Kara Smith goes to Washington D.C. seeking revenge on the man she now knows is her father. Will desire for revenge overshadow the love that sweeps her up and overcomes her?
Eastman Family and Friends series:
Never To Late to Love
Too Hot to Handle
Monica Jackson spins a dark tale of political intrigue that will keep you locked into the pages until the very end. --Phoebe Imel
Ms. Jackson pens a romance tale that whets our appetites for more of the same. I personally have ordered all the rest of her books and look forward to reding them with as much enthusiasm as this one. --Betty Holloway
This was a wonderful story by Ms. Jackson. I wanted to re-read this story right before I picked up Tiffany's story Never Too Late For Love.--Sean D. Young
~Excerpt~Someone jarred his back hard enough to send the drink flowing over his fingers where it disappeared into his immaculate white shirt. Brent swung around to face two soft breasts that had been momentarily pressed against him.
They belonged to a woman with an exotic, but softly beautiful face. Her black hair was pulled into a sleek chignon, and her lips were full and moist. She had flawless deep brown skin, a shade somewhere between chocolate and cinnamon. It would feel like velvet, he thought. Coffee-colored eyes sparkled up at him.
He couldn’t look away and dismiss her as he’d already dismissed countless come-ons from women since the party started. Totally appealing and somehow familiar, she was delicious.
“You spilled your drink,” she said, her voice low and cultured. “I’m so sorry.”
She made no move to leave. “I’m Kara Smith.” The woman sipped her champagne. She glanced around the room then focused on him. “Are you planning to stay here much longer, Mr. Stevens?”
So, she knows me, he thought. Brent searched his memory for a moment, but couldn’t place her. He decided to join in the game. She excited him. With an amused twist of his lips, he said, “Not if I can find something more interesting to do.”
A shell-pink tongue darted out and moistened her lips. It wasn’t a nervous gesture, but rather a slow, provocative, studied one. She was hot. Extremely hot. Her scent intoxicated. He moved imperceptibly closer.
Her lush figure was voluptuously feminine, not like the tightly coiled, fashionably thin and athletic women he was used to. He was definitely interested.
Brent waited for her to make the next move, and she didn’t fail him.
“I know of some much more interesting amusements,” she said.