From Barnes & Noble

The Barnes & Noble Review
This classic Elizabeth Lowell novel is as thrilling now as is was when it first hit bookstore shelves more than 15 years ago. Tory Wells has been making her own way in the world since she was only 16, pushing herself to the pinnacle of perfection as a competitive diver, and covering any expenses that went beyond her swim club scholarship by working as a waitress and cook. Then a knee injury sidelines her, and her doctor insists she take a complete break from diving, to decide while she heals whether continuing to dive is worth the risk of crippling herself for life. Until she can dive again, Tory needs a way to manage without her scholarship money. She's definitely out of her element at the Sundance Ranch in Arizona -- there's not even a pool within miles. But Tory's not afraid of hard work…and she'd make a deal with the devil himself to get the job she's been promised. Though Ethan Reever is as demanding as any coach she's had, she can't resist the challenge of proving to the powerful rancher that she's more than just a useless city girl. Ethan can't resist this woman who's passionate as hell and innocent as an angel. And, as Tory learns to love the land around her, and the rancher whose love opens up new possibilities within her, she begins to dream of more than the perfect dive. Sue Stone

From the Publisher

While recovering from a career-threatening injury on an Arizona ranch, Tory Wells finds love is the best medicine--even though ranch owner Ethan Reever doesn't know it yet.

Jayne Ann Krentz

I'll buy any book with Elizabeth Lowell's name on it.

What People Are Saying

Jayne Ann Krentz
I'll buy any book with Elizabeth Lowell's name on it.

Product Details

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Read an Excerpt

Too Hot to Handle

Mira Books

Chapter One

"But I was told that-" she began, her voice low, urgent.

"You were told wrong," Ethan Reever interrupted ruthlessly, dropping the shredded, unread letter into an exquisitely woven Pima basket that held other paper debris. He gave the slender young blonde in front of him a hard glance. "There's no swimming pool on the Sundance so there's no need for a 'swimming counselor.'" His lips thinned in disgust over the last two words. "And unlike my dear cousin Payton, I have no use for bleached blondes who can't do two licks of work without whining about their nails."

"My hair isn't bleached, my nails are short and the day I whine you can fire me," retorted Tory, setting her luggage down with a thump.

Reever laughed. The sound was as hard as the large hands that slapped the desk in an impatient movement as he came to his feet. "Honey, I haven't hired you, and I'm not going to. I need you like a sidewinder needs ice skates."

Tory stared in silence at the man looming behind a desk that was as scarred as her luggage. Reever was nothing like his cousin, Payton Sundance. Payton's hair was straight and sandy, he was clean shaven, his eyes were a sparkling blue and his body was as thin as it was tall. Reever's hair was thick, blue-black and shaggy. So was his mustache. His blunt, angular face showed a shadow of beard, even though it was barely eleven o'clock. His eyes were the color of winter rain and were emphasized by heavy black eyebrows. He had the long, powerful bone structure of a natural athlete and the muscular development to go with it. He was at least six foot three-a dark, intimidating presence watching her with eyes that gave away nothing.

Reever's intense masculinity would have made Tory nervous if she hadn't been so desperate for the job. She was accustomed to being around men with flawless bodies, swimmers and divers whose lives were dedicated to physical perfection, yet never had she met a man whose very presence could send frissons of heat searching through her. Reever threatened her in ways that she couldn't describe. But even more than he threatened her, he fascinated her. She found herself wondering what it would be like to be held in those powerful arms. Did that beautifully shaped mouth ever smile gently, and were his hands capable of tenderness as well as strength?

Tory shook herself mentally, wondering if she had lost her mind. Reever was very unlike his cousin. She could well believe Payton's warning about Reever's "devil temper." Payton was charming, kind and known for his generosity throughout the Southern California amateur athletic community. Tory doubted that anyone would use the adjectives generous, charming or kind to describe Ethan Reever.

The thought didn't make Tory back down. She had spent her life working with male coaches who could most politely be described as "difficult." Besides, she had to have the Sundance job whether Reever was devil incarnate or angel in disguise. At the moment she had exactly two dollars and sixty-three cents to her name. She couldn't afford a bus trip back to town, much less a cab-not that either bus or cab was available, even if she had money. The Sundance Ranch was in the wild country of northern Arizona, a place where the roads were empty and the land was full of sunlight and silence.

"Mr. Reever," Tory said carefully, trying to show neither her desperation nor her fear, much less the very feminine curiosity that he aroused in her. She had learned early in life than any sign of weakness would be used against her.

"Reever," he said, his voice harsh. "Just plain Reever. You're not in the city anymore, Miss Victoria Wells."

"No kidding?" shot back Tory. Her glance went pointedly around the office, where a collection of spurs was tacked to the wall and a half-braided horsehair rope waited in one corner to be completed. "Call me Tory, Reever," she said, smiling. "Everybody does."

His eyes narrowed. Tory decided that all the books were wrong. The devil's eyes were gray, not black. She took a deep breath and tried again to get past Reever's hard exterior. Somewhere inside that man was something more than harshness and the glacial cold of his eyes. She knew that with an instinct so deep that she didn't question it.

"Mr. Sundance assured me that there would be work for me here," Tory said honestly. "I came a long way at my own expense on that assurance. If the Sundance Retreat isn't open yet, there must be something else I could do on the ranch until the retreat opens."

Reever stood silently for a moment, giving Tory the same kind of thorough, cataloging glance that she had given to him a moment earlier. Tory knew exactly what he would see. She had short blond hair streaked by the Southern California sun, green eyes that were too light to be called emerald and five feet seven inches of tan body conditioned by a lifetime of swimming and diving.

