Blazing Midsummer Nights

Look what people are saying

about Leslie Kelly

“Kelly is a top writer, and this is another

excellent book.”

—RT Book Reviews on Play with Me

“A hip contemporary romance packed with

great one-liners!”

—RT Book Reviews on Terms of Surrender

“One Wild Wedding Night features sexy and fun stories with likable characters, only to end with a sexy story that floors me with how well it resonates with me. Oh, this one is definitely wild, but even better, it also aims for the heart.” —Mrs. Giggles

“Whoa baby, Overexposed is hot stuff! Ms Kelly employs a great deal of heart and humor to achieve balance with the incendiary romance. Great characters, many of whom fans will recognize, and a vibrant narrative kept this reader glued to each and every word. Overexposed is without a doubt one of the better Blaze® books I have read to date.” —The Romance Reader’s Connection

“Filled with humor and heart, Slow Hands by Leslie Kelly, is a complete delight … The cross-purpose conversations and situations that result are laugh-out-loud funny. The romantic entanglements are highly emotional, and the large cast is expertly handled. 4½ stars!” —RT Book Reviews

Dear Reader,

Believe it or not, although I’m a big fan of many of Shakespeare’s plays, I had never, until very recently, read A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Nor had I ever seen one of the movie adaptations. But when I started talking about ideas for a Blazing-hot summer read with my fabulous editor, that story just leaped into my mind. Once I’d read it, I knew I had to tackle the basic premise in Blaze. Add in a few twisted, sexy fortunes in a fortune cookie, and I had a perfect setup for lots of spicy dreams.

I love writing my books with little “Easter Eggs” for readers to find and grin over. So there are some Midsummer references in this book, beyond the overall storyline and characters. I hope you have fun finding them—and that you enjoy reading about Mimi and Xander’s sexy midsummer-night adventures!

Happy reading!

Leslie Kelly

About the Author

LESLIE KELLY has written dozens of books and novellas for Blaze, Temptation and HQN.Known for her sparkling dialogue, fun characters and depth of emotion, her books have been honored with numerous awards, including a National Readers’ Choice Award, an RT Book Reviews Award and three nominations for the highest award in romance, the RWA RITA® Award. Leslie lives in Maryland with her own romantic hero, Bruce, and their three daughters. Visit her online at www.lesliekelly.com.

Blazing

Midsummer

Nights

Leslie Kelly

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To Brit Lit teachers everywhere…

you make Shakespeare fun!

1

SOMEONE ONCE SAID that the course of true love never did run smooth. As Mimi Burdette watched two of her good friends sway together in a romantic dance, however, she had to disagree. Because the true love between this couple had been obvious to everyone who knew them, almost from the moment they’d met.

“They look like a prince and princess,” murmured Anna, her neighbor, friend, landlady and tonight’s hostess.

“Considering the setting, maybe a fairy king and queen.”

She wasn’t kidding. The woods surrounding the backyard of the old plantation house just outside of Athens had been turned into a mythical forest. As dusk fell and a thousand twinkle lights began to gleam in the night, everyone at the engagement party slowed to appreciate the beauty all around them.

A trio of musicians softly strummed their instruments, the lyrical notes riding a warm, summer breeze. The Spanish moss hanging from the live oaks gleamed silver under the evening dew and the firefly-soft lighting. Magnolias the size of dinner plates dotted the trees, looking like a thousand full moons, filling the air with their evocative scent. Lanterns hung from the lowest branches of the graceful pines, and the arches of a dozen arbors were draped with writhing, sweet-smelling jasmine and heavily laden grapevines.

Okay, the vines and fruit were fake. But what an effect!

“You really outdid yourself,” Mimi said to Anna, who stood watching the proceedings, wearing a smile.

