One Tough Hombre
Totally Bound • September 20, 2010
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Texas Ranger Dane Masters wants a piece of luscious bakery shop owner Kandy Brunner, but will his desire for sweet Kandy kill this tough hombre?
Texas Ranger Dane Masters is one tough hombre with a hankering to sample the town’s luscious bakery shop owner. Problem is, Kandy Brunner doesn’t have affairs. She only chooses wisely, then weds. But her three husbands have died soon after marrying her.
So when Dane gets a hot taste of her spicy body one morning in her shop, he asks himself how far will he go to get her in his bed—and how long will she stay when he shows her his need for more than plain vanilla lovin’?
Reader Advisory: This book contains scenes of bondage and anal intercourse.
Read an Excerpt
Dane Masters had locked up his share of criminals. For more than five years as a Texas Ranger, he’d put away countless murderers, smugglers, drug mules and just general idiots.
But the person who killed him, robbed him of breath and made his cock sit up and twitch was one sweet trick who owned this bakery and the God-awful, dead–to–rights name of Kandy.
Dane leant on the counter, took a drink of his coffee and glanced at her once more. With her bra–tight pink t–shirt and ass–hugging jeans, Kandy Wilcox Dayton Harris Brunner fiddled with the strings of her big white apron and laughed with four customers in one of the booths. Clapping her hands in delight and tossing that curly platinum pony tail, she was a sight for sore eyes. Plus too damn many men here in Kandy’s Cup of Sugar were trying to keep theirs in their heads just gazing at her.
Married three times now, Kandy was racking up more husbands—and more widowhoods—than Scarlett O’Hara. The belle of Brewster County had been a buxom blonde beauty even when she was in high school. The term ‘jail bait’, locals agreed, had been invented for the fun–loving female for whom every man in town had a perpetual hard–on. Dane remembered her then, all creamy skin and dewy bluebonnet eyes, big nipples that made your mouth water and legs that went from the toes of her knee–high boots to a lush set of hips.
Now? Hell, at almost twenty-eight, she was ripe as a Hill Country peach. If he could get his hands on her, her breasts would spill over his palms. Her hips, a bit broader from age but no babies, would be easy to hang on to. And her thighs? He told himself he was gonna spread those shapely things soon or commit murder.
Problem was, luscious Kandy loved men. No, she wasn’t a slut, but a good girl who took a man to her bed—then made damn sure he married her. Kept him very happy. Then killed each one, metaphorically speaking, with her good lovin’. So now she had a reputation as a woman no single man could resist. A woman who liked her men domesticated, hard–working, coming home to her at night where she thrilled them in their big broad bed. Then the next morning at four when she awoke to tend to her bakery, she’d get them up—probably in the best sense of that phrase—to face a new day.
Soon after marrying her, though, each man dropped stone dead.