"...Filled with action and lots of hot romance that makes this historical romance a hit for me. I couldn't stop reading it; it kept going with each chapter. I especially loved Jazzy's take-charge attitude, she never let anything get in her way. One thing for sure, she's definitely a great woman to be with Slade; always adventurous and with so much spirit. I loved Slade's attitude and most of all his confusion each time he tried to figure out his feelings toward Jazzy. This was a great book and so worth the read. Layla Chase's wild imagination for creating such beautiful scenery come to life, and wickedly hot sex scenes are just so intense that any reader will love this book."--Lena C., Fallen Angel Reviews

"...Starts with a bang and doesn’t let up. Jazzy’s past is described without trying to sugar coat it. Yet Jazzy is a woman not ashamed of her past--after all, it is what has shaped her. She has strong desires and is not afraid to go after them, namely the handsome Slade. These two are made for each other...The kidnapping and subsequent revelation of Jazzy’s past put them in dangerous and anxious situations, but with their desire and strong will, they discover just what they truly want from each other and life."--Georgia, Joyfully Reviewed

...Pete thumped the roof of the coach. “This here’s Silveridge, our stop for the night. Rooms are let at Ella’s boardinghouse down the street on your left.”

Mrs. Harrington shook her son’s shoulders and nudged him upright. “Get up and open the door, Chester. We must hurry to get the pick of rooms.”

Yawning, the boy rubbed fists in his half-opened eyes and fumbled with the door.

“Allow me, son.” Slade reached over and turned the handle.

Mrs. Harrington bustled past his outstretched hand, a frown pinching her mouth tight. “Take Mother’s hand, Chester. No dilly-dallying. We want to have first choice of rooms.”

Slade eased his frame through the door and arched his back against the aches that had settled there hours before. A day on horseback never bothered him. But the same time spent traveling by stage, forcing his long legs into a narrow space, made him feel as tightly wound as a new spring.

A rustling of fabric from behind brought his attention to the remaining women. He turned to offer a hand to Miss Whitfield, but Mr. Denton must have assisted the ladies.

“Slade?” Pete’s voice came from atop the wagon. “Help hand down these bags, will ya?”

Within moments the passengers’ bags sat on the boardwalk and Pete stood staring at the pile. “Do you suppose Mrs. Harrington is expecting me to haul her bags up to Ella’s?”

Slade thumbed back his hat and ran a hand over his jaw. “This town got a good bathhouse?”

Pete gave him a broad wink. “Gonna get gussied up and visit The Lucky Strike?”

Slade eyed a saloon two buildings along the boardwalk with tinny piano noise and raucous laughter coming from its doorway. He shook his head. “Just want to soak my aching muscles.”

“Soak?” Jessimay turned from where she had bent over the pile of bags, her eyes filled with longing. “As in a hot bath? I would pay a pretty penny for a long bath with lots of steamy water”—she sighed—“and maybe some rose petals floating on the top.”

In his mind, Slade pictured the scene. He saw her slender form approach the steaming bathtub. She shrugged her shoulders and a silky garment dropped to her feet, exposing creamy, smooth skin. Skin that his hands itched to touch. He wasn’t halfway done looking his fill, but her luscious body slowly disappeared under the bubbly water. The images he’d conjured heated his blood. His stomach clenched and his hands drew into fists.

He hadn’t thought about needing a woman in weeks. Trailing the bank robber had occupied all his thoughts. What was it about this particular woman that unsettled him?