Leaping Hearts(102)

“There’s only one other thing,” Devlin said, falling to his knees. His hands splayed over the small of her back and then the swell of her hips.

“Something else?” A.J. said breathlessly, as she felt his tongue go across her belly.

“We haven’t figured out what to do for a honeymoon.”

She pulled back, eyes sparkling with purpose.

“Oh, no,” he groaned. “You’ve got that look again.”

“What look?”

“What are you thinking?”

“Well, since you brought it up, there’s an auction down in Florida and there’s this mare I heard about—”

“Don’t tell me her name is Babylon.”

“No.” A.J. tried to look innocent.

“Let me guess, she’s a real handful.”

“She may need a little work but she’s got terrific—”

Devlin rose and silenced her with a powerful kiss, his tongue rushing into her mouth, his arms steel around her body. When he was finished, he said, “Wherever you want to go, whatever you want to do, I’m there for you. And that includes horse auctions in Florida.”

A.J. sighed as he scooped her up in his arms and carried her over to the bed.

“Devlin?”

“Hmmm?” he said, as he laid her down.

“I think her name is Angel.”

He shot her a wry look.

“And she and Sabbath would have the most fantastic colts….”





Read on for a sneak peek of

another contemporary romance by

J. R. Ward writing as Jessica Bird



HEART OF GOLD



Available from Signet.





CARTER WESSEX straightened her shoulders, lifted the heavy brass door knocker and let it fall. As a thunderous noise rang out, she took a step back and regarded the grand entrance to the mansion with a jaundiced eye. The place could have been a luxury hotel.

But what else did she expect a billionaire corporate raider to live in?

While she waited for a response, she couldn’t believe she was about to ask Nick Farrell for permission to dig on his land. After he’d just thrown off her competitor. Or rather, after one of his groundsmen had chased off her closest competitor with a shotgun.

She looked down at her running shoes and wondered with gallows humor whether she was about to put them to good use.

Of course, that rat Conrad Lyst hadn’t asked first. He’d just gone up Farrell Mountain with his shovel and started making holes. Like a lot of other professional and amateur archaeologists. And one by one, they had all been removed. As a matter of fact, in archaeology circles, it was considered a rite of passage to get tossed off Farrell’s property.

The site was considered a Holy Grail of American history because of what it might be hiding. The solution to one of the great Revolutionary War mysteries, as well as a fortune in gold, were probably buried in the man’s soil but he refused to let people get anywhere near it.

Which only made Carter more determined.

When the door opened, Carter was surprised to find herself staring into the pleasant face of a sixty-year-old woman. She’d assumed only Lurch would answer that kind of knocker.

“I’m here to see Mr. Farrell.”

“About?”

“I’m an archaeologist and I—”

“He doesn’t like archaeologists much.”

“So I’ve heard. I just want to ask him if I can dig up on the mount—”

“He doesn’t like people digging up there.”

“Heard that, too. But if I could just ask him—”

“He doesn’t like being asked.”

“Does the guy like anything? Or is he as bad-humored as his reputation suggests?”

Carter clamped her mouth shut. Great, she thought. She’d just managed to insult him to his staff while trying to wheedle a way in to see him. Way to win friends and influence people.

“Sorry about that crack,” she muttered.

There was a long pause. She waited to hear how she was going to be summarily tossed off the property and wondered whether cops would be involved.

Instead, the woman smiled. “Tell you what. I’ll give you twenty minutes to see for yourself if he’s that awful. If you’re crazy enough to want to give it a try, you might as well get the full experience. Besides, the way he’ll throw you out will be a heck of a lot more interesting and inventive than anything I could do to you.”

“Thanks,” Carter said, dubiously.

Swallowing unexpected fear, she followed the leader through the house, taking in a host of spacious rooms. Every one was filled with antiques and had an atmosphere of elegant leisure, with freshly cut flowers adding to the sophistication and grace. When they came to a stout mahogany door, the woman paused and knocked.

“Do yourself a favor. Make it short and sweet. He likes things that way.”

At the muffled reply, she opened the door and walked into an old-world study.

Nick Farrell looked up from an ornate desk and Carter’s feet stopped working. The first thing she noticed was the unusual color of his eyes, a gray so pale that the irises were almost invisible. The next thing that registered was his extraordinary looks. He had dark hair that looked glossy and luxurious, a face that must have launched a thousand women’s fantasies and she could tell he was tall, broad-shouldered, and imposing, even though he was sitting down.