Cathleen Galitz - Warrior In Her Bed

He had to be at least six feet two inches tall, and his broad shoulders filled his Western-cut shirt as completely as his very presence filled the room. His face was angular, and his skin was the color of burnished copper. A military-style haircut didn’t hide his heritage any more than his store-bought jeans and shirt concealed his rock-hard physique. Absently, Annie wondered what this man would look like with his thick black hair grown out and braided in the traditional Native American manner.

Most unnerving of all was the predatory glint in those unfathomable black eyes of his. It made Annie hesitate to offer him her hand. She had the unnerving feeling that he might bite it off.

Lonebear? she thought. Lone Wolf would suit you better.

Dear Reader,

Spring into the new season with six fresh passionate, powerful and provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire.

Experience first love with a young nurse and the arrogant surgeon who stole her innocence, in USA TODAY bestselling author Elizabeth Bevarly’s Taming the Beastly MD (#1501), the latest title in the riveting DYNASTIES: THE BARONES continuity series. Another USA TODAY bestselling author, Cait London, offers a second title in her HEARTBREAKERS miniseries—Instinctive Male (#1502) is the story of a vulnerable heiress who finds love in the arms of an autocratic tycoon.

And don’t miss RITA ®Award winner Marie Ferrarella’s A Bachelor and a Baby (#1503), the second book of Silhouette’s crossline series THE MOM SQUAD, featuring single mothers who find true love. In Tycoon for Auction (#1504) by Katherine Garbera, a lady executive wins the services of a commitment-shy bachelor. A playboy falls in love with his secretary in Billionaire Boss (#1505) by Meagan McKinney, the latest MATCHED IN MONTANA title. And a Native American hero’s fling with a summer-school teacher produces unexpected complications in Warrior in Her Bed (#1506) by Cathleen Galitz.

This April, shower yourself with all six of these moving and sensual new love stories from Silhouette Desire.

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

a Wyoming native, teaches English to students in grades six through twelve in a rural school that houses kindergarteners and seniors in the same building. She feels blessed to have married a man who is both supportive and patient. When she’s not busy writing, teaching or chauffeuring her sons to and from various activities, she can most likely be found indulging in her favorite pastime—reading.

For my aunt Cleo who, when I least expect to hear her voice, reminds me to laugh and to celebrate the joy of life most precious.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

She was much prettier than Johnny Lonebear had expected. Not that it took much to beat the pair of horns and tail he had envisioned as part of the personage of the infamous Ms. Anne Wainwright. To be sure, it had been his own past experience, rather than anything his niece said about her new teacher, that had led him to picture a woman with a pitchfork for a pointer: the kind his own second-grade teacher used to whack him with across the knuckles whenever he acted up in class, which he had to admit was more often than not. Indeed, on the surface, the lovely Ms. Wainwright was nothing at all like that old warhorse Miss Applebee.

But Johnny wasn’t as easily deceived by this young woman’s ready smile and considerable talent as was his impressionable niece when it came to judging outsiders. Crimson Dawn’s mother believed that beneath the surface, they were all devils. And according to her, the do-gooders were the worst of all. Johnny’s suspicions were more tempered than those of his older sister. His wariness had been bought and paid for on the field of battle, where all too often the enemy that he had faced was attempting to prove with bullets the superiority of a particular culture, religion or skin tone. That so many radicals believed genocide a viable option made Johnny proud to have served as a U.S. Marine dedicated to the concept of upholding freedom for all. As far as he could tell, the only thing keeping the next madman from rising to power in any number of hot spots all over the world was that good men were willing to give their lives for one another without regard to the color of the man fighting next to them.

It was Johnny’s belief that mercenaries were much easier to defeat than zealots. And he feared a zealot in the classroom was potentially far more dangerous than one in a designated war zone. If Ms. Wainwright proved herself to be the misguided extremist that his sister, Ester, believed her to be, she could well be as formidable an enemy as any he had ever faced before. At least, that was the way Ester put it to him. After thoroughly chastising him for even letting the woman into his school at all, she had expressly sent him into the classroom to check out that “she-devil” himself.

“I don’t hire ’em, sis,” he had told her. “I just do my best to keep the place up and running.”

Studying one fair-haired head surrounded by so many dark ones gathered around her, Johnny had to admit that the newest member of his staff didn’t look particularly diabolical this morning. In fact, it took a concerted effort on his part to pull his thoughts away from the intriguing way the light was toying with her hair and remind himself just why he was here.

As if somehow sensing the liberties that his thoughts were taking, the lady in question looked up from a piece of blood-red glass that she was cutting to look directly at him.

