Can a country superstar and a dedicated cop strike a Christmas baby bargain?
Being a celebrity, Deacon Tate is always careful. So when a baby is left on his tour bus, heâs 99 percent certain it isnât his. But heâs 100 percent sure that trooper Quin Kincaid, who responds to the call, is the sexiest woman heâs ever seen. He has to have her, no matter what.
But to Quin, Deacon seems too good to be true. Can she save the baby and herself from Deaconâs spellâespecially when he makes her an offer she canât refuse?
She was a professional. On duty.
She didnât have time to picture running her fingers through that messy hair of his. Orâ¦or⦠Her gaze rose from his mouth, quirking up at the corners as it was, to meet his eyes. They really were the soft blue of a star sapphire. She curled her fingers against her belt. Would the stubble on his face be rough or as soft as his hair looked?
âDarlinâ, you really shouldnât look at a man that way.â His gruff voice was both a caress and a wake-up call.
Quin barely controlled a full-body shudder. She needed to think of ice baths and blizzards. Snow and ski slopes. High mountain air. Invigorating. Not warm. Not sexy. She took that step back, both physically and mentally. He laughed and the sound was dark and warm like fudge brownies just out of the oven. Her mouth watered.
Coffee. She needed coffee. And fresh air. Like right this minute.
SILVER JAMES likes walks on the wild side and coffee. Okay. She LOVES coffee. A cowgirl at heart, sheâs been an army officerâs wife and mum, and worked in the legal field, fire service and law enforcement. Now retired from the real world, she lives in Oklahoma, spending her days writing with the assistance of two Newfoundlands, the cat who rules them all and the characters living in her imagination.
As always, thanks to my family for putting up with the craziness when Iâm on deadlineâand that includes my wonderful Harlequin Desire team, Charles, Stacy and Tahra, plus all the amazing Harlequin folks. And a special thanks to a special reader, Anita Bartlett, for our discussion of brothers from a sisterâs point of view.
One
Deacon Tate was a country boy at heart. He loved life on his Oklahoma ranchâdriving the tractor, singing to the cows, riding his horse and stopping to watch the setting sun wash a blaze of colors across the red dirt of home. He would sit on his front porch as twilight softened the landscape, strumming his guitar while waiting for the fireflies to come out to play. He was also a free spirit. He loved life on the road, living on the tour bus, appearing in a different city every night. He fed off the energy of the crowd, absorbing their excitement through his skin by osmosis.
Performing live was in his blood, but he was ready for some downtime in his Red, White and Cool tour. The Sons of Nashvilleâs manager had purposely scheduled this leg of the tour close to home. After tonightâs performance at the Thunder River Casino just outside of Oklahoma City, the band would take off the week before Thanksgiving and Deke would be heading home to his ranch. Then the Friday after, they had a concert at the BOK Center in Tulsa. They were done for a month after that. The break couldnât come soon enough.
He sang into the microphone, but his eyes were on the female fans lining the front of the stage trying to get his attention. He flirted with them with winks, and by appearing to sing directly to one or another. He loved women. All women. And heâd only been exclusive once.
The lights dimmed, a stool appeared on stage and he picked up his acoustic guitar and sat down. One blue spotlight picked him out. Head down, he strummed a few chords. The cheers and whistles slowly faded as he played. The chords gave way to the melody he plucked on the strings. The band remained silent, unsure of where he was going. Performing this song was totally unplanned. Heâd written it for his cousin Cashâs wedding but hadnât recorded it.
Dekeâs little brother, who was also the keyboardist for the Sons, was the first to recognize the song. After Dillonâs piano riff, their guitarists, Bryce and Xander, picked up the tune and Kenji, the drummer, found the rhythm. Ozzie picked up the bass line without missing a beat.
âAre you ready to take a walk?â he crooned into the microphone. âDarlinâ, are you ready for me?â The crowd started to sway in time to the music and the groupies lining the stage pressed forward. Deke closed his eyes. âAre you counting the minutes? Can you feel my heart race?â He riffed on the guitar. âFrom this day forward, youâll never walk alone. Iâll shelter your heart. Iâll be your home. You are my love song, my forever song, the last song that Iâll sing.â