The older woman, dressed as always in colorful, flowing robes, merely shrugged. “Setting the stage for romance is easy when the people involved are meant for each other like Duke and Lyssa.” She chuckled. “Of course, it didn’t hurt that I’m helping with the costumes and props for the downtown theater group’s production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

With her filmy, billowing clothes, and her long ash-gray hair, loose and wavy and entwined with flowers, Anna looked more like a hippie than a retiree. So maybe it wasn’t so surprising that she could take a normal backyard, ringed by normal Georgia woods, and turn it into something out of a storybook.

“Anyway, it was just a few lights, some fabric—easy.”

“Maybe for you, but other than advertising, the creative wiring was left out of my genetic code. To me, this looks like pure sorcery and magic.”

The soon-to-be bride and groom deserved a magical wedding. They were wonderful people, and she already missed having them as neighbors. They’d already moved into their new house, but until a week ago, had lived right across the hall from her own first-floor apartment in this grand old estate home.

Anna and her husband, Ralph—dubbed Obi-Wan because of his love for all things Star Wars and his sage, all-knowing demeanor—had bought the place decades ago and raised their family here. Once the kids were gone, they’d divided the three-story mansion into six small apartments, figuring the rental income would keep them nicely provided for in their retirement.

With the unit across from Mimi’s vacant, and another unrented one on the second floor, the big house was feeling empty. Plus, Anna and Obi-Wan’s volatile marriage was on the rocks again. Obi-Wan’s one fault was his jealous streak. He was always accusing other men of being after his wife. His latest accusation had angered Anna enough that she had moved into one of the vacant units to teach him a lesson.

In this economy, three rentals not bringing in any money was not a good thing. She had to wonder where Anna had come up with the funds to throw this engagement party for her former tenants. Mimi had offered to help pay—she could certainly afford it and would have loved to help—but Anna’s pride wouldn’t allow her to accept. The most she would allow was the use of Mimi’s nice discount on much of the food.

Sometimes it really paid to be the daughter of the owner of a chain of grocery stores. Not to mention being the head of marketing for said grocery store chain, with an express ticket to the executive offices of her family’s business.

Some people wondered why she lived here, in a small apartment in an old house, when she could afford to buy her own home, or sponge off her parents at their estate. But Mimi loved this place, loved the history of it. More importantly, she loved the sense of community she found here, where she was free to be herself and didn’t have to wear the socialite hat, or the business executive one. She could just be Mimi.

“Oh,” Anna said, snapping her fingers as she remembered something. “You’re going to have new neighbors. My daughter, Helen, and her little boy are moving from Atlanta next weekend, taking the vacant unit on two. And I rented the apartment across from yours today.”

“Really? That’s wonderful,” Mimi said, surprised.

“I invited the new tenant to come tonight, but he didn’t want to intrude—he moved in this afternoon.”

“You must be so glad,” she said, relieved to know one financial burden had been lifted from her landlords’ shoulders. She doubted they’d take rent money from their daughter, who had gone through a bad divorce last year.

“One B is a real hottie,” Anna said, her eyebrows waggling.

“There are more important things than hotness.”

Definitely more important. She’d been involved with superhot guys in the past and had the psychological burn scars to prove it. The last supersexy, relied-only-on-his-looks guy she’d dated had ended up “borrowing” her credit card and buying a matching pair of his-and-her motorcycles.

That had been bad. Worse? Mimi hadn’t been the her.

No way was she stepping close to the flames again. Now when she looked at a man, she was more interested in steadiness, self-confidence and brains. If those things came in nice-looking packages, okay, but looks alone just didn’t cut it.

Fortunately, it was possible to have all of the above. She only had to look across the crowded party at her own golden-haired escort to see that.

Dimitri was perfect. He was everything she’d been telling herself she needed, and was nothing like the men who’d hurt her in the past. He’d also been hand-picked for her by her own father, who was notoriously hard to please. Normally, that would be a bad thing; she didn’t like doing what was expected of her, and knew her father to be a bully. But considering her bad luck with romance, and her efforts to improve her relationship with her dad—who stood firmly in the path of her going where she wanted to go professionally, i.e., right into his office once he retired—it seemed like a smart move.

