Tami Hoag - Tempestuous Restless Heart

Dear Reader,

Im often asked how I got started as a writer. People are sometimes surprised to find out that I began my career writing romances for Bantams Loveswept line. Romantic comedy may seem like a far cry from the hard-boiled suspense novels I write now, but theyre really not that far apart.

For me, there are two essential components at the core of every good story: characters that a reader can fall in love with and root for, and a mysterywhether its the mystery of an unsolved crime or the mystery of that most complex and complicated of human emotions, love. Even the most intricate murder plot pales in comparison to the labyrinthine maze of the human heart.

In this special edition, youll read two of my early romance novels. In Tempestuous, Alexandra Gianni is trying to start over with her infant daughter by rebuilding her life and the ramshackle farm shes purchased with the last of her money. Alexs goal of independence may be upset when she meets handsome, aristocratic Christian Atherton, who could lead her dangerously astray. In The Restless Heart, youll meet Danielle Hamilton, a world-renowned, globe-trotting photographer who didnt think shed ever survive six weeks babysitting her sisters five small children in New Orleans. But then she meets the nanny tall, dark, and Cajun Remy Doucet, who doesnt accept Danielles claim that true love isnt in the cards for her.

I enjoyed writing these novels years ago, and I hope that youll be entertained by the journeys of these heroines and heroes.

All my best,

Tami Hoag

BANTAM BOOKS BY TAMI HOAG

THE ALIBI MAN
PRIOR BAD ACTS
KILL THE MESSENGER
DARK HORSE
DUST TO DUST
ASHES TO ASHES
A THIN DARK LINE
GUILTY AS SIN
NIGHT SINS
DARK PARADISE
CRY WOLF
STILL WATERS
LUCKYS LADY
THE LAST WHITE KNIGHT
STRAIGHT FROM THE HEART

To all the readers who wrote me
and asked for Christians story.

This ones for you.

one

GOOD LORD, SHES LOVELY! CHRISTIAN Atherton murmured, his accent carrying the undiluted, polished tones of a British public-school student. As he came to attention his shoulders pulled back beneath the fine wool of his navy jacket. His square chin came up a notch above his neatly knotted maroon tie, emphasizing the classic lines of his lean face. In response to the tensing of his muscles his horse shifted restively beneath him.

His attention was locked on the young woman riding into the show ring to collect a blue ribbon. Hed been a connoisseur of women for nearly twenty-two years, ever since the summer hed turned thirteen and the gardeners daughter had suddenly developed breasts. The lady he had his eye on now was well worth a long look.

Who is she?

Where have you been? Living in a cave? drawled Robert Braddock, his voice as rich and Southern as pecan pie. His wide mouth cut upward in a sharp, handsome smile. He leaned lazily against the pommel of his saddle, showing none of the form that had made him one of the top hunter-jumper trainers in Virginia at the tender age of twenty-seven.

Close, Christian said dryly. Ive just spent three weeks in England at the family mausoleum, better known as Westerleigh Manor. Uncle Richard passed away.

Braddocks manners asserted themselves, and he straightened in his saddle out of respect for the dead. Im sorry, Chris.

Dont be. Christian grinned at his friend and rival, a brilliant square white smile that made him look exactly what he washandsome, aristocratic, and a bit of a rake. Uncle Dicky was ninety-seven. He drank like a fish, drove like a maniac, and diederin the saddle, so to speak. He had a wonderful life and a pleasant passing. We should all be so lucky.

His neon-blue eyes took on a slightly wistful expression, and the glittering good humor that usually resided there faded momentarily as he sighed. Uncle Dicky was dead. The stuffy Athertons were down to one black sheephim.

Alexandra Gianni, Braddock said, answering Christians original question. Cold as a pump handle on a January morning, he added in ill-disguised disgust.

Turned you down, did she? Christian said dryly, arching a brow.

Shes been here three weeks and has managed to say one word to every fella whos asked her outno.

Well, that just shows she has good taste and sound judgment.

I suppose you think you can do better?

Please, Christian drawled disdainfully. Of course I could do better. Admit it, Braddock, youve won your share of dim-witted stable girls, but youre simply not in my league.

You pompous ass, Braddock said with a good-natured grin. Ill bet you dont get anywhere with her either. You might be the Casanova of the show-jumping world, but this lady would give the iceberg that sank the Titanic a run for its money.

Christians speculative gaze settled again on Alexandra Gianni. She didnt look the ice-maiden type to him. With her olive complexion and dark eyes, her unruly short black hair and lush mouth, she looked more like the hot, feisty type. Tempestuous. The type to stand toe-to-toe with a man in a fight and rake her nails down his back in bed.

Braddock turned and grinned at him suddenly. How much do you want to bet?

I beg your pardon?

Put your money where your mouth is, Romeo, he challenged. Ill bet you a hundred dollars you cant get her to go with you to Hayden Hills big bash before the Green Hills Jumper Classic.

Christian barked a laugh of surprise that startled his horse. The thoroughbred danced beneath him, and he quieted the gelding with a hand on the horses neck, never taking his eyes off Braddock. Thats more than a month away! Have you developed a sudden yearning for poverty?

You forget, my friend, Braddock said slyly. Ive spoken with the lady. I have firsthand experience and the frostbite to prove it. A hundred says she wont go with you.

Christian considered the outrageous wager for a moment. It appealed to the reckless rogue in him, the quality that made his stiff-necked family shake their heads in disappointment. He thought of what Uncle Dicky would have done, and grinned. Make it a thousand and its a deal.

Braddocks dark eyes glowed with delight and greed. Youve got yourself a bet, my friend.

two

GOOD JOB, HONEY, TULLY HASKELL SAID in parting.

Alex murmured a thank-you and turned toward the stalls she had rented for the day. She jumped and gasped when the man patted her fanny, but when she wheeled to glare at him, he was calmly walking away as if what hed done hadnt been the least bit out of line.

Alex stood in the aisle, fuming for a moment, then turned to stare pensively at the stalls of her two star performers, both owned by Haskell. A Touch of Dutch, the sweet-tempered mare shed just won on, and Terminator, an arrogant, ill-mannered loutnot unlike his owner. That was the world in a nutshell. Females were meek and malleable, and males took what they wanted.

Everything inside Alex tightened against the memory that tried to surface. Squeezing her eyes shut, she fought it with every scrap of willpower she had, succeeding only in fighting back the images themselves, not the feelings they evoked. Her muscles tensed until she was trembling.