THE LOVE POTION By Sandra Hill
THE LOVE POTION By Sandra Hill
ROMANTIC TIMES
RAVES FOR CAREER
ACHIEVEMENT AWARD-WINNER
SANDRA HILL!
THE BEWITCHED VIKING
“A humorous, adventurous, sensual tale!”
LOVE ME TENDER
“Leave it to Sandra Hill to take this fractured modern fairy tale and make it a wildly sexy and hilarious romp. Her fans will be delighted.”
THE LAST VIKING
“A fun, fast-paced, page turner. The reader feels Sandra
Hill’s real joy in creating her story and the wordplay between the characters enhances the story.”
SWEETER SAVAGE LOVE
“A fast-paced, sensual yet tongue-in-cheek story peppered with plenty of dynamite dumb-men jokes and riddles. This funny and uplifting read will brighten any day!”
DESPERADO
“Humorous repartee and a high degree of sensuality mix well in Hill’s tale of a wise-cracking poor boy and the aristocratic woman he loves.”
THE OUTLAW VIKING
“Sandra Hill has written an entertaining battle-of-the-sexes romance that will keep readers laughing to the very end.”
THE TARNISHED LADY
“Sandra Hill has written a sensual, vibrant, fast-paced tale of two proud lovers, their entertaining battle of wills and the steamy passion that overcomes them.”
SEALED WITH A KISS
“Why do you continue to think this is a big joke?”
“A love potion! I just can’t get over it. It’s so out of character for you. Now, if Blanche had done it, I would just shrug it off. But you? Unbelievable!”
“Whatever,” she said with a sniff of disdain. “The company is closed tomorrow. Come to my lab Monday afternoon, and I’ll give you the lab results. Then I’m done with you.”
Done with me? I don’t think so, babe. “Okay. Let’s seal the bargain.”
She reached out a hand.
She thinks I mean a handshake. Hah! “With a kiss.” For now.
Her eyes went wide with shock, and her mouth dropped open.
Open mouths were good. He moved in swiftly. Putting one hand on the nape of her neck and wrapping the other around her waist, he hauled her up on tiptoe, flush against his body.
She gasped.
He gasped.
That brief movement of her lips against his was like the headiest aphrodisiac. Forget her love potion. Sylvie Fontaine’s lips were pure ambrosia.
Other Love Spell and Leisure books by Sandra Hill:
THE RELUCTANT VIKING
THE OUTLAW VIKING
THE TARNISHED LADY
FRANKLY, MY DEAR…
DESPERADO
SWEETER SAVAGE LOVE
LOVE ME TENDER
THE BEWITCHED VIKING
THE LAST VIKING
THE LOVE POTION
“Love’s chemistry thrives best in equal heat.”
—John Wilmot, earl of Rochester
The Imperfect Enjoyment
Prologue
Houma, Louisiana, 1978
“You wanna dance?”
“No!” Sylvie looked with horror at a red-faced Lucien LeDeux. He stood before her, cowlick standing at attention, in his shiny Sunday Mass suit.
“No?” he asked, the blush of embarrassment on his dark-skinned face deepening to anger. “Why? Sylvie Fontaine is too good for me?” He made a derisive tsk-ing sound by clicking his tongue against his teeth. “A high-class cat and a Cajun swamp rat? Talk about!”
Oh, it was just like that awful Luc to single her out at her first boy-girl dance at Our Lady of the Bayou School! Painfully shy, she glanced quickly around the crepe-paper-festooned cafeteria to see if any of her classmates, or Sister Colette, was watching as the wickedest boy in the whole parish asked her to dance. “You are too bad for anyone, Luc LeDeux. But not because you’re Cajun. Because you are too… too… bad.”
His lips curved into a nasty smirk. “And you are too goody-goody, Sylvie-chatte. Here, kitty, here, kitty. Meow.” He danced around her in a teasing Acadian shuffle.
“Go away,” she urged in a mortified whisper.
He stared at her for a long moment, then turned to walk away. Over his shoulder he tossed a parting shot. “Ah, well, I ain’t gonna die of a broken heart. But someday, Sylvie, you’re gonna beg me to dance with you, I guar-an-tee.”
“Never!”
“And it’s gonna be real close and slooow. And… and it will prob’ly be sexy, too. Yep, we’ll dance together… naked.”
She could tell that the latter was a last-minute inspiration, not intended to be mean or harassing, but it was so outrageous, even for Luc, that Sylvie gasped for breath. In all likelihood, he’d gotten the idea from those dirty magazines he and the other boys were always snickering over at the far end of the playground. But twelve-year-old boys shouldn’t have such indecent thoughts about twelve-year-old girls. At least, Sylvie didn’t think they should. She would have to ask her best friend, Blanche, later. Blanche had had the good sense to hide out in the coat room with a forbidden romance novel, instead of coming inside to the dance. Sylvie wished she had been so wise.