The icing on the cake? Dimitri was also very handsome.

But handsome doesn’t always equal hot. And enjoying being with someone definitely doesn’t always lead to physical heat.

She sighed deeply, wishing that little voice in her head would shut up, even while acknowledging the words were true.

But it didn’t matter—handsome was enough. Handsome was movie-star good looks, good manners, holding the door. Handsome was every hair in place, jaw smoothly shaven and a nice suit. Handsome was self-confidence borne of being admired by everyone who knew him, and inspiring fantasies of Prince Charming in just about every woman who saw him. Handsome was a good-night kiss with enough tongue to be provocative but not enough to be impolite.

Handsome was Dimitri.

Hot was … something else.

Hot was sexy, rugged and edgy. Hot was unpredictable. Hot smelled sweaty and male, not doused with expensive cologne. Hot had thick muscles that gave proof of utter strength and could make any woman feel feminine by contrast. Hot had an edge of danger, wasn’t always courteous, didn’t treat a lover like a fragile object. Hot had a deep voice, knowing eyes and a stubbled jaw that every woman wanted roughing up her inner thighs. Hot would ensnare a woman … mind, body and soul.

She fanned herself, acknowledging the truth. Handsome she had. Hot she hadn’t seen in a very long time.

More importantly: handsome she should have. Hot she should stay away from.

She shook off the mental images. Enough with the hot fantasies. Handsome reality was bringing her a glass of wine, drawing the appreciative stares of every person with a uterus.

He was hers if she wanted him. And you want him. Damn it, you’d be crazy not to want him!

But she was beginning to wonder. Heck, she hadn’t even been the one to invite him here tonight. Anna had bumped into him at the store and extended the invitation. Mimi had no idea why he’d accepted, considering he didn’t know anybody here except her. Since he’d said yes, he’d naturally expected Mimi to be his date, which should make any woman extremely happy.

“Okay, Miss Smarty-Pants, if you’re not about looks, care to explain your date over there?”

“You invited him,” she pointed out.

“Only because you’ve gone out with him a few times.”

“I know, my family swears he’s perfect for me. And he is very good-looking,” she admitted. Then, speaking more to herself, she voiced the concern that had been niggling at her. “But there’s also something called chemistry.”

“Hate to break it to ya, but you two ain’t got it.”

She sighed. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to an expert like me.”

And to Mimi. She’d already figured out that good looks didn’t always inspire sparks, and dating someone wasn’t the same as wanting to go to bed with him. If it were, she and Dimitri would probably be sleeping together, or perhaps even engaged, which was what her father was pushing for. Pushing hard.

Dimitri was a new executive with Burdette Quality Foods, the family business. He was also her Dad’s right-hand man. Cultured, handsome, well-educated. The perfect guy in every way.

But perfect for her?

Anna shook her head and tsked. “Honey, it’s obvious you’re experiencing a small sexual dry spell.”

“Small? Try Sahara-sized,” she admitted, wondering, not for the first time, if there was something wrong with her.

“So, sex camel, what are you looking for, a Brad Pitt or Johnny Depp oasis?”

Dimitri would probably be considered every bit as handsome as those men. Still, there was no fire. When he kissed her, she always thought, well, that’s nice. But she never had the urge to rip off his pressed shirt, shove him against a wall and thrust her tongue down his throat. And they’d never done anything more than kiss. He hadn’t pushed, and she hadn’t wanted him to. Because, for a sex camel, nice sex wasn’t an oasis, it was just the last few drops of water from a nearly empty canteen.

If she really wanted an oasis, she needed hot.

Forget it. Heat burns. A lukewarm canteen is good enough.

“I honestly don’t know,” she finally admitted. “He’s everything I should want.”

“But not what you need? Not what you crave?”