If Reever was hoping to make Tory uncomfortable with his stare, she had a surprise for him. She was used to being stared at while wearing a good deal less than beige cotton slacks and a T-shirt proclaiming "Be Kind to Endangered Species-Adopt a Mermaid." Competition swimsuits were designed to be a second skin, and they achieved that purpose with admirable thoroughness, especially when wet. As Tory stood on a diving platform high above a pool, poised for her second dive, the spectators knew just about everything there was to know about her physically.

Continues...

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Excerpted from Too Hot to Handle by Elizabeth Lowell Copyright © 1997 by Elizabeth Lowell. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Read a Sample Chapter

Too Hot To Handle

Harlequin Enterprises Limited

Chapter One

"But I was told that-" she began, her voice low, urgent.

"You were told wrong," Ethan Reever interrupted ruthlessly, dropping the shredded, unread letter into an exquisitely woven Pima basket that held other paper debris. He gave the slender young blonde in front of him a hard glance. "There's no swimming pool on the Sundance so there's no need for a 'swimming counselor.'" His lips thinned in disgust over the last two words. "And unlike my dear cousin Payton, I have no use for bleached blondes who can't do two licks of work without whining about their nails."

"My hair isn't bleached, my nails are short and the day I whine you can fire me," retorted Tory, setting her luggage down with a thump.

Reever laughed. The sound was as hard as the large hands that slapped the desk in an impatient movement as he came to his feet. "Honey, I haven't hired you, and I'm not going to. I need you like a sidewinder needs ice skates."

Tory stared in silence at the man looming behind a desk that was as scarred as her luggage. Reever was nothing like his cousin, Payton Sundance. Payton's hair was straight and sandy, he was clean shaven, his eyes were a sparkling blue and his body was as thin as it was tall. Reever's hair was thick, blue-black and shaggy. So was his mustache. His blunt, angular face showed a shadow of beard, even though it was barely eleven o'clock. His eyes were the color of winter rain and were emphasized by heavy black eyebrows. He had the long, powerful bone structure of a natural athlete and the muscular development to go with it. He was at least six foot three-a dark, intimidating presence watching her with eyes that gave away nothing.

Reever's intense masculinity would have made Tory nervous if she hadn't been so desperate for the job. She was accustomed to being around men with flawless bodies, swimmers and divers whose lives were dedicated to physical perfection, yet never had she met a man whose very presence could send frissons of heat searching through her. Reever threatened her in ways that she couldn't describe. But even more than he threatened her, he fascinated her. She found herself wondering what it would be like to be held in those powerful arms. Did that beautifully shaped mouth ever smile gently, and were his hands capable of tenderness as well as strength?

Tory shook herself mentally, wondering if she had lost her mind. Reever was very unlike his cousin. She could well believe Payton's warning about Reever's "devil temper." Payton was charming, kind and known for his generosity throughout the Southern California amateur athletic community. Tory doubted that anyone would use the adjectives generous, charming or kind to describe Ethan Reever.

The thought didn't make Tory back down. She had spent her life working with male coaches who could most politely be described as "difficult." Besides, she had to have the Sundance job whether Reever was devil incarnate or angel in disguise. At the moment she had exactly two dollars and sixty-three cents to her name. She couldn't afford a bus trip back to town, much less a cab-not that either bus or cab was available, even if she had money. The Sundance Ranch was in the wild country of northern Arizona, a place where the roads were empty and the land was full of sunlight and silence.

"Mr. Reever," Tory said carefully, trying to show neither her desperation nor her fear, much less the very feminine curiosity that he aroused in her. She had learned early in life than any sign of weakness would be used against her.

"Reever," he said, his voice harsh. "Just plain Reever. You're not in the city anymore, Miss Victoria Wells."

"No kidding?" shot back Tory. Her glance went pointedly around the office, where a collection of spurs was tacked to the wall and a half-braided horsehair rope waited in one corner to be completed. "Call me Tory, Reever," she said, smiling. "Everybody does."

His eyes narrowed. Tory decided that all the books were wrong. The devil's eyes were gray, not black. She took a deep breath and tried again to get past Reever's hard exterior. Somewhere inside that man was something more than harshness and the glacial cold of his eyes. She knew that with an instinct so deep that she didn't question it.

"Mr. Sundance assured me that there would be work for me here," Tory said honestly. "I came a long way at my own expense on that assurance. If the Sundance Retreat isn't open yet, there must be something else I could do on the ranch until the retreat opens."

Reever stood silently for a moment, giving Tory the same kind of thorough, cataloging glance that she had given to him a moment earlier. Tory knew exactly what he would see. She had short blond hair streaked by the Southern California sun, green eyes that were too light to be called emerald and five feet seven inches of tan body conditioned by a lifetime of swimming and diving.

If Reever was hoping to make Tory uncomfortable with his stare, she had a surprise for him. She was used to being stared at while wearing a good deal less than beige cotton slacks and a T-shirt proclaiming "Be Kind to Endangered Species-Adopt a Mermaid." Competition swimsuits were designed to be a second skin, and they achieved that purpose with admirable thoroughness, especially when wet. As Tory stood on a diving platform high above a pool, poised for her second dive, the spectators knew just about everything there was to know about her physically.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Too Hot To Handle by Elizabeth Lowell
Copyright © 2002 by Harlequin Enterprises Limited
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

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