overtime, which wasn’t a bad thing. Blatant mischief and much worse were problems that all schools had to contend with. It never paid to be careless, and he couldn’t let himself get overconfident that his facility was different simply because he ran it with an iron fist.
He had the door all the way open and had reached for the light switch when he heard the noise again. He stood still, feeling his heart up its pace and the hairs stand out on his neck. No mistake this time. Something was going on.