Needing and craving didn’t begin to describe what she felt for Dimitri. Respecting and appreciating did. “Like I said, there’s more to life.”

“You tell yourself that the next time a gorgeous, hot, half-naked man lands at your feet.”

“I think I’ll go for a walk during the next thunderstorm. I’d have a better chance of getting struck by lightning.”

“Thunderstorm?” Dimitri asked. “It doesn’t look like rain.”

Glad he hadn’t overheard their entire conversation, Mimi took the glass of wine he offered, murmuring, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. How about a dance when you’re finished?”

Dancing under the stars with a handsome man. It should sound heavenly. But instead it sounded … just okay. As okay as everything else in her life lately.

Okay is fine. Okay is better than wounded and lonely. Okay is better than wondering what the hell is wrong with you since the last few rounds of ring-around-the-relationship ended with you in the used-and-heartbroken seat.

She’d been following her libido instead of her brain and had lived to regret it. So her brain needed to be in charge from now on. And her brain said okay was good enough.

“Sure, thanks,” she said, lowering the glass.

She let Dimitri lead her to the flagstone patio, which was being used for dancing. Mimi held her breath, looking up at his handsome face—all slashing, GQ-magazine-cover cheekbones, haughty brows, dark green eyes that watched her closely. She was waiting for a frisson of sensation, a spark at the brush of his tall, lean body against her own, but it just didn’t happen.

Maybe it never will. Maybe acknowledging that he’s handsome and smart, and liking him will do.

She did like him, and respected him. She doubted he’d hurt her—the fact that she wasn’t desperate for him should be enough to insulate her from too much pain if things went south. And it would certainly make things nice in terms of the business, not to mention her rocky relationship with her dad.

In this day and age, no self-respecting woman would marry a man just to please her father, and Mimi wouldn’t, either. But considering her old man swore she’d said every word in the dictionary except “Dada” as an infant, just to spite him, she didn’t think extending an olive branch was such a bad thing. It wasn’t just wanting to keep things smooth at work. She also didn’t want to fight with him because she knew it upset her mother, who’d been playing the role of peacekeeper since Mimi took her first steps. So would it really be such a hardship to let herself drift into a relationship with a man most women would consider a Greek god, who was also rich, smart and nice?

No. It wouldn’t.

It was time to rid herself of the I-want-it-hot fantasies and move into the next phase of her life. The settle-down-and-marry-a-nice-handsome-man-and-have-a-family phase. Which meant maybe it was time to move her relationship with Dimitri up a notch … and closer to her bedroom.

She thought about it. The party would wind down in an hour or two. Afterward, she could invite him into her apartment for a drink. They’d kiss. She’d move close, let her breasts brush against his chest. Tangle her legs between his. She wouldn’t resist when he slid his hand up her thigh, edging her dress ever higher. Until he reached her. “Oh, hell,” she mumbled.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she insisted, feeling heat stain her cheeks.

Nothing except she was in no way dressed for seduction. Oh, sure, she was on the outside. But underneath her slinky, sexy dress, she wore what every other self-respecting American woman who didn’t want a single bulge showing wore: Spanx.

She’d loved this dress the minute she saw it, though it had been a size smaller than she usually wore. A pair of superstrong control-top panties had seemed a small price to pay … but they weren’t going to lend themselves to a romantic atmosphere. He’d probably have to get power tools to drag them off her.

Only one thing to do. Ditch the drawers.

The evening was getting late, it was dark, people were drinking. Who’d notice if she switched into something sexy and her dress suddenly fit a little too tightly? Nobody, that’s who. And maybe doing it—getting ready for seduction, feeling the silky glide of lingerie against her most intimate parts—would get her in the mood to act on her plan to seduce him.

“Would you excuse me? I need to run inside for a minute.”

To pry off my underwear.

“Of course,” he said, releasing her. No argument, no suggestion that he go, too, so they could continue their dance in private. How—boring—refreshing.

