Release date: May 23, 2016
Denver publishing heiress Miranda Clayton craves more from life than society parties and shopping sprees, but her tycoon father refuses to take her seriously. Her solution? Beat him at his own game by going to work for his top competitor, Connor Reeves, in Las Vegas.
Connor isn’t fooled by Miranda’s new plan for a second. He knows exactly who she is; what he doesn’t know is why she’s pulling him into her games. After their first meeting, Connor knows what he wants—Miranda in his bed! But the more he’s around his new vice president, the more he wants something deeper than a short-term fling. The question is does the lady want Connor—or his business?
by Kristina Knight
“It’s impossible not to fall in love with a story by Kristina Knight.” —USA Today best-selling author Nikki Lynn Barrett
Sensuality Level: Sensual
Kristina Knight lives on the shores of Lake Erie with her very own Knight in Shining Cowboy Boots, an incredibly precocious seven-year-old, and one very silly puppy. She writes romance with heart, heat, and, of course, happily ever after. Follow Kristina at her website www.kristinaknightauthor.com, on Facebook, or on Twitter @AuthorKristina.
An excerpt from What the Heiress Wants:
“What, exactly, is going on here?” Connor eyed Miranda, but then turned to Callie. He could read her more easily than he’d been able to read Miranda. “I thought you were renovating the Heck ranch for your spa.”
“And until it’s up and running, I need income.”
“Gage already gave you money.”
“Gage invested in my business. He didn’t just throw a few twenties on the dresser this morning.” Callie’s pretty, green eyes narrowed, and she frowned. “So until the dude ranch is officially converted into a destination spa, I’ve picked up a few corporate clients that I service a couple of times each week.”
“And I’m a corporate client?”
She nodded. “Yep.”
“And Miranda hired you.”
“Three weeks ago.”
Callie nodded, but her eyes narrowed as she focused her attention on him. Connor didn’t have to wonder what she saw, he saw the same thing each morning in the mirror. A worried gaze, frowning mouth, and stiff shoulders. “You look tense,” she said finally.
Of course he looked tense. He was tense. For the third straight quarter, his revenue line was down, his readership was down, and now his VP had hired a corporate massage therapist, something Connor was certain was not covered by their health plan. Callie was a smart businesswoman; she wouldn’t low-ball her services.
“I’m fine,” he lied, and willed his shoulders to relax.
“I have fifteen minutes if you want to get on the table.”
“I’m not getting naked with my brother’s girlfriend.”
Callie’s full lips thinned. “Your brother’s girlfriend isn’t offering you a quickie. She’s fitting you into her schedule for a neck and upper back massage before your head pops right off your shoulders.”
“I don’t need a massage.”
“You need something,” she mumbled.
“We should talk about this outside,” Miranda interrupted, angling her pretty, red head toward the hallway.
“I didn’t authorize this,” Connor said, once they were clear of Callie and Mandy.
“You said we needed better preventive care for the press workers. Massage therapy isn’t exactly a gym membership, but they didn’t have time to go to a gym, anyway. While we’re on the subject, though, the space above Gage’s office could easily be converted into an onsite workout facility.” They arrived at the elevator, and Miranda tapped the up arrow. “And you authorized it when you told me to look at new health plans.”
“There isn’t enough headroom in that space for anything. It’s why that space remains empty.” The car arrived, and they stepped inside. “And I expected my assistant to present the plan options so I could make the final decision.”
He watched the muscles in her jaw clench, and then she said stiffly, “You seem to be forgetting that I’m not your assistant. I thought when you hired me as vice president of marketing that would entail more than fetching your coffee or printing up new ad rate sheets.”
So had he. Until he’d done a little late night web surfing and found a picture of Miranda Walker on the arm of William Clayton—his primary competitor—at a big event in Denver and realized Miranda Walker was really Miranda Walker Clayton, William’s daughter and apparent heir to his publishing empire. He could have fired her then and there, along with his head of human resources, because she had to be in on whatever Miranda was up to. He hadn’t, though. He’d heard his father’s voice in his head.
“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, boys,” Caleb constantly told the three of them. It was his go-to explanation for everything from a competing ranch buying the bull Caleb wanted for the ranch to befriending a few of the pit bosses on Las Vegas Boulevard. The pit bosses didn’t stop Connor’s mother from gambling, but they did call Caleb when her actions got out of hand.
The elevator arrived on the second floor, and Connor started for his office. He’d kept Miranda around hoping to figure out William Clayton’s interest in Reeves Pub, and so far he’d come up blank. There was the obvious: take over the paper or shut it down. Connor refused to allow either to take place.