“Would you care to join us?” she asked.

Her voice was not overtly hostile. In fact, Johnny was surprised at its gentle quality and lack of discernable Midwestern accent. That utterly feminine sound wrapped itself around his senses and reminded him, in the most visceral way, that he could not help but respond to her invitation as anything but an interested male. In stark contrast to that mellifluous voice, her eyes openly challenged him.

There was nothing subtle about those blue lasers that she leveled at him from across the room. Johnny was certain they could slice through a man’s heart as easily as the glass cutter she held in her hand. Suddenly feeling like he was back in grade school all over again, he reverted to the kind of insolence that had so often led him to the principal’s office. Deliberately, he let his own dark eyes traverse this young woman’s body from head to toe—and back up again. The smile playing with the corners of his lips left little doubt that he liked what he saw.

“No, thanks,” he said, leaning against the doorjamb with his arms folded insolently across his chest. “I can see everything I want to see just fine from right here.”

“Suit yourself,” she replied, slipping on a pair of safety goggles and proceeding with her presentation.

Had it not been for the telltale flush in her cheeks, Johnny might have believed that his presence had absolutely no effect upon the lady. She was one cool customer. He had to admire the way she sidestepped his intended power play by simply continuing on with her demonstration as if he were not in the room at all. The difficult curve of her intended pattern snapped the thick glass neatly in two separate pieces, causing her pupils to let out an appreciative “ohhh!” at what was apparently a remarkable feat.

Calling to mind his sister’s directive—to keep the teacher from disrupting her relationship with her daughter, Johnny provided a sarcastic second syllable to the class’s admiring outburst.

“Ahhh,” he murmured just loudly enough for everyone to hear.

Crimson Dawn shot him a dirty look and muttered a one-word warning under her breath. “Uncle…”

Glancing in the general vicinity of where the heckler was standing, her teacher pushed the goggles to the top of her head. “It’s not all that exciting, but I’m glad you approve nonetheless. You’ll have to come back tomorrow when we’ll begin the thrilling process of grinding off the rough edges.”

Johnny noticed that her smile did not reach her eyes, which were presently shooting off more sparks than an arc welder. If he hadn’t been spoiling for a fight, he would have been tempted to put on a pair of protective goggles himself. He wondered if her seemingly benign remark was actually pointed at him on a personal level. The hint of a smile flitted across his face. Every woman with whom he’d been involved before had inevitably come to discover that his edges were far too rough to be smoothed away.

“That’s all for today, class. Time to put up your materials.”

As her students scurried to do her bidding, Ms. Wainwright proceeded to divest herself of her goggles altogether. Johnny found himself wishing that she would free her hair from its restraint, as well. The no-nonsense ponytail pulling her hair so austerely away from her face didn’t do her justice. He imagined what she would look like with that lustrous mane loose about her face. He suspected it would make her look older—perhaps all of twenty-seven or twenty-eight. When she put a hand to the middle of her back and stretched her taut muscles, something dangerous tightened in Johnny’s loins. Feeling like a voyeur, he was unable to pull his gaze away.

“Why don’t you introduce me to your uncle?” he heard her ask Crimson Dawn.

The girl blew her bangs out of her eyes with an exasperated burst of air directed heavenward. Johnny grinned unabashedly. It wasn’t the first or the last time he would be destined to embarrass his headstrong niece, the one most like him of all his kin. Reluctantly she obliged, leading her teacher across the spacious art room to where he struck a leisurely pose. With his back against the doorway, he gave every impression that he had all the time in the world. One knee was bent to allow a booted foot to rest against the door frame. His arms remained stubbornly crossed over his chest, calling into question whether he would actually extend a hand by way of a customary polite introduction.

“This is my uncle Johnny—”

“John,” he corrected his niece. “John Lonebear.”

Lone wolf suits you better, Annie thought to herself.

At six foot two inches, John Lonebear was a big man, whose broad shoulders filled his Western-cut shirt as completely as his very presence filled the airy room in which they stood. His face was angular, and his skin was the color of warm, burnished copper. A military-style haircut didn’t hide his heritage any more than a pair of store-bought jeans and shirt could conceal his rock-hard physique. Absently Annie wondered what this man would look like with his thick black hair grown out and braided in the usual manner that Hollywood liked to portray Native American men. Such a fierce-looking warrior would undoubtedly be the bane of traditional leading men by stealing any scene in which he appeared. The predatory glint in those unfathomable black eyes of his made Annie hesitate to offer him her hand.