Money Shot

Table of Contents

 

 

“Fast, hot, fresh, and outright fun. You’ll love it!”

—Susan Kay Law, author of
The Paper Marriage

 

“Fast-moving with humor, some tense moments of danger, and a satisfying ending. Sey’s debut is entertaining.”

 

“The dialogue is witty, the main characters sexy, and the sexual tension hot enough to steam.”

 

“I enjoyed this debut novel and will definitely read the next Sey story.”

 

“I loved this book . . . Not only did I enjoy the characters and the fast-paced dialogue, but I thought she did a great job with the changing points of view throughout.”

 

“A book filled with hot sexy banter, an even sexier hero, and many moments that will have you smiling. I definitely recommend this one.”

 

“Sparkles with energy and heart . . . A delightful debut.”

—Jane Porter, bestselling author of
Flirting with Forty

 

“Laugh-out-loud funny and fantastically hot.”

—Victoria Dahl, author of
Lead Me On

MONEY, HONEY
MONEY SHOT

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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

 

MONEY SHOT

 

A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

 

PRINTING HISTORY

Berkley Sensation mass-market paperback edition / June 2011

Copyright © 2011 by Susan Seyfarth.

 

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

 

eISBN : 978-1-101-52893-8

 

BERKLEY
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SENSATION

Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
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SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

 

 

BELLS JINGLED merrily as Mishkwa Island park ranger Rush Guthrie pushed through the jaunty red door of Mother Lila’s Tea Shop.

“Coming!” Lila sang out in that wavering soprano of hers.

Rush slid into the room, his back to the wall, his fingers hooked casually into the custom-sewn pocket in his jacket that concealed his SIG Sauer. He scanned the cozy, doily-splattered sitting space of his aunt’s tea shop with the calm, flat eyes of the professional killer he used to be. He’d come a long way since he’d landed on this island nearly two years ago, but not so far that he could walk into a room—any room—without performing at least a basic threat assessment. He wondered if he ever would.

The room was empty save for his two cousins, Yarrow and Einar. Yarrow—Lila’s step-granddaughter if Rush felt like splitting genealogical hairs, which he usually didn’t—sat behind the register. She had her chin propped on the flat of her hand, one black-painted fingernail flicking with desperate nonchalance at the little silver ring in her eyebrow. Between that ring, the little stud in her nose and the hardware dangling from her ears, the kid had half a dozen extra holes in her head, easy. Rush had never understood why a kid with a perfectly serviceable face would want to perforate it, but now, watching her try like hell to look like she wasn’t thrilled to little girlie bits by the attention of the man across the counter, he sort of understood why she might feel like she needed a little extra help looking hard.

Kid had a crush. A bad one.

Couldn’t really blame her, though. For all that Einar was Rush’s first cousin, for all that they’d been raised more or less as brothers, they couldn’t look less alike.
Be
less alike. Where Rush was stoic, Einar was charming. Where Rush was useful, Einar was flat-out beautiful. Weird word to use on a dude but what could you do? Classic example right here in front of him.

There Einar was, all golden curls and chiseled cheekbones, lounged up against the counter like it was a grand piano, hitting Yarrow with a smile of such dazzling intensity that the poor kid was hunched over like a puppy, practically squirming with unwilling delight. He caught Rush’s automatic scan of the room and his smile downshifted to a smirk. He poked lazy hands toward the ceiling.

“Dude,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling with wicked laughter. “I surrender. Don’t shoot.”

Yarrow yelled, “Grandma! Rush is here!” She glanced at Einar’s smirk and quickly copied it. Poor kid. “So. Any terrorists lurking in the tea shop today, Ranger Rush?”

“Nope.”

She lifted the lid off the teapot at her elbow and peered gravely inside. “All clear here, too.”

The urge to smile took him by surprise. The kid was flipping him crap. How about that? It wasn’t so long ago that she wouldn’t have dared. Nobody would have. Nobody but Einar, anyway.

“Too bad.” He put on a frown. “I haven’t shot anybody all day.”

Her eyes went round as lollipops, and she and Einar shared a moment of shocked silence. “Did he just make a joke?” she whispered.

“I don’t know,” Einar whispered back. “It’s not like him. And it wasn’t really funny, so . . .”

This was the part where Rush should have smiled, or even laughed. But normal conversation had a rhythm, a beat pattern. It went fast and if you missed your mark, the moment was lost. Rush’s timing was terrible. Had been for the last, oh, ten years. Give or take.

He pulled off his knit cap and stuffed it into his pocket. The one that didn’t have a gun in it. “So, Lila called me?”

His aunt glided into the room, tall and handsome as a ship in full sail with scarves and skirts swirling, her long gray braid swinging. Yarrow said, “Grandma, Rush made a joke.”

Lila clasped pretty ringed hands together and beamed. “He did?”

“It was about shooting people, but it was definitely a joke,” Einar said. “We think.” He quirked a brow Rush’s way. “Wasn’t it?”

“I don’t talk about shooting when I’m serious,” he said. “It spoils the surprise.”

Lila’s mouth fell open and Yarrow said, “See? He did it again.”

They all gazed at him in wonder, then Yarrow leaned toward Lila and dropped her voice to a stage whisper. “I’m scared, Grammy,” she said. “Is this the Apocalypse?”

“No, dear. Of course not.” Lila patted Yarrow’s shoulder absently while she continued to study him. “It’ll rain frogs first.”

A tiny trickle of unfamiliar warmth bubbled up in Rush’s chest as he stood in front of these laughing people. Together they constituted all the family he had in this world, and for just a moment the gift of them pierced his soul, sweet and sharp. The urge to laugh with them kicked in, but as usual the moment had already passed.

Yarrow broke the circle first, deliberately shifting out from under Lila’s hand, as if she’d just noticed it resting on her shoulder. The rejection sent a wisp of grief over Lila’s face, but by the time she turned to Rush, it was gone. “So,” she said brightly. “What are you doing here besides being unusually amusing?”

“I have no idea. You called me, remember?”

“Oh, yes.” Lila came around the counter, slid a confidential hand into Rush’s elbow. He tensed automatically, then forced himself to relax.
Jesus, Rush
, he thought.
She’s your beloved aunt. She’s not going to stick a knife between your ribs
.

Then the bells at the door jangled and years of training so rigorous it had replaced instinct took over. Lila leaned in to kiss him hello, and Rush lifted her clean off her feet. In the space of half a heartbeat, he’d moved her three long strides to the counter, where he could put her, Yarrow and most of Einar behind him. By the time the door flew open with a sweep of wind and the frantic tinkle of sleigh bells, Rush had the women covered and his hand wrapped around the butt of the gun in his pocket. He’d domesticated himself enough not to actually draw the gun, but not so much that he wasn’t prepared to blow a hole clean through his new jacket and whoever came through the door.

Then the door opened, and in walked in that rarest of all commodities on Mishkwa in December—a stranger.

And not just any stranger, either. Lord, no. This stranger was about six feet of long-legged, dark-eyed woman, all smooth hair and golden skin, with a let’s-be-friends smile lighting up an extraordinary face.