On Dean's Watch. Linda Winstead Jones

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      “Next time I spend the night,” he said in a low voice, “I won’t sleep on the couch, and we will actually have something to hide come morning.”

      Reva shook her head. “You can’t…we can’t…Last night I made a mistake when I suggested…You were right when you said we shouldn’t…”

      “I said not tonight,” Dean said calmly. “I didn’t say never. I want you, Reva, but I want you unafraid.” He traced a finger across her neck. “When you ask me to make love to you, it’ll be because you want me, not because you don’t want to be alone.”

      “I won’t ask you for anything,” Reva insisted. “Not ever again.”

      “Yes, you will.”

      Dear Reader,

      The days are hot and the reading is hotter here at Silhouette Intimate Moments. Linda Turner is back with the next of THOSE MARRYING MCBRIDES! in Always a McBride. Taylor Bishop has only just found out about his familial connection—and he has no idea it’s going to lead him straight to love.

      In Shooting Starr, Kathleen Creighton ratchets up both the suspense and the romance in a story of torn loyalties you’ll long remember. Carla Cassidy returns to CHEROKEE CORNERS in Last Seen…, a novel about two people whose circumstances ought to prevent them from falling in love but don’t. On Dean’s Watch is the latest from reader favorite Linda Winstead Jones, and it will keep you turning the pages as her federal marshal hero falls hard for the woman he’s supposed to be keeping an undercover watch over. Roses After Midnight, by Linda Randall Wisdom, is a suspenseful look at the hunt for a serial rapist—and the blossoming of an unexpected romance. Finally, take a look at Debra Cowan’s Burning Love and watch passion flare to life between a female arson investigator and the handsome cop who may be her prime suspect.

      Enjoy them all—and come back next month for more of the best and most exciting romance reading around.

      Yours,

      Leslie J. Wainger

       Executive Editor

      On Dean’s Watch

      Linda Winstead Jones

      LINDA WINSTEAD JONES

      would rather write than do anything else. Since she cannot cook, gave up ironing many years ago and finds cleaning the house a complete waste of time, she has plenty of time to devote to her obsession for writing. Occasionally she’s tried to expand her horizons by taking classes. In the past she’s taken instruction on yoga, French (a dismal failure), Chinese cooking, cake decorating (food-related classes are always a good choice, even for someone who can’t cook), belly dancing (trust me, this was a long time ago) and, of course, creative writing.

      She lives in Huntsville, Alabama, with her husband of more years than she’s willing to admit and the youngest of their three sons.

      She can be reached via www.eHarlequin.com or her own Web site www.lindawinsteadjones.com.

      For my nephew Alan Kimbrel, a true inspiration

       and all-around good kid.

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 1

      Someone was watching her house. Reva came to a surprised halt, her heart stuttering as she realized what she saw before her.

      A man she didn’t recognize stood close to the massive trunk of an old oak tree, motionless, his eyes and his unwavering attention on her little cottage. She’d left the kitchen light burning, so it probably looked to him as if someone was home.

      All was quiet up and down Magnolia Street. It wasn’t yet nine o’clock, but dark had fallen a while ago, shrouding the old houses and thick-limbed trees in quiet night. Sporadically placed street lamps, porch lamps and the light glowing from the windows of homes cast illumination here and there. But Reva had found herself walking in more dark than light. She knew the way well, so the dark was not a problem. But then, she didn’t usually see strangers on her way home.

      If not for the moonlight, she wouldn’t be able to see the man at all. He was almost hidden in shadow, there beneath the oak tree.

      If he was lost in shadow, so was she.

      She’d walked home from Tewanda Hardy’s after dropping off Cooper at his friend Terrance’s, where he was spending the night. It was such a pretty spring evening, much too nice to be driving the mile or so to the Hardy house and then home again. When Cooper had said he was ready to go, Reva had pulled on her Tennessee Titans cap, stepped into her walking shoes and hit the sidewalk.

      Good thing she’d decided to walk. She never would have discovered the man spying on her cottage if she hadn’t cut through the yard of the main house. She would have walked into her cottage without knowing someone was watching.

      For a moment Reva stood very still and studied the man. Even though he was where he shouldn’t be, she didn’t feel threatened. He was wearing a suit, for goodness’ sake, and definitely didn’t look like any burglar she’d ever seen. He didn’t look around to see if anyone might be watching, didn’t display any signs of nervousness. Instinctively she knew he wasn’t a threat to her. Indecision bubbled inside her, making her stomach clench. Her instincts had failed her before. She really shouldn’t start trusting them now.

      While she watched, he backed away from the tree, did a quick about-face and walked off.

      And straight toward her.

      Reva had a couple of choices, but she needed to make her decision now. Run. Hide. Confront.

      The man who’d been watching her house jerked his head around to stare in her direction. Okay, too late for hiding. He had long legs; she couldn’t outrun him. All her neighbors were elderly. Screaming for help would eventually get the sheriff here, but would not do her any good in the coming minutes.

      Reva searched the ground quickly, her eyes landing on a three-foot tree limb that had been trimmed from the Bradford pear but not yet taken to the street for pickup. She stepped to the side, dropped down and grabbed the limb, then stood and prepared herself for confrontation, the only choice she had left.

      “Hi,” he said, his voice calm and even.

      Reva relaxed, but she did not drop the branch. “Hi. What the hell are you doing skulking around the neighborhood?” She didn’t want to point out that she’d caught him watching her house.

      “I’m not…” He hesitated. “Was I skulking?” His face was mostly in shadow still, but she could see his reaction. A reluctant half smile transformed his hard face. “I can see how it might’ve looked that way. I’m renting a room across the street. Just got in an hour or so ago, and I wanted to have a look around.” He moved forward and offered a hand. “My name’s