Release date: 17 March 2014
Hollywood fashion consultant Naomi Fisher is happy to use her obsessive-compulsive planning to assist with her cousin’s wedding, but her history with the sexy and sullen Chayton Chambers, the groom’s brother, terrifies her. When the groom is kidnapped at his own wedding, Chayton and Naomi rush to find an important relic to satisfy the ransom before her cousin becomes a widow before a bride. Naomi trades garters for guns as survival, and love becomes a deadly game impossible to resist.
by Angela Smith
Sensuality Level: Sensual
Angela Smith is a writer and paralegal who lives in Central Texas with her husband, a handful of animals, and a gathering of books. Find Angela Smith at www.loveisamystery.com, on Facebook, and on Twitter.
An excerpt from Fatal Snag:
Chayton’s chest stiffened when he saw Naomi. Reagan approached Garret, kissed him on the cheek, and ordered tea. They scooted over, away from him, leaving Naomi standing in front of him on the other side of the bar.
His first reaction was to glance down, avoid eye contact, scrub the countertop to give his hands something to do. He did neither this time. He’d already done that when she walked in. No sense in looking nervous now.
He squared his shoulders and looked right into her eyes. Beautiful blue eyes, like the color of the crisp summer sky. “Can I get you something to drink?”
If she noticed the snarl in his voice, she didn’t say. If she noticed the hood of his eyes, she didn’t comment. If she noticed how he didn’t want her here, she didn’t let on.
She only cocked her head and smiled.
Damn her smile. Crimson red lips, straight white teeth and a slight dip in her cheek. She looked like a movie star, her red halter top tied in back, low slung black pants, and that belt … what was it about her belt that had him wanting to take if off and experience the skin that teased him?
“I remember you saying you make the best hot-buttered rum this side of the moon.”
Chayton nodded, remaining nonchalant. Not unpleasant, but neither would he eat out of her hand like she expected. “That’s my winter specialty.”
“What’s your summer specialty?”
“Depends on what you’re looking for. I have a batch of my Mountain Red Punch, but you look like a cosmopolitan girl.”
“Mmm, the red punch sounds good. I’ll try some of that.” She shimmied her shoulders, accentuating a well-defined upper body. The halter top didn’t have a neckline, but he didn’t need to see her cleavage to know what hid underneath. “It still feels like winter to me. Summer is cold in Montana.” She brushed her hands against her arms. “I should have worn a jacket.”
He glanced at her breasts, noticing the pebbling under her shirt. As most guys in the room probably had. He wanted to give her a jacket to cover herself. He shot a glare toward Adam, his friend and a local at the bar. Adam only winked and smiled.
Turning away, his hands shook as he prepared her drink and tried to block her nipples from his mind. His body hardened. So what, he hadn’t had a woman in a while. And he’d never slept with Naomi, so he could only imagine what her body would feel like underneath his. Smooth and curvy in all the right places, with that Hollywood tone she probably spent hours a day on.
He whipped out a napkin and set it and her glass on the bar. He placed a cut of watermelon on the rim. “That’ll be six seventy-five.”
He’d done it purposefully and to his satisfaction, a look of shock briefly touched her features. If she expected free drinks, think again. That would only make him look desperate. Or pathetic. Or both. And just because she was Reagan’s guest didn’t mean free liquor.
She handed him a ten. “Keep the change.”