Tempting Janey. Mary Baxter Lynn
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Janey’s emotions couldn’t take another blow.
Her stomach heaved, her shoulders shook and tears gushed down her cheeks.
“God, Janey, don’t,” Dillon pleaded in an agonized voice.
Then he lunged to his feet and strode toward her, stopping so close that she could feel his breath warm her skin when he spoke again.
“I don’t know when to keep my bloody mouth shut.”
“It’s not your fault,” she whispered, her lips accidentally grazing his. Wide-eyed, their gazes held while Janey’s breath constricted and her head reeled.
“God, don’t look at me like that or—” He broke off again, then added, “Oh, to hell with it.”
As before, his kisses started out feather light, on her temple, her cheek, her mouth. They barely touched as he murmured, “I didn’t mean to upset you more.”
“It’s all right,” she sobbed, circling her arms around his neck until his lips were locked tightly and frantically against hers.
“Aptly named, Baxter’s latest novel boasts sensuality as its strongest feature—the attraction between the hero and heroine sparks fire from the first and keeps on burning hot throughout.”
—Publishers Weekly on Sultry
Tempting Janey
Mary Lynn
Baxter
Contents
One
The quietness bothered him.
It wasn’t natural, Dillon Reed told himself as he ambled down the main hall of Brookwood High School, where he was principal. This hall and the others should be teeming with students laughing, talking and slamming locker doors.
All that and more would start again soon enough, Dillon reminded himself with a quirk of his lips. First thing in the morning, in fact. But on this Wednesday evening, just after dark, the students were gone and silence was the order of the day.
Dillon didn’t make a habit of cruising the halls when they were empty. His purpose for having stopped by the school on this particular evening was to get his briefcase, which he’d forgotten. After that, he was headed to his sister’s, where he was expected for dinner.
But since he had some time to kill, he’d figured he might as well stroll down the main hall and check for new graffiti on the walls and lockers, something that never failed to raise his ire.
Dillon paused, feeling the silence close around him like a tomb. The place was downright gloomy without its usual hubbub.
What was wrong with him? He spent more than his share of time on the job, arriving way before the first bell rang and leaving long after the last one had sounded. In fact, he was on the premises a lot at night—the only time he could get his paperwork done—and the silence had never bothered him before.
What