Excerpt: 'It's in His Kiss' by Jill Shalvis

What a great day at HEA! We're getting to share an excerpt from Jill Shalvis' It's in His Kiss, which comes out today. (If you stick around until the end of the excerpt and leave a comment, Jill is giving away to two winners a copy of any of her earlier Lucky Harbor books.)

First, here's the blurb to get you oriented (courtesy of Grand Central Publishing):

One kiss can last forever.

Becca Thorpe has uprooted her life and escaped to the beach. Now's her chance to get away from city living, throw caution to the ocean winds, and live in the moment. Especially if the moment includes the deliciously sexy surfer she meets shortly after arriving in Lucky Harbor. Something about the dark intensity of Sam's eyes and the thrill she gets at his touch convinces her to stay awhile.

Boatbuilder and investment genius Sam Brody is a self-made man who knows how dangerous it can be to mix business and pleasure. But he can't resist offering Becca a job just to hear her laugh and have her near. Yet when her brother comes to town asking for help, will he tempt her back to her glamorous life in the city? Or do Sam and little Lucky Harbor have a chance to win Becca's heart?

Here's the excerpt from It's in His Kiss:

There was still the night's chill in the air when Becca woke up the next morning. Early sunrays were doing their best to beat back the dark shadows of the night, stabbing through the cloud layer with hints of soft yellow and orange.

She rolled the kink out of her neck from sleeping on the floor. Today was the day she further depleted her savings by buying furniture.

And other essentials, such as food.

Today was also the day that she got her act together. She stared at the portable piano keyboard leaning so deceptively casual-like against one of her suitcases.

As a jingles writer, all she had to do was write a catchy tune for a given product. That was it. Write a jingle, sell it to the ad agency that had her on retainer, and accept their thanks in the form of a check.

Except she'd been having trouble for a year now. Her muse had shriveled up on her, and she was eking out only the barest minimum to keep her agency interested. Her latest assignment was simple – come up with something catchy for Cushy toilet paper. A relatively easy and insignificant enough assignment, right?

Right.

With a sigh, she grabbed a roll of the toilet paper that the company had sent her, shoved it in her tote bag, and headed out. The first person she came across was the same boy on the bike who'd nearly hit her the other day. "Hey," she said, flagging him down.

He slowed. "Sam's probably in his warehouse—"

"No, this question's for you." She pulled out the roll of toilet paper. "Feel this. What does it make you think of?"

He blinked.

"I'm writing a commercial for it," she told him.

"That's weird," he said, but reached out and took it. "It feels nice to squeeze," he said.

"Good, but unfortunately, that commercial's already been done," she said. "Give me something else."

"Okay..." The kid scratched his head. "It's … soft?"

"Soft," she said.

"Yeah. You know, cushy."

She blew out a breath. "Thanks."

"I wasn't any help at all, was I?" the kid asked.

"You were great," she told him, and he rode off.

She walked to the pier for more ranch-flavored popcorn, which she'd bought at the ice cream stand. The same twenty-something-year-old guy was there today.

"You're back," he said.

"Yep. You give good popcorn."

He smiled. "I know. I'm Lance, by the way."

"Becca," she said. Lance was small, painfully thin, and had an odd sound to his voice, like his chest was hollow. She glanced at the jar on the counter, with a Donate to Cystic Fibrosis research poster taped to it, and felt a pang of worry and empathy for him.

"So what'll it be, Becca?" he asked.

"Ranch-flavored popcorn." She paused. "And a single chocolate scoop," she added.

"Living large," he said. "I like it."

When he brought the popcorn and ice cream to her, she held up the roll of toilet paper. "Question," she said. "What does this make you think of?"

He laughed. "That's going to cost you a double scoop, at least." But he squeezed the roll of toilet paper. "Tell me why I'm humoring the crazy lady?"

"Because she writes the songs for commercials," Becca said. Sometimes. If she's very lucky. "And I need one for Cushy toilet paper. Only I'm stuck."

"So your brain's … plugged?" he asked playfully. "Your brain's got a big … load?"

She laughed. "Don't quit your day job."

He squeezed the roll again. "You know," he said casually, "I get sick a lot."

Her heart pinched. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. But I use this brand for blowing my nose. It's softer and more gentle than tissues."

She smiled and handed back the ice cream cone she hadn't yet licked. "Okay, now that's worth a double."

He made it a triple.

A million calories later, she was back in her place, and she managed to come up with a little – emphasis on little – jingle for Cushy. She sent it off to her agency, fingers crossed.

Standing up, she moved to the window and took in a most mesmerizing sight.

Not the ocean, though that was pretty damn fine too.

But Sexy Grumpy Surfer — SGS for short, she'd decided — side by side with one of the other guys from last night, the two of them doing pull-ups on some metal bar. Given their easy, economical speed and the way they kept turning to eyeball each other, they were competing, and not for the first time. They were shirtless, their toned bodies gleaming with sweat in the early morning sun, definitely outshining the Pacific Ocean.

"Wow," she whispered. She had no idea how long she stood there or how many impossibly difficult pull-ups the two men did before they both dropped lithely to the ground, straightened, and gave each other a shove.

Their laughter drifted to her ears, and she found herself smiling along with them. A sweaty tie then, she decided, and realized she was a little hot herself.

Hot and bothered.

Sexy Grumpy Surfer looked damn good laughing. The other guy moved off, back toward the small building between the street and beach, but SGS remained. Turning only his head, he unerringly met Becca's gaze.

Crap. She dropped like a stone to the floor and lay flat. He hadn't seen her, she thought. He totally hadn't. The glare on the window had blocked his view. Yeah, for sure he'd missed her…

Slowly, she rose up on her knees to take a quick peek and winced.

He was still there, hands on hips, looking right at her.

He'd missed exactly nothing, and she suspected he rarely did.

Then the clouds shifted, and suddenly the sun was shining right on him, like he was the best of God's glory. Since the sun was also bright, making seeing details difficult, it was probably — hopefully — her imagination that his mouth quirked in a barely there smile as he shook his head at her.

Her stomach quivering, she ducked again.

And then from her position prone on the floor, she forbid herself from looking out the window ever again.

Ever.

Crawling to her suitcases in the center of the loft, she sat cross-legged, pulled out her list of Must Buys, and added curtains. Curtains would keep her from being distracted by her view. Curtains would keep her on task.

And from further embarrassment.

She showered, dressed, and left the warehouse, sending a cautious look down the alley.

Empty.

Relieved, she left. Several hours later she was back, followed by Eddie, the kid on the bike, who she'd paid to help lug her loot. Thankfully he came with an older brother who had a truck, and equally thankfully, Lucky Harbor had a vintage shop, a really great one. She'd found everything she'd needed there, including gently used sheets that she bought for curtains.

In far less time than it'd taken to shop, she had curtains up and the bed made, and she was sitting on it, staring at an email from her ad agency.

Becca,

The Cushy jingle works. I've sent accounting a request to get

you payment. Next up is Diaxsis, the new erectile dysfunction

medicine. Details and deadline info attached, if you're interested.

Not, "great job, Becca." Not "you're back, Becca." Not "'we've put you back on our top tier, Becca."

But nor was it "'you're fired, Becca," so she'd take it. But Diaxsis? She blew out a breath and hit reply:

I'm interested.

—

Don't forget to leave a comment for a chance to win one of Jill's earlier Lucky Harbor books!

Find out more about Jill and her books at jillshalvis.com.