Thrusting aside those thoughts, she turned away from him toward the house. But she hadn’t taken one step when she heard a woman nearby whisper in a loud, tipsy voice, “Whoa, mama, who’s that?”

Curious about the comment, which sounded as though it should have been accompanied by a purr, she glanced toward the gate, and her breath caught in her throat.

Anna stood there, and beside her was a stranger. A tall, dark-haired stranger, wearing low-slung jeans and nothing else.

The jeans looked good. The nothing, fantastic.

He was shirtless, shoeless, sweaty. His slick, tanned body gleamed under the twinkle lights, lines of oh-so-interesting skin striped with equally interesting shadow. His broad shoulders looked Atlas-size, and his thickly muscled arms flexed as he swiped a hand through his jet-black hair.

She couldn’t make out whether he was as handsome of face as he was of body. But she definitely noted that his six-pack abs were so perfect they ought to be sold in a liquor store and come with a warning label.

Whoa, mama, indeed.

“Mimi? Are you all right?”

She tore her attention off the stranger and glanced at Dimitri, who was watching her curiously.

“I’m fine,” she told Mr. Handsome.

But, heaven help her, she could not stop wondering about the identity of the new arrival.

Aka: Mr. Hot.

TALK ABOUT MAKING a bad first impression on his new neighbors. Not only was Xander McKinley so not the garden party type, but he was also bare-chested, sweaty and probably stunk from having lugged boxes all evening.

He had fully intended to stay inside tonight, to ignore the party going on in his new backyard. He was a stranger to these people, and while it had been nice of his landlady to extend the invitation, he hadn’t even considered intruding. He still hadn’t gotten his head wrapped around the whole Southern-gentility thing, since Georgia was like a different world from Chicago. But he knew it wasn’t mannerly to barge in on a party when the invite had only been extended out of politeness. So he’d planned to just finish hauling in the last of his stuff, which he’d picked up from the storage unit this afternoon, then unpack a few boxes and settle into his new home.

Unfortunately, settling in hadn’t included hooking his new key to his key ring. So when he’d run outside to grab one last thing out of the truck—sans shirt and shoes—he’d also found himself sans key. And locked out.

“I’m so sorry about this,” he repeated to his new landlady.

Anna waved away his apology. “I should think you’d know how to get in without a key, being a dashing firefighter and all.”

“I didn’t think you’d want me ramming the door down.”

“Best not. Anyway, it’s just as well, since it forced you to come out and meet everyone,” she said.

He gestured toward his sweaty, bare chest. “I’m not exactly dressed for a party.”

“Well, I won’t let you back into your place until you promise to come back after you’ve gotten cleaned up.”

“I don’t know….”

“I do. No more arguments.” The woman led him to a row of chairs in a gazebo, grabbing an oversized purse that was covered with peace signs and jingled with every movement. “I don’t have a key to your front door with me, but I have a master that fits all the secret doors.”

“Secret doors?”

“You probably didn’t notice it—every unit has one. The one in your unit is inside what’s now your bedroom closet. It leads into the screened porch.” She grabbed a jangling ring of keys and removed a small, antique-looking one. “Here it is. Go through the porch and head for the door in the far right corner.”

She gestured toward the porch, and he glanced over. There were about fifty people at the party, many of them milling around outside the back door, and he was going to have to go through all of them. Great. Wonderful. Note to self—don’t go out shirtless and shoeless unless you know you can get back in.

He reached for the key, but before he could take it, something caught his attention. Or, rather, someone.

He whistled. “Who is she?” he mumbled, not even realizing he’d said it out loud.

There were a lot of women here. Attractive women. The South definitely had its share of them. But this one actually made him forget where he was and what he was saying. He could only stand there, staring, as she walked toward the screened-in porch.

With her back to the decorated lawn and woods, she was almost haloed by the thousands of tiny lights. She looked like some kind of magical creature stepping out of a storybook, and he had to blink a few times to rid his mind of the imagery.