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Count on Love
October 2007
Harlequin Superromance
ISBN 0373714483
| Reviews |
Excerpt |
Reviews
When private investigator Sam Knight
recommends that a casino not hire Annie Raye for its finance department,
the desperate divorced mother decides to help him with a case in order to
prove that she's trustworthy. The only problem? Annie knows more about a
card-counting group working the Vegas casinos than she's letting on, and
Sam is determined to find out why. A novel story and setting make Melinda
Curtis' Count on Love (4 stars) a fun read. Curtis also
gives readers an inside look at a fascinating industry.
—Alexandra Kay, Romantic Times Magazine
Melinda Curtis is a great storyteller.
Her characters and their journeys are true to life. COUNT ON LOVE
is a feel good romance that will have you cheering in the end.
—Kathy Fisher, The Romance Reader's
Connection
Rating: 4 Stars
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Prologue exclusively at
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What do you do with your life if you peaked at age 12? If
you're Annie Raye, numbers whiz and former Black Jack champion, you try to be
like everyone else, with a normal job, forgetting your past. Which would
be fine if you hadn't married an embezzler and had to start all over in a new
town applying for a new job and needed to pass a background check conducted by a
tall, sexy stranger who doesn't realize you're no trouble at all.
Excerpt
Sam pulled a
hot dog from the warming rack at the 7/11 across the street from Slotto, feeling
pretty damn good about the morning.
“You’ve got
a lot of explaining to do, buster,” a woman said next to him. Sam had been
called much worse than buster by more threatening babes, but this taunt threw
him for a loop. The woman looked like a petite Swedish school teacher come to
punish him for being bad. Short ruffled blond hair, boring well-filled out
suit, plenty of leg, pearls around her neck. Just the right combination of good
girl sex appeal.
Sam turned
his back on her and filled a soda cup with ice.
She sidled
up next to him, invading his personal space, whispering as if what she had to
say was for his ears only. “You’re a disgrace to…to…the private investigator
profession…and men in general.”
Wait a
minute. He remembered seeing her in the reception area of Slotto. “Lady – ”
“My name is
Annie Raye. Ring any bells?”
She was
sexier than he’d expected, the kind of woman who was hot and didn’t know it. He
disliked her all over again. “How did you…? What are you…?” Smooth, Knight.
He filled his cup with Pepsi.
Annie looked
him up and down. “You deep-sixed my background check and I want to know why.”
Normally, he
was polished with the ladies, in control, on top…or whatever position suited
him. But that was before Iraq. “I don’t have to explain anything to you.”
She glared
at him. Given her Hilary Clinton suit, she probably thought men could actually
ignore her well proportioned body and take her seriously. “How long did it take
you to do my background check? A week? A day?”
He wasn’t
going to admit fifteen minutes. But it had been one of the most enjoyable
fifteen minutes he’d spent in a long time.
“That’s what
I thought. You should spend more time getting the answers right. Now, call up
Carl Nunes and let’s straighten this mess out.” She may look like an angel, but
she was psycho.
“You didn’t
pass the screen,” Sam said lamely. What was wrong with him? He tried to sound
firm. “There is no recount, no redo, no make goods. Not for embezzlers.”
“My
husband…” Her cheeks lost some of their color. “My ex-husband is the
crook. I was booked on suspicion but no charges were ever filed against me.
There’s no reason Slotto shouldn’t hire me.” Annie glowered at him, but the
look was ruined by the bedroom huskiness of her voice. “In fact, it’s illegal
for you to even use that information against me.”
“It’s
illegal in California, but we’re much more lenient in Nevada, sweetheart.”
She made a
huffing noise. “That’s not a good enough reason.”
“How about
this? Your father is a professional gambler and probably a petty crook who’s
never been caught scamming tourists.” There was no way Annie Raye could work in
any field even remotely connected to gambling when her father made his less than
successful living playing cards.
“Slotto
doesn’t want to hire my dad.” She pushed out her pink lower lip, plump and
tempting.
Annie Raye
represented everything a man wanted. Indignant blue eyes, sunny blonde hair and
a cute little figure all wrapped up in that virginal package that said home
cooking and flowered sheets. But her spunk let a man know the possibilities on
those rose petals were endless. No wonder Carl Nunes had been fooled. She may
have been on Sam’s things-to-avoid list, but Annie couldn’t put one over on
him.
He finally
came to his senses and headed to the cashier.
Annie lacked
the bravado to stand in his way, but she doggedly trailed after him. “I packed
everything I own in my car and drove here this morning. And do you know why?”
“No, and I
don’t care. Go peddle your resume somewhere else. I need breakfast.”
“A hot dog
and a soda? No wonder you look like a truck ran you over.”
His hot dog
was no longer hot. Wearily Sam turned back to her. “You might get better
results explaining all this to Carl or a reporter. Maybe Slotto is the type of
company who’d hire you just to escape some bad press. Of course, you’d have to
be willing to bare your soul and your past to God and everyone. But hey, Vegas
loves gamblers, right?” He found himself caught in her vivid blue gaze. There
was more than anger in her eyes. There was fear as well.
Sam may not have discovered all the skeletons
in Annie Raye’s closet.
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