Her Man in Manhattan

By: Trish Wylie

Up close and personal—with her bodyguard!

It seems mayor’s daughter Miranda Kravitz has scored herself     a new and very dreamy bodyguard! Apparently the     fireworks between them are scorching, but will this tabloid darling really be willing to give up her newfound taste for     freedom—no matter how gorgeous Tyler Brannigan is?

Rumor has it Brannigan hates playing by the rules and has     used up all his strikes with the NYPD vice squad. So now this cop’s paying his     dues with a temporary assignment as babysitter. If anyone can keep this     Manhattan princess in check, surely it’s this tough-guy detective? Hopefully     handcuffs won’t be necessary!





sneak peek excerpt from





HER MAN

IN MANHATTAN



His body loomed over her, the tip of his nose barely an inch away from hers as his voice rumbled. “Get in the car.”

Miranda hadn’t even noticed it was there and frankly, with his mouth in kissing distance, she couldn’t care less. She angled her head in a move that suggested she was about to fit their lips together and she lifted her chin, reducing the gap to millimeters. Then she looked deep into cobalt-blue eyes and whispered, “Make. Me.”

When her heavy-lidded gaze lowered to his mouth she saw a corner of it tug upward.

“You don’t want to do that,” he said in a low, husky, unbelievably sexy voice before moving his head so he could whisper in her ear. “I’m more trouble than you can handle.”

It was as if he’d placed all of her fantasies within her grasp. Miranda blinked at him while he leaned away from her and reached for the door.

“We’ll see.…”





Dear Reader,

When Trish first told us about her idea for a bodyguard romance, we were thrilled—with her talent for sparkling banter and sizzling sensual antagonism, we knew Trish would write a brilliant story! It only got better when she revealed the heroine was going to be a mayor’s daughter. We’ve all swooned over The West Wing, and here was our chance to relive the thrills, tension and drama of a romance with a political background, all portrayed with a uniquely KISS spin.

And then we actually met Miranda and Tyler, the hero and heroine of this fantastic romance. Their chemistry and wit exceeded our (very high) expectations and we hope you love this book as much as we do!

Love

The KISS Editors






ONE

Tyler wasn’t the only guy watching her. It was just a shame he didn’t want to be there and resented the living hell out of the fact he didn’t have a choice.

If things had been different he could enjoy the view.

Pinpricks of sparkling light swirled over the dance floor as she sashayed sideways and made a sexy rotation of her hips. She had a body made for sin: tall, slender, with full breasts and flawless, sun-kissed skin. Raising bared arms above her head lifted the hem of her silver minidress, exposing several more inches of delectably long legs encased in white platform-heeled knee-high boots. Add the sleek bob of a snowy wig, which covered her trademark hair, to darkly made-up eyes and ruby-red lips and she would make a fortune dancing on a dais.

When she bent her knees and shimmied downwards—rising with an effortlessly fluid curve of her spine—he didn’t have difficulty picturing her with a spotlight following her every move. Judging by the fun she’d had fending off potential dance partners she would probably get a kick out of it. But despite her obvious comfort in the centre of so much male attention she stood out of the writhing mass of humanity too much for his liking. She was lucky no one had recognized her and if there was one thing Tyler knew, it was luck had a tendency to run out.

Even for the Irish.

Without warning her gaze collided into his with a pinpoint accuracy, which made it feel as if she’d known he was there all along. The impact created a sudden flare of heat in his body, like a spark igniting a fuse. Refusing to accept it was anything but the natural biological reaction of red-blooded male to hot female, he held his ground and waited to see what she would do next.

Rolling her shoulders and hips, she ran the tip of her tongue over glossy lips and smiled a slow, sensual smile. The silent come-on might have summoned him to the dance floor if he’d ever danced a day in his life. But even if he had he wasn’t the kind of guy who came running when a woman crooked an invisible finger. If she wanted to come talk to him she could slide on over. A corner of his mouth lifted.

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