Into His Private Domain

Into His Private Domain
Janice Maynard

“I want you. I do…”

Her lower lip trembled. “But I don’t think I’m the kind of woman who can do light and easy.”

Gareth’s joy was immediately obscured by suspicion. He was vulnerable when it came to Gracie. And a vulnerable man was a weak man.

“I have no business getting close to you… until I regain my memory. I have this gigantic void that scares me to death. I want to know but I’m afraid of what I’ll find out.”

“How is enjoying sex with me a threat?”

“You have everything, Gareth. Pretty intimidating for a woman who has nothing.”

“You’ve held your own with me every step of the way. And I want to believe you came to my mountain without the intent to do wrong.”

“You want to believe it, but you’re not willing to make that last leap. And you can’t bear the idea that I’ll play you for a fool and cause you to betray your family.”

For Gareth, the moment was lost. Gracie was right. Was she that good an actress?

Dear Reader,

What’s better than a brooding alpha male with a touch of vulnerability? How about two families of them? I’m delighted to be introducing you to THE MEN OF WOLFF MOUNTAIN, my new series for Mills & Boon

Desire™. In this first book, you’ll meet Gareth, the oldest Wolff son. But you’ll catch a glimpse of some of his siblings and cousins, as well.

The extended Wolff family suffered a terrible tragedy many years ago. How each of the children dealt with that blow and moved on has defined who they are as adults. A man who learns to guard his heart from further hurt can be a challenge for a heroine who needs to know if he can fall in love.

The Wolff enclave includes a fabulous castlelike edifice on a remote mountaintop in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Acres of woods surround the wealthy family, providing the utmost privacy and seclusion.

I invite you to come with me as we meet this interesting clan one by one. They are strong, handsome and not easily won over. It will take special women to breach the walls and persuade these cynical men to take a chance on happiness.

Thanks for making the journey to Wolff Mountain.

Happy reading!

Janice Maynard

About the Author

JANICE MAYNARD came to writing early in life. When her short story The Princess and the Robbers won a red ribbon in her third-grade school arts fair, Janice was hooked. She holds a BA from Emory and Henry College and an MA from East Tennessee State University. In 2002 Janice left a fifteen-year career as an elementary teacher to pursue writing full-time. Her first love is creating sexy, character-driven, contemporary romance. She has written for Kensington and NAL, and now is so very happy to also be part of the Harlequin family—a lifelong dream, by the way!

Janice and her husband live in beautiful east Tennessee in the shadow of the Great Smoky Mountains. She loves to travel and enjoys using those experiences as settings for books.

Hearing from readers is one of the best perks of the job! Visit her website at janicemaynard.com or e-mail her at JESM13@aol.com. And of course, don’t forget Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/JaniceMaynardReaderPage). Find her on Twitter at twitter.com/JaniceMaynard and visit all the men of Wolff mountain at wolffmountain.com.

Into His

Private Domain

Janice Maynard

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

For my siblings: Scotty, Kathy and Patti…

I love you all!

One

Gareth stepped out of the shower and stared at himself in the mirror. The frigid water had done little to dampen his restlessness. Still nude, he began to shave, his toes curling reflexively against the cool stone floor beneath his bare feet.

When his chin was smooth, he grimaced at his reflection. His thick, wavy black hair almost touched his shoulders. He had always worn it longer than current fashion dictated, but now it had grown so much it was getting in his way when he worked.

He reached into a drawer and drew out a thin leather cord. When he ruthlessly pulled back the damp shanks of hair, they made no more than a stubby ponytail, but at least it was out of his eyes.

A sudden loud knocking at the front door made him groan. Neither of his brothers nor his father would bother to announce their presence. And Uncle Vincent and his cousins sympathized with Gareth’s grumpiness too much to bother him. Deliveries always went to the main house. So who in the hell could it be?

He’d had his fill of being the brunt of tabloid stories over the years. Later, the communal nature of military life had given him a deep appreciation for solitude. With the exception of family, Gareth had little desire to interact with humanity if he could avoid it.

When a man had money, everyone with access to him had an angle to play. And Gareth was tired of the game. He grabbed a pair of jeans and thrust them on sans underwear. The single item of clothing would have to suffice. He wasn’t in a mood to get dressed just yet. Maybe his dishabille would scare away whoever was demonstrating the temerity to bother a surly Wolff.

He strode through the house, cursing suddenly as the leather thong broke and his hair tumbled free. What in the devil did it matter? Whoever stood on his porch was going to get short shrift from him.

He flung open the door and stared at the diminutive redhead with the wildly corkscrewing, chin-length curls. His stomach plummeted to his feet, but his libido perked up. He inhaled sharply and ground out a few terse words. “Who are you and what do you want?”

The woman caught her breath and backed up half a step. Gareth framed himself in the doorway, bracing his long-fingered hands against the lintel. His barefoot stance deliberately bore no semblance of welcome.

The woman dragged her gaze from Gareth’s chest with an effort that might have flattered him in other circumstances. She looked him straight in the eye, speaking slowly but distinctly as if she feared he was a wild animal in need of soothing. “I need to talk to you.”

Gareth glared at his undeniably sexy intruder. “You’re trespassing.”

She was fair-skinned, slender and had a spine so straight a man could use it as a plumb line… or maybe trace his tongue from one end of it to the other until the woman cried out in—

He sucked in a ragged breath and shoveled his hands through his hair, his heart thumping in his chest. He couldn’t afford to let down his guard for a second. Even if fire-lit curls and delicate cheekbones were his own personal Achilles’ heel. His sex swelled with no more than a whiff of her subtle perfume to give him encouragement.

How long had it been since he’d had a woman? Weeks? Months? He clamped down on the yearning that gripped his body like a fever. “What do you want?”

Her eyelids fluttered nervously over irises that were the clear blue of the sky above. Her small chin was stubborn, her posture defiant. As she wiped her damp brow with her hand, she smiled winningly. “Could we go inside and sit down for a few minutes? I’d love something to drink, and I promise not to take too much of your time.”

Gareth tensed, and rage flashed through him with the ferocity of the furious torrents that arose in these mountains during thunderstorms and decimated the low ground far below. A user. Like all the rest.

He ignored her outstretched hand, crowding her, relying on his size and temper to bully her. “Get the hell off my land.”

The slight woman stumbled backward, her eyes huge, her face paper-white.

He pressed his advantage. “Go on,” he snarled. “You’re not wanted here.”

She opened her mouth, perhaps to protest, but in that instant, one foot slid off the edge of the porch into thin air. She tumbled backward in graceful slow motion, her hip and head striking his steps with audible, dreadful thuds before her small body settled into an ungainly heap on the unforgiving ground.